- I will be proven wrong about my cynicism
- Our efforts and determination will not have been in vain
- We did the right thing
Showing posts with label drama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drama. Show all posts
Monday, February 23, 2009
I Hope
Sunday, December 14, 2008
[untitled]
All things are subject to interpretation; whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.
-Friedrich Nietzsche
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Chitown: the soap opera
In honor of the circus that is working as an AE at the Chicago Fed, I hereby propose to write our lives into a soap opera. I'm not sure what I expected when I moved here, but it certainly wasn't the dramatic heights that this weekend entailed. After all, aren't economists supposed to be reasonable? Didn't we invent the (myth of the) rational actor? I digress. Here's my outline for the up and coming new sitcom, Chitown.
Cast
Fresh out of college, the new cohort of Fed AEs start tackling new jobs in a new city. Much to his dismay, Chris discovers the bathrooms do not have paper towel dispensers, only hand dryers. Rather than touching the handle, he waits stealthily behind the door until someone else comes in. In between the drudgery of cleaning data sets, Erik and Nate scheme to invent adult cereal boxes, complete with keychain Rubik's cubes and samples of organic bourbon. The girls organize a ladies' night out with manicures and Manhattans. On the way there, Crystal gets hit by a taxi, and then gets hit on by a rescuer cyclist.
Cast
- Crystal: don't let the facade fool you, she's evidence that bad-assery can come in tiny packages. When she opened Schrodinger's box, the cat was in fact, simultaneously alive and dead.
- Chris: still undergoing delayed adolescence (read, emo) and perpetually misunderstood, particularly when his dirty jokes fall flat on unamused targets. Takes pride in being ambiguously gay, freakishly strong, and wearing his Birkenstocks until they develop holes in the heel.
- Haley: type-A organization extraordinaire, has her sights set on business school, owning the J. Crew catalogue, and providing the invisible hand that Makes. Things. Happen.
- Nate: happy-go-lucky mediator with a penchant for wearing argyle and kayaking without a boat, he asks if you've heard the one about the 3 econometricians who went hunting?
- Erik: proof that justice should be meted out with a clipped British accent, he seeks to shine the light of truth in places of darkness. Hopes to some day make it big with his single "Bernanke."
- Ricky: Erik's girlfriend, who is vying for positions in the publishing industry. Between her indie rock playlist, cave-woman underwear, and unorthodox name, she's alternative, baby.
- Britton: a sorority girl with a heart of gold, embodiment that you can take the girl out of Ohio, but you can't take the Ohio out of the girl.
- Phil, gamer and internet-snob, with an encyclopedic knowledge of classic Greek literature. His New Year's resolution is 1280 x 1024, and he'd love to hang out with you in meat space...if only it didn't interfere with his WoW time.
- Alex, a model of chivalry for the ladies, though this is only on display when he can tear himself away from his 16 hour work-days
- Rich, Crystal's "boss," with a cynical, dry humor and an affinity for flicking butter pats across the table during lengthy lunch meetings
- Gay Bartender at Debonair
- The Lunch Lady
- Ithaca Joe
Fresh out of college, the new cohort of Fed AEs start tackling new jobs in a new city. Much to his dismay, Chris discovers the bathrooms do not have paper towel dispensers, only hand dryers. Rather than touching the handle, he waits stealthily behind the door until someone else comes in. In between the drudgery of cleaning data sets, Erik and Nate scheme to invent adult cereal boxes, complete with keychain Rubik's cubes and samples of organic bourbon. The girls organize a ladies' night out with manicures and Manhattans. On the way there, Crystal gets hit by a taxi, and then gets hit on by a rescuer cyclist.
We'd probably have to drop the Federal Reserve bit, since that would induce yawns faster than turning down the lights in a lecture hall. If anyone knows how to contact FOX, I'm all ears.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Fairytale Ending plus omgnails
I had a kick-ass Fri night because I:
a) cooked
b) cleaned
c) watched a few episodes of Arrested Development
d) got into a fight with Joe via text message
To explain the last point, last weekend went something like this:
Joe: There's a wine tasting in the park, want to go?
Me: Oh, when/where/how?
Joe: (fills in details) It's expensive but it might be fun to do another picnic in the park. Or we could just do another movie night and cuddle?
Me: Um, actually, I'm going to Wisconsin this weekend. Catch you later?
Next, I will preface by saying I went out all week and really did have my heart set on cooking/cleaning Fri night. So this weekend went something like this:
Joe: There's a really great jazz pianist in town from France at Green Mill Fri/Sat night, interested in going?
Me: Hey, I know this is going to sound really lame, but I was planning on cleaning and stuff tonight, and I have plans on Sat/Sun..
Hmm. Does it sound like I'm blowing him off for a 2nd weekend in a row? Maybe because I am blowing him off for a second weekend in a row?? I'm just so damn lazy, I don't feel like making the effort to hang out every weekend. How do you tell someone they've been downgraded to an acquaintance? At any rate, the response was:
Joe: Who said anything about Sunday??
