So! Last night I ended up at the holiday party of hedge fund located in Stamford, CT. I’d been invited earlier in the week by a friend (not him), and despite my new tightness with the founder, or perhaps because of it, I was slightly worried about attending. First off, spouses and significant others were not invited (and journalist-ish types, or outsiders of any kind, presumably were not asked to come, either). Second, the number of people present who would be able to a) recognize me, b) possibly take issue with my presence and c) shoot me or do me some sort of bodily harm now numbered at least one. However, given my inclination for living life on the edge and for deliberately putting myself in situations where there exists a chance I might be dismembered and placed in a basement somewhere, I said yes (I also really wanted to see Gary Busey, because it’s been way too long. And I wanted to see the kingdom up close). Obviously though, I had to take some precautions. They included: telling a handful of people to keep their phones on for the night, as there was a possiblity I was going to need bail money, coming up with a phrase that I could text them that meant I was in trouble (“whiteboard markers!!!!!!”), wearing the SAC fleece I have in my possession, so as to blend, and convincing my friend E to come, and serve as both the person who could lead the cops to the scene of the crime and my getaway driver.

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