Critical Mass, Halloween Edition

Despite our vows not to go back next month because it would be cold and miserable, the last Friday of October rolls around and once again, I find myself at Critical Mass. The reasoning was that it was nearly Halloween, and what could possibly be better than an unruly mob of cyclists? Answer: an unruly mob of cyclists in crazy costumes. Besides, next month would be even more cold and miserable, so we should go this month. (Let's see if this reasoning holds up again in Nov.)

I'd been musing over a few costume ideas (gay Dumbledore, kid from E.T., Elphaba the (not so) Wicked Witch, cross dresser [the story of a frustrated bureau]) but I was having trouble piecing together key ingredients, like a stuffed E.T. doll. After standing in the rapidly emptying costume aisle at Target for a while, I gave up and went back to the drawing board. Then it hit me - I should be an accident victim! This was all the more appropriate for CM because lots of us have actually been hit by cars, including myself (twice).

I took a white t-shirt and was going to drive over it to create tracks. On second thought, I grabbed the spare tire, rolled it through some mud, then rolled it over the shirt. Add some streaks of fake blood, bandages and gauze on the forehead, and a leafy twig sticking out from my ear and voila, I was rocking the disheveled, just-got-run-over look. Note: this is what I wore to work on Friday.

Unfortunately, it was forecasted to pour that night. After a vigorous debate, Ana managed to convince everyone not to wimp out. Besides, she'd bought several packs of face paint and hair spray dye, and we were going to use them, dammit. So it's after 5 on Fri afternoon, and here I am, standing outside a cubicle, painting white circles around Katherine's eyes while Nathan is smearing a wax scar onto my cheek. An hour later, Ana has a scary clown frown, Katherine is Raggedy Ann, and Nate is rocking the David Bowie lightning bolt.

Eventually, we make it to Daley Plaza, which has been transformed with orange fountains and a haunted house. There are zombies on bikes, banjo players (being carted) on bikes, and a girl with a plunger dressed as Luigi passes us. Later that night, we spot a guy dressed as Mario, and excitedly tell him there's someone dressed as Luigi! He says that he talked to her earlier and they were going to meet up afterwards, but now he can't find Luigi in the crowd, and he's looking so if you can help...

Katherine: I'm looking for Raggedy Andy!
Me: Well, I'm looking for a sleazy TV lawyer!
Nate: And I'm looking for Mick Jagger!

At that point, the rain went from romantic sprinkle to cold and miserable pouring, and we left to go dry off. But I have faith that Mario and Luigi found each other somewhere in Coin Heaven.

Halloween Preview

Last night, I trekked out to the 'burbs for some good ol' fashioned Halloween fun with the Fed crew. Britton really wanted to go to a haunted house, and this one was advertised as being the #1 haunted house in IL. I glanced at the website, and figured that if it wasn't scary, at least they had a sense of humor when they included directions from Hell. (Take Lost Souls Blvd. and take a left on Decapitation Drive. Travel 666 km, then take a sharp right on Brimstone Blvd. Enter through the gates and listen for the screams...)

We showed up at 8:30 and ended up waiting in line for at least 2 hours. No worries though, before we got in line, we managed to mix up some vodka & gatorade and jack daniel's & coke. I swear the giggling and pouring out of liquids in the parking lot didn't look uber sketchy or anything. Plus, there were all sorts of dressed up zombies and ax murderers heckling us while we stood in line. All in friendly fun, and after Chris let loose a really loud, high-pitched scream, one of them turned to us and said, "Is he gay?" Thought: what if some psycho decided to show up and chase people around for kicks, and you couldn't tell he wasn't part of the show?

Going through the house itself probably took 15-20 min, but with a proper suspension of disbelief, it was lots of fun. I was never that scared, but it's fun to scream your head off with other people. The best part was a tunnel with swirling lights overhead, which made you think the walkway was rotating. I could've sworn the floor was moving, but then I stepped into another room and all was righted.

---

Now, on to the scary part. I got my wisdom teeth pulled this morning, and after last night, had decided that I wasn't that squeamish and didn't need to be completely knocked out for the procedure. So, they gave me local anesthesia and laughing gas, and pretty soon I was feeling quite content, like I'd just downed about 4 beers, happy to ignore any sort of drilling noises or sutures going into my mouth. About 40 min later, I was done and ready to bounce.

Katherine picked me up after surgery, and when I stumbled out, she was a little concerned and kept asking me if I was all right. Too bad I had gauze in my mouth so I couldn't really talk, but instead kept mumbling incoherently and laughing, which elicited blank looks from her which caused me to laugh harder. It probably didn't help that I was still sort of on the laughing gas high. Simultaneously, blood was dripping out the side of my mouth, not that I could feel it because my entire face was numb. So picture us in the middle of the Loop, me laughing hysterically with bloody tissues clutched to my mouth and Katherine frantically telling passer byers coming out of the American Girl Store that everything was ok, really. I think I scared some small children today. And adults. And Katherine. At one point, she told me, "Um Crystal, you just dropped a piece of bloody gauze on the sidewalk," which made me laugh some more. It was highly special.