My reading of this was that he was pissed. Although Matt suggested that maybe he was implying that I was implying a Sat night hangout would extend into an awkward Sun morning breakfast. Uh no. I thought about not responding to this, then Warren convinced me that would be awkward and I shouldn't leave things like that. So, I debated texting "Well, want to do something Mon night?" or better yet, to answer the question:
Me: I did haha.
No response so far!
Well, I hadn't quite expected things to end like that, but it's resolution to something that's been weighing on my mind, so I'm happy even if Kelly insists "you can't text message brake up" (sic).
Anyway, the rest of the weekend was full of similarly awesome firsts, including my first game of flipcup (apparently it's all in bouncing the knees) and my first mani/pedi. Basically, the Fed females decided to get nails done as an ensemble, so we trekked to a nail place and spent an hour inhaling chemical fumes and watching dead skin get sloughed off our feet. Hot! I don't think I'd ever pay to get a mani/pedi on my own (actually, I made Katherine pay yesterday because she owes me money), but it was a fun group experience. Color-wise, I thought about some shade of siren red then decided that me being in a nail salon was enough effort on my part, and settled with light blue fingernails and seafoam green toenails. Also, we've determined that I have unusually large pinky toes (my "jew-toe," if you will). (Everyone else's toes sort of shrink dramatically in size while mine are reasonable and stay sort of the same length.) Check it out:
a) cooked
b) cleaned
c) watched a few episodes of Arrested Development
d) got into a fight with Joe via text message
To explain the last point, last weekend went something like this:
Joe: There's a wine tasting in the park, want to go?
Me: Oh, when/where/how?
Joe: (fills in details) It's expensive but it might be fun to do another picnic in the park. Or we could just do another movie night and cuddle?
Me: Um, actually, I'm going to Wisconsin this weekend. Catch you later?
Next, I will preface by saying I went out all week and really did have my heart set on cooking/cleaning Fri night. So this weekend went something like this:
Joe: There's a really great jazz pianist in town from France at Green Mill Fri/Sat night, interested in going?
Me: Hey, I know this is going to sound really lame, but I was planning on cleaning and stuff tonight, and I have plans on Sat/Sun..
Hmm. Does it sound like I'm blowing him off for a 2nd weekend in a row? Maybe because I am blowing him off for a second weekend in a row?? I'm just so damn lazy, I don't feel like making the effort to hang out every weekend. How do you tell someone they've been downgraded to an acquaintance? At any rate, the response was:
Joe: Who said anything about Sunday??
My reading of this was that he was pissed. Although Matt suggested that maybe he was implying that I was implying a Sat night hangout would extend into an awkward Sun morning breakfast. Uh no. I thought about not responding to this, then Warren convinced me that would be awkward and I shouldn't leave things like that. So, I debated texting "Well, want to do something Mon night?" or better yet, to answer the question:
Me: I did haha.
No response so far!
Well, I hadn't quite expected things to end like that, but it's resolution to something that's been weighing on my mind, so I'm happy even if Kelly insists "you can't text message brake up" (sic).
Anyway, the rest of the weekend was full of similarly awesome firsts, including my first game of flipcup (apparently it's all in bouncing the knees) and my first mani/pedi. Basically, the Fed females decided to get nails done as an ensemble, so we trekked to a nail place and spent an hour inhaling chemical fumes and watching dead skin get sloughed off our feet. Hot! I don't think I'd ever pay to get a mani/pedi on my own (actually, I made Katherine pay yesterday because she owes me money), but it was a fun group experience. Color-wise, I thought about some shade of siren red then decided that me being in a nail salon was enough effort on my part, and settled with light blue fingernails and seafoam green toenails. Also, we've determined that I have unusually large pinky toes (my "jew-toe," if you will). (Everyone else's toes sort of shrink dramatically in size while mine are reasonable and stay sort of the same length.) Check it out:
Monday, August 13, 2007
Best car accident EVER
When I decided I was going to start biking, I came across lots of statistics about how biking was really dangerous, then read more statistics which refuted these and maintained biking prevented diabetes, obesity, etc and was much safer than driving or walking. Well, I can now weigh in on this argument with personal experience because last night, I was hit by a cab while biking.
Considering how many times I've biked semi-recklessly through red lights or after drinking, it was kind of ridiculous how many things I was doing right this time. I was wearing a helmet, I had lights on, and I even had the right of way with the crosswalk (the white pedestrian light, not the flashing orange one). I saw the cab on the corner, but apparently he didn't see me, perhaps because he was talking on his cell. I pedaled forward, got hit by the cab and flew off my bike, which got stuck underneath the car. Katherine was with me and immediately thought I was dead. Au contraire, I bounced up from the pavement and spritely announced "I'm fine! I'm FINE!" Aside from some scrapes and bruises, I was feeling pretty good. In fact, I was awesome. It was sort of bizarre how great I felt after the adrenalin rush from being hit, a mix of giddiness at being alive and hubris at being relatively unscathed from a car accident.
