Thanksgiving, "Tradition" Edition

Thanksgiving is, in fact, our absolute all-time favorite holiday, being as it is devoid of political, religious, or romantic overtones and instead focusing all its holiday powers on the consumption of food. Much of which is covered in delicious, delicious gravy. -MenuPages Chicago blog

Although I could have crashed another family's Thanksgiving (last year with the Meckels was a hilariously good time), this year there were sufficient numbers of people hanging out in Chicago, so it made sense to cook our own meal. My first Thanksgiving without adults doing the cooking! Fear not, unlike the last time I cooked with a group of people, there were no fires this time. In fact, I'd say we had all the elements of a classic Thanksgiving day, including:

I. A megaton of food

As it so happens, everyone else was vegetarian, and I am pretty much a flexitarian, so that meant this would be a beast-less feast. However, Ricky still wanted a "traditional" meal, or as close to it as you could get sans turkey. (I scrapped my plan to have a fondue party instead.) The menu was as follows:

• Soy "chicken" cutlets
• Mashed potatoes
• Gravy
• Green bean casserole
• Pumpkin pie
• Biscuits
• Cornbread and broccoli rabe strata
• Curried lentils with sweet potato and napa

Can you guess which two items I was responsible for? I am actually a little sad that the lentils got scarfed down and were gone before dinner had even begun; I was hoping there would be leftovers to take home. On the other hand, there's nothing like seeing people fight over the last scraps of something you cooked.

II. Heated argument in the kitchen

I'll just say that there was quite a brouhaha over whether we were serving pumpkin pie versus pumpkin scones or pumpkin bread. In this case, the conservative movement won.

III. Declarations of thanks, preferably inappropriate

As Ricky and I were mid-fork and about to chow down, Chris interrupted us with the obligatory "let's go around the table and say something we're thankful for!" He then launches into tirade of sorts, giving thanks that we were gathered here today not under the guise of religion.

IV. Relatives, preferably ones you see no more than once a year

Chris' mom, brother, and the brother's girlfriend stopped by for a brief visit after their own Thanksgiving fete, which is unusual since he rarely talks to them (even though his mom lives nearby in the suburbs). I can't say too much about the kin because after a brief round of introductions, the Family started chatting in the kitchen, while the Friends retreated to the living room. However, Chris' brother does share his uncanny knack for memorizing lines from TV shows. Perhaps the highlight of the visit was when Chris brought up the recent election (purely to agitate the waters some more). His (Republican) mom said something to the effect of, "Sometimes you need a Democrat in the White House, but I don't know..."

Chris: Yeah, we don't want the minorities getting too much power. I mean, look at China!
Family, in kitchen: [dead silence] [crickets]
Friends, in living room: HAHAHAHAHA!

Since the off-color political joke didn't go over so well, Chris then tried to navigate to safer waters, namely, embarrassing childhood stories about himself.

Mom: Yeah, like the time they elected you class president and then the school decided they couldn't possibly have someone like you at the head of the class. They called me and said, "We know this is supposed to be a democratic process, but with your son's behavior record..." I told them I completely understood, but they still insisted that a formal disbarment had to take place. The teachers were there, the principal was there, the school psychologist was there...

V. Staring at the TV in a gluttonous stupor

In my younger days, I used to be a big fan of watching whatever "Wonderful World of Disney" or "Charlie Brown" special aired at night. This year, post-meal digestion was accompanied by a season of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" DVDs. If you haven't seen this show, it's excellent, and has the irreverent humor embodied by Lucille from "Arrested Development." We were also on a roll with the PS2 playing, until we broke the Gran Turismo disc. Oops.

Finally, on an unrelated note, the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade Rick Roll was awesomely executed. It never ceases to amaze me how an obscure '80s star has found new life with the popularity of this seemingly-random internet meme. Go Rick Astley!

The Office, Cornell edition

Much hullabaloo has been made over "that episode of the Office with tons of Cornell references," so I finally sat down to watch it (even though it means I'm definitely watching the series out of order). All in all, I was fairly impressed with the depth of Dwight's Cornell knowledge; there's no way I would have been able to name Cornell's 7th and 8th presidents in an interview. He also referenced the current quarterback (Nathan Ford) and Comstock Hall (a building I've never been in). But the one thing that particularly tickled me was this:


That's right, there are Wegman's products in the background! Say what you will about my terrible skills of observation, but those colors flashed on the screen and I immediately recognized them.

If you haven't seen it yet, the episode is titled "Employee Transfer" and will be available on Hulu for approximately two more weeks.