Anyway, we finally managed to get me home and find a box of popsicles. The right side of my face is swelling, but it's not noticeable, and I haven't been taking the Vicodine they gave me (just a few over the counter Motrins), so if anyone is interested in purchasing some narcotics, just let me know...

Return to Ithaca

There's nothing quite like walking into the bandroom and being greeted by freshmen with "Oh, you're THE legendary Crystal! We're so honored to be able to play with you!"

Or, being greeted by Dan with "So, when you said you were coming to town, I decided to write you a fanfare, a Fanfare for Crystal! Alas, I didn't quite finish it in time, but the first few bars are really cool...you're going to need a good subwoofer to listen to this."

I trekked back to Cornell for homecoming last weekend, and it was a whirlwind experience. Cornell is not a big football school at all, but as a former bandie, the weekend still holds significance as a period for retrospection. Alums come back to visit, steal your instrument to play "Pinball Wizard," and relive their hedonistic college days by drinking your alcohol. You try not to feel too disgruntled, with the promise that you too can come back in four years and be welcomed with open, band uniform-clad arms. This is a superior version of the circle of life, really.

It has been almost four months since I was last in Ithaca, a mere blip in time, but the changes are palpable. The Thurston bridge has reopened, and is strung with shockingly bright white LED lights. The parking lot between Bailey and Malott has been replaced by a flagstone plaza with oddly orange-y benchs and a overhang fountain on the southern end. Construction is beginning on a new building between Baker and Rockefeller. But wait, you say, there's no space for a building there. On the contrary, it looks like they're taking out a good chunk of the Baker lawn to put up this building. I mean, perhaps Clark is ugly and we should hide it behind another building, but still. Finally, I made a beeline to the clocktower as soon as I could, and was much dismayed to discover that my id card no longer works on the office door. For the last 3 years, the tower office was my one sure refuge on campus, always warm and open, filled with a frig, a couch, and a nice Mac. And now, that door is permanently closed to me.

Yet, despite the physical differences and the ever-present alarm that my time was limited, I was able to recapture some of that undergraduate zeitgeist, the animated intellectualism, the quirky vivacity that permeates Cornell and makes the abnormal normal. I sat in Stella's and discussed objects with non-integer dimension with Rhea, I hauled myself to the clocktower at 10:15 to chime the alma mater variations with Jen, I sang songs from "A Chorus Line" with Matt at 3 am, I watched a football game with 7 years worth of drumline members and still had the music to "Carry On My Wayward Son" memorized.

It was over in the blink of an eye, and I found myself scrambling at the end of Sat night, giving hasty goodbyes just 24 hours after long-awaited hellos. At 8 am the next morning, I jetted back to Chicago. It was cold and drizzling. I was in mourning.

I kept telling people I'd "see you later," but who knows when that will be? 6 months? A year? A decade?? Let's face it, this weekend was great because I found the familiarity of people and places I'd loved, but even a year from now, that might not be the case any more. People will graduate, move away, and move on with their lives. But at least for this one weekend, the magic was still there.

I realize I am extraordinarily lucky to have a job I love in a place I love. Catching up with the '007 crew, it's all too common to see people bored with their jobs, and worried about where their lives are going. When I flew away from Ithaca, at least I had something positive to come home to.

It still felt like I was ripping away a little piece of my heart.

And the Nobel Prize in Economics goes to...

The 2007 Nobel Prize in economics was announced today, and goes to three American economists: Eric Maskin (Princeton), Roger Myerson (Chicago), and Leonid Hurwicz (University of MN). As is often the case, the winners were not on the "short list" of potential candidates, but turned out to be unexpected dark horses.

This is the sort of story that journalists have nightmares about--a bunch of economists, whom they've never heard of, win a Nobel prize for developing a discipline, mechanism design theory, which they've also never heard of. To explain briefly, a mechanism is a framework of rules that enable a market to function efficiently. Many markets don't need mechanisms to work well, but lots do (think organ allocation, public goods like utilities or water, or the sale of rare paintings). Mechanism design can take a variety of forms, like taxation or the creation of auctions.

At age 90, Hurwicz is the oldest Nobel laureate in history. There was some talk that if the academy wanted to award him, they needed to do it soon before he died. As for Myerson, there was no shortage of opinions on him from the Chicago alums around the Fed cafeteria.

"One time, Myerson was running up the stairs so I held the door open for him at the top, and he blew right past me without saying a word!"

"Ha, in his mind he was probably thinking 'And that's the way it should be.' Myerson is notorious for taking things out on his grad students whenever he's angry. Apparently, one time he was pissed at Levitt (of Freakonomics fame) over, I dunno, a hiring decision or something, and at this grad student's seminar presentation, he just completely ripped a new one in him."