Meanwhile, two other bikers had rushed over to the scene to see if I was ok and began yelling at the cab driver. Ah yes, the biker community at work! One guy was telling me I had to get the cabbie's plates, insurance info, etc, while telling him it was entirely his fault and he was a terrible person. Basically, it was the pent-up ire of cycling community towards cabs directed at this one driver. In his defense, he wasn't trying to run away and was making a reasonable attempt to give me all his insurance info, but there was just no way he could redeem himself at this point.
Cab Driver: Ok, here's all my contact information. Now, can I have yours?
Biker Guy: She doesn't have to give you any information at all!
Cab Driver: But look, I thought it was a fair trade! My info for yours!
Biker Guy: No, it's entirely up to you, but you don't have to release anything if you don't want to!
Me: Uhh...
Simultaneously, the other biker had cornered Katherine and was muttering under his breath about "all those damn Indian cab drivers. Look, they're all Indian! They wear the same shirt, every day! Seriously, what are they even doing in this country?" Some of this may have been promoted by the alcohol on his breath. Did I mention the cabbie wasn't even Indian? Katherine: "Um yeah, can I please just go tend to my injured friend? Thanks."
After the cabbie left, yon helpful biker dude gave me his number in case I needed a witness for claims. He also pointed us to a nearby bike shop, since my bike was not exactly ridable at this point. "Tell them Liam sent you," he said. So, we trudged over and hesitantly approached the counter. I explained that I'd been hit by a cab and name dropped, and it worked like a charm. The girl immediately grabbed someone and had them look at my front wheel. The bike is now in moving condition, but making lots of ominous noises, so I'm bringing it in to a mechanic later today.
By now, we were kind of in the mood to head home. Or, I still felt like I could run a marathon, but it was getting late. Somehow, despite our attempts to leave, we were getting lost amidst the paths around Navy Pier and kept coming back to the same Intersection of Death. Let me also point out that the chivalrous biker dude was working for Bike Chicago, so he was hanging out on the same street corner outside. On the third pass, we decided to just stop and ask for directions, and he asked if I was into jazz because there was a show on Tues night, and if I wanted more details I could call/text him. That's right, in one night, I was hit AND hit on.
Let me go dig up my hemp bag and patchwork skirt...
Considering how many times I've biked semi-recklessly through red lights or after drinking, it was kind of ridiculous how many things I was doing right this time. I was wearing a helmet, I had lights on, and I even had the right of way with the crosswalk (the white pedestrian light, not the flashing orange one). I saw the cab on the corner, but apparently he didn't see me, perhaps because he was talking on his cell. I pedaled forward, got hit by the cab and flew off my bike, which got stuck underneath the car. Katherine was with me and immediately thought I was dead. Au contraire, I bounced up from the pavement and spritely announced "I'm fine! I'm FINE!" Aside from some scrapes and bruises, I was feeling pretty good. In fact, I was awesome. It was sort of bizarre how great I felt after the adrenalin rush from being hit, a mix of giddiness at being alive and hubris at being relatively unscathed from a car accident.
Meanwhile, two other bikers had rushed over to the scene to see if I was ok and began yelling at the cab driver. Ah yes, the biker community at work! One guy was telling me I had to get the cabbie's plates, insurance info, etc, while telling him it was entirely his fault and he was a terrible person. Basically, it was the pent-up ire of cycling community towards cabs directed at this one driver. In his defense, he wasn't trying to run away and was making a reasonable attempt to give me all his insurance info, but there was just no way he could redeem himself at this point.
Cab Driver: Ok, here's all my contact information. Now, can I have yours?
Biker Guy: She doesn't have to give you any information at all!
Cab Driver: But look, I thought it was a fair trade! My info for yours!
Biker Guy: No, it's entirely up to you, but you don't have to release anything if you don't want to!
Me: Uhh...
Simultaneously, the other biker had cornered Katherine and was muttering under his breath about "all those damn Indian cab drivers. Look, they're all Indian! They wear the same shirt, every day! Seriously, what are they even doing in this country?" Some of this may have been promoted by the alcohol on his breath. Did I mention the cabbie wasn't even Indian? Katherine: "Um yeah, can I please just go tend to my injured friend? Thanks."
After the cabbie left, yon helpful biker dude gave me his number in case I needed a witness for claims. He also pointed us to a nearby bike shop, since my bike was not exactly ridable at this point. "Tell them Liam sent you," he said. So, we trudged over and hesitantly approached the counter. I explained that I'd been hit by a cab and name dropped, and it worked like a charm. The girl immediately grabbed someone and had them look at my front wheel. The bike is now in moving condition, but making lots of ominous noises, so I'm bringing it in to a mechanic later today.
By now, we were kind of in the mood to head home. Or, I still felt like I could run a marathon, but it was getting late. Somehow, despite our attempts to leave, we were getting lost amidst the paths around Navy Pier and kept coming back to the same Intersection of Death. Let me also point out that the chivalrous biker dude was working for Bike Chicago, so he was hanging out on the same street corner outside. On the third pass, we decided to just stop and ask for directions, and he asked if I was into jazz because there was a show on Tues night, and if I wanted more details I could call/text him. That's right, in one night, I was hit AND hit on.
Let me go dig up my hemp bag and patchwork skirt...
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