Hot Doug's

Pop Quiz: You are taking a long road trip across states. When deciding on a route, you...

a) Use Google Maps to find the most efficient drive possible. Look into potential construction zones and alternate routes in case of road blocks.
b) Follow the highway signs as you go; you'll eventually there. Or end up in Canada.
c) Research major metropolitan areas along the way, and make reservations at the local Four Seasons.
d) Drive 50 miles out of the way to detour past a hole-in-the-wall joint, which is legendary for serving the best western North Carolina-style barbeque. Get lost and wander around in the dark on rural backroads for 20 minutes, as you struggle to figure out how to interpret the address "Hwy 29-70 South." However, as you sink your teeth into a tangy chopped pork sandwich and hush puppies, you decide the side trip was totally worthwhile.

If you chose (d), you might be a foodie. Welcome to the club!

This morning, I needed to pick up my car from the shop, and unfortunately, the mechanic is located in a really inconvenient location (it took me over an hour to get there via public transportation). On the other hand, it was relatively close to that foodie pilgrimage site known as Hot Doug's. When I put two and two together, it was clearly time to stop there for lunch.


There are no finer words in the English language than "encased meats," my friend. -slogan painted on the wall of Hot Doug's

For those unfamiliar with the restaurant, it is a temple devoted to the worship of sausage excellence. Among other press, Hot Doug's has been profiled by Zagat and Anthony Bourdain's show No Reservations. Owner Doug Sohn is also infamous for being the only restauranteur in Chicago who was fined for flouting the ban on serving foie gras. I've been to Hot Doug's one other time, when Megan visited Chicago at the beginning of the summer. When we got there, the line was so long it stretched out the door and around the side of the building. But surely, with the onset of chilly weather, the line will be shorter this time, I said to myself.

No such luck. Once again, by the time I showed up around noon, the line was spilling out the door and around the corner. Part of the reason the line was so lengthy is that Fridays and Saturdays are the only days that Hot Doug's serves duck-fat fries, and these are unctuously delicious. I dug my heels and settled in for the 40 minute wait. (After waiting similar lengths of time for sandwiches at Katz's Deli and bagels at Russ & Daughters, this sort of thing no longer fazes me.) People began lining up behind me, and one gentleman wondered aloud, "Is it just today, or is it always like this?" I smiled and said, "Nope, it's pretty much always like this."

The line was composed of an eclectic array of people, young and old, black, white and peanut, all united in their determination to taste the Ultimate Hot Dog. We hailed from all over Chicagoland, from Lincoln Park to Lincolnwood. The group behind me was full of newbies, while another girl said that she came regularly, and had tried almost every special. When pressed for a reason why Hot Doug's was so great, one guy said, "I'm actually a vegetarian, but I come here all the time for their veggie dog, which is fantastic." Another lady recommended the polish sausage, a favorite of her mother's.


Eventually, I made it inside the building. After scrutinizing the menu carefully, I settled on a chipotle-cilantro smoked chicken sausage with mole sauce and cojita cheese. For good measure, I ordered the Pete Shelley vegetarian hot dog as well. I'd worked up quite an appetite while waiting in line, so why bother with only one hot dog? Doug himself was there to take my order, and he joked and waved at customers waiting patiently in line. I plopped down on a stool at the counter, and a few minutes later, my order was brought out to me.

The chipotle chicken sausage had a nice amount of kick in it, though the cojita cheese wasn't quite the type of cheese that I was expecting. But hey, I'm open to trying new things. Slathered over the sausage was a dark, hearty mole sauce, with some spice and chocolatey undertones. My vegetarian dog was impressively indistinguishable from a regular meat hot dog. In the classic Chicago hot dog fashion, it was topped with sliced tomatoes, spicy brown mustard, unnaturally green relish, sauteed onions, celery salt, and a pickle spear. (It is unholy to put ketchup on a Chicago dog.) I scarfed both hot dogs down in quick succession, as I watched more people get into line.

On my way out, someone asked, "How was it?" I beamed and replied, "Worth every minute of the wait!"

Adventures in Cycling, Near-Death Edition

When it comes to personal safety, there are few things in life that can faze me. Biking in traffic? I dare you to hit me, cabdriver! Running at night by myself? Been there, done that. Fights escalating in public places? Eh, nothing I haven't seen in high school locker rooms. Probably the only time I've ever been really worried about the prospect of severe injury was the time I nearly skidded off an icy road on the way back from Iowa. And then, there was last night.