In the meantime, I'd like to give a shout out to this year's Ig Nobel Prize winners, who are recognized for quirky, entertaining and sometimes scientifically legitimate research. This year's laureates include the developers of the "gay bomb" which would provoke widespread homosexual behavior amongst enemy troops (Peace), researchers who ironed out the problem of how sheets get wrinkled (Physics), and Cornell's very own Prof. Brian Wansink, who studied mindless eating behavior using self-refilling bowls of soup (Nutrition).

Marathon Madness

The Chicago Marathon took place today and with the race route going down my street, it certainly made its presence known. As a matter of fact, I woke up bright and early at 9 am to the sounds of a rock band on the street corner. Super, I understand the need to keep the runners pepped and entertained, but there's no way you will make it to mile 22 just one hour after the start of the marathon, for crissakes. After a few valiant attempts to roll over, I decided to just climb out of bed and watch the marathon.

By this time, it was around 11 and the sun was beating down on the crowd outside. Runners were streaming past, and with temperatures in the high 80s and pushing 90, they were streaming sweat and mostly looking haggard and miserable. The Chicago Marathon is considered one of the easier competitions for marathoners because of the city's level terrain, but with the heat and humidity at record highs, no race records would be set today. Actually, runners were dropping like flies, collapsing on sidewalks and clamoring for water at the hydration stations. One man died and about a hundred others were taken to the hospital. Around noon or so, the race was called off and runners were told to return to the finish line. That pretty much killed my newly inspired goal of running the '08 marathon. (Damn global warming.)

Meanwhile, the elite runners had finished the race in dramatic style. I particularly enjoyed the live updates posted on the marathon website for the women's race:

10:35am - The men's winning time is confirmed as 2:11:11.

In the women's race, Pirtea still holds the lead, 25 seconds up on Adere. She can see the finish line and appears a sure winner. But Adere is sprinting like crazy.

10:37am - Pirtea is waving to the crowd. She has no idea that Adere is coming on like a jet plane. Adere is sprinting as if this is a 200 race. Pirtea thinks she has won. She has no clue of the danger. Adere is closing with every stride. She overtakes Pirtea just 50m from the line. Pirtea responds, but it's too late. Adere is charging for the line. This is incredible. Adere has retained her title. Pirtea is stunned. She collapses at the line. Notably, at 40K Pirtea had a 30 second lead. Kate O'Neill takes third.

And that kids, is why you never let down your guard.

There Exists a Vegetarian Diner!

Don't get me wrong, I love Chicago's restaurant scene and it certainly still holds many undiscovered facets for me. But Chicago is built on the values of Midwestern sensibility and blue-collar industriousness, "the City of Big Shoulders" as Carl Sandburg once wrote, and with that comes a certain practicality and adherence to convention. Thus, leading the list of hometown specialties is Chicago style pizza and Chicago hot dogs, which is fine and delicious and dandy, but generally I'm looking for more exotic fare.

So, on a lark, Katherine and I decided to google "Chicago vegetarian restaurants" to see if anything appetizing would pop up. Lo and behold, the first hit is for the Chicago Diner, whose slogan is "Meat Free since '83." This seemed sort of oxymoronic to me; aren't diners built on the concept of greasy spoon heart-attack-on-a-plate goodness? But according to the website, the restaurant has won all sorts of awards, plus their "Vegan Shakes are the Shiznit." Mad props are hereby awarded to any restaurant using "shiznit" on their website.

Glancing over the menu, I was reminded a lot of the ABC Cafe in Ithaca. I mean, a tempeh Reuben sandwich? Pfft, been there done that! But the rest of the menu was extensive, and I could have closed my eyes and pointed and been happy with what I ordered. Red pepper ravioli or a black bean burger? I ended up ordering the Polenta Fiesta, which included sun-dried tomato polenta topped with roasted sweet potatoes, spinach and rice & beans. Our waiter was similarly crunchy, and came equipped with shaggy hair and a beret. We kept telling him how happy we were to have discovered this place, and he was grooving right with us. "Yeah, Chicago tends to be big on meat...sometimes you just gotta detox, you know?"

Oddly enough, the Chicago Diner is planted smack in the middle of Boystown, the gay district in Chicago. (No really, it was the first officially recognized gay neighborhood in the U.S.) I would have expected a hippie, vegetarian diner to be closer to Wicker Park and the hipster sections of town. Even more amusing is the fact that Boystown is located in the middle of Lakeview, which has a reputation for being heteronormatively fratty, filled with popped collars and such.

You can't miss the boundaries of Boystown, since the blocks are adorned with (phallic) posts with tipped with rainbow stripes. After dinner, we did a little wandering around the neighborhood and walked past a cute store window filled with knick-knacks, like wedding cake toppers with homosexual and interracial couples. The next store also had a cute display...of mannequins bound in leather and chains. I don't walk into sex shops that often, but this one was well-endowed with all kinds of plastic parts and an extensive gay porn collection (lots of bare chests but no boobs in sight!).

I think this means we need to take a trip to Andersonville too (the lesbian district).