Street Freak: Money and Madness at Lehman Brothers by Dillian Jared

Street Freak: Money and Madness at Lehman Brothers by Dillian Jared

Author:Dillian, Jared [Dillian, Jared]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published: 2011-09-12T16:00:00+00:00


Jones Beach was an outdoor venue. This was news to me. Long Island, once you get out far enough, is actually kind of attractive. There was sand. There was sky. There were trees. I was pleasantly surprised.

D.C. wasn’t saying much. He may have been a world-famous lacrosse stud, but he was still an introvert. And he was twenty-four. This was an older crowd. There were five Whitworth guys and five Lehman guys, and D.C. and I were easily the youngest. The rest of them were wearing jeans and T-shirts, in a transparent attempt to look cool. D.C. and I still wore our suits. Our ties were loosened. It was August, still.

“So we only have eight backstage passes. You and D.C. are going to sit out in the crowd,” said Frank.

This made it easier.

D.C. and I wandered through the crowd of aging hippies to find our seats. We were in the middle of the middle row in the middle section. I was going to be dying for a pisser in an hour, after I finished my beer, and I was going to have to struggle to climb over the knees of the hippies.

The lights dimmed, and the concert began. One hundred spliffs simultaneously fired up. I’ve never understood how marijuana enhances the concert experience, or, for that matter, why it cannot be experienced without it.

This music sucked.

There was: “Layla.” I was about to eat a gun. We were hating this. I almost felt like holding hands with D.C.

Behind the band, I could see a crowd of about forty dudes playing air guitar. I could see Frank Segal pulling up his pants. They were feeling pretty skippy with the backstage passes. I thought I’d gotten the better deal; at least I got to sit down for this nonsense.

I experienced a wave of revulsion for trader culture, sports, and music, and anything that had anything to do with virile, hearty, robust, thoughtless white men. I think that classic rock is the lowest form of music there is. It is music that is so bad, it can be enjoyed only while drunk. Or high. It is undisciplined, yet not free-form. It is vulgar. It aspires to nothing. Wall Street guys listen to it for that very reason.

I hated everything that had to do with Wall Street. I hated the music, I hated the money, I hated the women, I hated the cars, I hated the clothes.

But I loved the trading.



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