The Lakeshore Path runs alongside Lake Michigan for 18 miles, the length of Chicago's lakefront. During the peak summer season, the path is packed with a mixture of high-speed cyclists, slower joggers and roller-bladers, rubbernecking tourists, ice cream carts, and small children with unpredictable trajectory patterns. All in all, it can be a dangerous place if you aren't careful. I tend to enjoy biking the LSP a lot more in spring or fall, when it's colder and there's plenty of space.

Yesterday, the winds off Lake Michigan were blowing at a furious clip. In particular, near Oak St Beach, water was getting blown onto the path, soaking the pavement. This section of the path is also on an incline, sloping toward the water. I took note of this earlier in the day, but a little water never hurt anyone, so I didn't think twice about it. By the end of the day though, the temperature had dropped below freezing, and the water had solidified into a thin sheet of ice. I couldn't tell that there was ice, rather than water, on the ground, and biked ahead full speed. Immediately, I could feel something was awry. Before I could slow down, I flew off my bike and hit the ground. My bike began sliding down the slope, shooting toward the edge of the lake, and I silently emitted a primal scream, "NOOOOO!" Meanwhile, I was also sliding precariously toward the icy depths of Lake Michigan. I clawed at the pavement in a desperate measure to increase friction, and stopped about 10-15' short of the water's edge. Luckily, my bike managed to stop about 5' short of the drop-off. My heart was pounding.



(For good measure, I've included a delightful diagram produced in Paint.)

At this point, I was at the bottom of a slippery slope, surrounded by ice. At the very top of the slope, there was a thin strip of dry pavement. I picked up my bike, put together the shattered pieces of my helmet light, and began walking uphill. Almost immediately, I fell over. To add further insult to injury, the wind was still howling and a large wave crashed upon shore, soaking through my shoes. I picked myself up and gingerly tried to take a lateral step. After two steps, I ignominously slipped and keeled over again. Another wave washed onto shore, and now my pants were completely soaked from the knees down. At this point, I realized the only way I could get anywhere was to crawl. So, that's what I did. I pushed my bike uphill a couple feet, crawled forward two feet, and repeated this process. The normally crowded path was wholly deserted, and no one else was visible for miles. It was an epic struggle for survival, man vs. nature, akin to a scene from Into Thin Air.

Eventually, I made it to safety at the top. I quickly surveyed my bike to make sure it was in okay mechanical condition; the brakes were frozen over, but other than that, everything seemed intact. Then I got back on my bike, mostly nonplussed, and rode the next 6 miles home, pausing to warn the two bikers that I passed about the ice ahead. Luckily, it wasn't that cold (somewhere in the mid-20s), otherwise my wet toes would have been in serious trouble. As it was, by the time I got home, I couldn't feel my pinky toes and my feet were lobster red.

Anyway, in conclusion, I think it's about that time of the year where I stop biking the LSP, and bike exclusively through the streets instead.

Obamatown

As I was heading out of the Loop tonight at rush hour, I was dismayed at the backlog of traffic near Clark & Jackson. Squeezing my bike toward the front of the intersection, I could see several policemen stopping all vehicular, bicycular and pedestrian traffic. I asked one of the cops how long the delay would last, and he told me, "Just wait two minutes." Much to my annoyance, the surrounding intersections also appeared to be blocked off, so I couldn't maneuver around the blockage. I silently fumed and exchanged irritated looks with the biker next to me.

Then a slew of flashing police cars sped down the street, followed by a series of black SUVs. It was Obama's motorcade! As we all cheered and craned our necks, you could see Obama (or a look-alike?) chatting on his cell phone, waving to the crowds outside. He passed not even 10 feet away from me!

As it so happens, today's NYT featured a nice article on Chicago's resurgence in national importance since the election. I was particularly amused at the way the article draws broad generalizations on the attitudes of Chicagoans: we are "humble," have a "strong sense of self," and "comfortable to losing." In other words, we have endured years of playing second fiddle to New York, but good old-fashioned Midwestern sensibilities allow us to brush the water off our backs. And though I resent being stereotyped, a lot of it has basis in truth.

Chicago, as Carl Sandburg writes, is a no-nonsense city. It does not have the urbane sophistication of New York, the liberal elitism of San Francisco, or the political clout of Washington. What it can offer though, is a slice of down-to-earth pragmatism topped with the amenities of an urban center. We tout our deep-dish pizza and hot dogs, but we are also home to the jibarito. You can take in the drunken revelry in Wrigleyville after a Cubs game, or you can check out a Lyric Opera performance in the Millenium Park.

So here's to Chicago's increased national prominence! I still don't support the city's 2016 Olympics bid (I think we have too many infrastructure problems and not enough money to host that), but I am proud to call the city home, and even prouder that Obama is a fellow Chicago resident. At least until Jan 20th.

Don't Panic, Stochastic Calculus Edition

The midterm results are in, and they're not pretty. With a mean of 33 and a standard deviation of 18, we can safely say that this is not a normal distribution (assuming non-negative scores). It's been a while since I've taken an exam with such a low mean; it almost brings back nostalgia for the Engineering Math sequence. As I waited for the TA to find my test, a slew of 7s, 15s and 18s flashed by, and I began to silently hyperventilate. You know things are not good when your score < your age. Moreover, the stakes are higher now than in undergrad. I not only have my transcript, but $2,500 on the line, since the Fed won't reimburse me for tuition unless I get a C or above.

I knew this wasn't going to be an easy test, but I severely underestimated Prof Mykland's exam-writing abilities. Perhaps I should have known better when he related this anecdote on his PhD class: "I offered my class of ten students automatic As if they showed up for the exam...and 2-3 of them decided they'd rather skip it." When he announced that he wasn't allowing calculators, I thought that simply meant computations would be more tedious. In reality, that meant the exam would be completely theoretical.

In retrospect, perhaps I should have paced myself a bit better. We had 3 hours to complete 3 questions...and it wasn't nearly enough time for me. I ended up getting full credit for the first question, but by the time the 3rd question rolled around, I was so frustrated that I didn't even bother attempting to get partial credit, I just threw out the last page.

Anyways, I managed to beat the mean, though not by a healthy amount. Mykland reassured us that the vast majority of students receive As and Bs overall, and that if we did better on the final, those results would count in full. Never mind that the material covered on the final will be much harder. Mykland did say that he'd try to tone it down a bit for the final, since usually he gets means of "at least 40-50."

Student: "I understand that you don't want to write an exam that's too easy, but how am I supposed to feel about getting a 33 when I'm interviewing for jobs? If someone were to ask me about martingales, I would not say with confidence that I understand them very well."

Mykland: "Well, as evidenced by what's happening on Wall Street, I'd say a great many people don't understand them very well...if anything, I don't want to give anyone the illusion of understanding. The more you know, the more you realize you don't know."

Sigh. Okay, I can figure out the Itô integral of a deterministic integrand in the next three weeks...

Cantate, Final Bows

A blazing six weeks later, Cantate concluded its fall season this weekend with two concerts. Now I can go back to dairy products and cigarettes! We recorded Sunday's concert, so at some point I should have clips if anyone's curious.

The concerts went well, though there were a few minor hiccups that I doubt the audience noticed. In the Barber, one of the alto entrances that we've struggled with was weak. I also caught myself singing a whole step off for a measure during "A Boy and a Girl." And let's just say that the Ives featured a little bit of free jazz modulation; I'm pretty sure we had shifted keys by the end. No matter, we still came away with uproarious applause from the audience.

(Update) An interesting excerpt from an audience member's email that went out over the listserv: "I heard 'Sleep' - loud and clear - immediately upon the completion of the encore piece. It's a beautiful thing when one leads another to hear the sounds of life. Yet there are no words to describe the power and richness of leading another to hear the precious, complex sounds of the silences of life."

Undoubtedly, I've improved and learned a lot about how to be a better singer. It's one thing to go to a karaoke party, and belt out Mariah Carey. It's quite another to sing in an ensemble, with people singing in half-steps above you, or to sing clearly and sweetly without vibrato, which is all too often used to cloud tones. I can eyeball intervals and sing them without breaking a sweat, and I've come to believe that the true test of a vocalist is not how well you can sing loudly, but how controlled you can sing quietly.

Having never joined a church or country club or the like, it's neat to be a part of a community group. The ages of members run the gamut from recent college grads to white-haired elder statesmen who have been part of Cantate since its inception. Our professions are myriad; I've met a civil engineer, a first-grade teacher at Cabrini-Green, a musical therapist and a tae kwon do instructor.When we aren't focusing on uniform vowel sounds, you can hear a variety of American, Australian and Southern accents. For the first time, I feel like I belong to an organization that is a true microcosm of society, unlike the insular academic bubble of Cornell or the Fed.

Okay, that's a lie. We are still overwhelmingly white and yuppie, as evidenced by the 3 Kleen Kanteens and 2 Sigg bottles (including my own) that I counted at rehearsal. Furthermore, when our director asked last week if anyone knew whether the Bears had won, none of us had a clue. On the other hand, at least two of us are cyclists and one of us runs marathons. The group also seems to be more religiously devout than average. Perhaps church choirs and Catholic school choirs serve as feeder mechanisms for vocalists? And naturally, we are all more musically-inclined than usual. Some of us sing semi-professionally with other area choirs, like the Chicago Symphony Chorus and Grant Park Chorus, and others have their own bands.

So, I guess that's a wrap for the next few months, until the spring concert gets planned. It's funny to think that I've spent hours with this group of people over the last month, and now we will part ways and perhaps never see each other again. Luckily, there are things like email and Facebook (I was somewhat surprised at how many people have accounts, and it seems to be mostly independent of age). At some point, I will probably go see Emily perform, since she plays at Uncommon Ground fairly often. And Tracy actually works on LaSalle, a mere block away from the Fed, so we can get together for lunch.

Halloween, Bar Golf Edition

We're nearing the end of the year, and that means a barrage of major holidays, including the triumvirate of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Now, it's not that I don't love my family, but Thanksgiving and Christmas have never been huge deals for us. Moreover, we generally don't roast a turkey (the one year we did it, everyone hated eating turkey for weeks afterward), so over the years, we have variously cooked things like shabu pots, lobster and duck for meals. My extended family is also geographically dispersed, so although relatives will occasionally fly in, holidays are not usually the equivalent of a family reunion. My point is, we have never subscribed to the classic American Thanksgiving/Christmas, so it's a little weird for me to see people going gaga over eggnog and cranberry sauce shaped like a cylinder.

On the other hand, Halloween is a holiday that is, at least in my mind, defined by creativity. For one day out of the year, you must come up with a costume that is transformational (wearing only devil horns doesn't count), topical (current events references are a plus), low-cost (preferably created from thrift store supplies) and warm (to battle frigid fall temperatures). It goes without saying that storebought costumes are anathema to this philosophy. In recent years, I have dressed up as magnetic poetry, a Wiimote, a whiteboard, and an accident-victim cyclist.

For this year's costume, I shamelessly stole a tip from MF. I took a bunch of tampons and pads, colored them blue, taped them all over me, and arrived as Picasso's Blue Period. That's right, a perfect combination of ironic wit, high-brow intellectualism, and gross-out humor. I was attracting quite a few stares as I walked around Target in this outfit.

The rest of the Fed Crew included Juno (Haley) and Bleeker (Nate), Derek Neal (Erik), Harry Potter (Ricky), and House (Chris). The plan was to play a modified version of bar golf, with various ways to earn points by either spotting something (Joker, Michael Phelps, Ben Bernanke) or performing an action (scoring a free drink, making somone scream, getting a phone number). Unfortunately, we didn't make it to all 9 "holes" in our "course." In fact, we only managed to hit two places before bars began closing at 2 am. I blame the lengthy queues to get inside and to get drinks. I'm also disappointed that there weren't more political costumes (but "naughty" nurses abounded, of course). For the duration of the night, I only saw one Sarah Palin. Appropriately, she did cause a bit of a kerfuffle by stumbling and knocking over a RedEye newspaper dispenser. Take that, liberal media!

I suppose I shouldn't judge because we managed to start some commotion as well. While walking between bars, Colin (Nate's friend visiting from MD) was casually talking to some guy dressed as Misty May, when he suddenly knocked Colin's sunglasses off his nose. Naturally, Colin was quite peeved at this provocation from a guy wearing a sports bra, and the two of them started fighting. We quickly broke up the fight, as in, Ricky and Nate got between the other guy and his friends while Chris tried to talk Colin down psychologically.

Chris: You are completely justified in your anger.
Colin: Motherfucker *@#)!(*%!

It was a pretty awesome cap to the night.

As for Thanksgiving, like last year, I will be staying in Chicago, partially so I can study for an upcoming final exam, but mostly because it's not worth the plane ticket and time to travel home for Thanksgiving. At any rate, it looks like Chris, Erik and Ricky are going to be in town, so we'll be concocting an "Ungrateful Wretches" feast, which will be vegetarian, of course. I've volunteered to personally hunt and kill a tofurkey. No seriously, I have some excellent recipes up my sleeve for killer mashed potatoes and cornbread stuffing. Also, a great recipe for sweet potatoes and curried lentils. What, that's not at traditional dish at your Thanksgiving?