So Much International Flava

In 4th grade I went to The Princeton Ski Shop to buy a pair of snowpants. I got some black snowpants and I was official. I was invited by a friend to go to some weak sauce slope in northern CT to go skiing for the first time. I was excited, but some really horrible road conditions ended up derailing my first ski trip. I was lucky, and this is why. On the trip up there I felt a sharp poke in my pants right around my thigh. No, not that. After we turned around and I was dropped back off at my house I took off the pants and told my mom there was something that didn't feel quite right. Upon further examination we established that there was something stuck in the lining my snowpants and after cutting the lining open we found a rusty, 6" double scalpel that someone had left in the lining of my snowpants. Scary stuff. I checked the label and read "Made in Bangladesh", and ever since then I've had a mistrust of anything from Bangladesh. And while I can recognize that it is somewhat foolish to feel this way about a country I know nothing about, I'm just going with what I know. I forgave Bangladesh on Saturday.

I was shooting baskets alone on Saturday, when some kid started to mosey on over to where I was shooting. He wore a backward Michigan hat. He had on a Polo shirt, but the knockoff kind where the horse isn't on the left breast but instead somewhere about two inches north of your armpit almost as if the horse is running for a ball that's sewn somewhere on your back. And of course he was wearing these...


I learned today in my diversity breakout section that you don't judge a book by its cover, but this kid screamed International-likely-from -somewhere-near-India-freshman-undergrad. So he asks if he can take five shots. Of course I give him five shots. I'm supposed to be learning how to be a global leader at B-school so of course I'm eager to do my part to foster positive relations between the US and Asia. He takes the shots, misses them all, and then asks me if I play on the team, to which I say "no" and he's complimenting me on my shooting, and this and that. I ask him where he's from and he pauses, gets a little embarrassed and says "Bangladesh". It's almost as if he knew what had transpired that snowy day 17 years ago. Of course that would make him about 1 year old, but still, I felt his guilt. Shanif The Lonely International Knockoff Polo Wearing Freshman ended up being good peoples and I wished him luck on his freshman year, advised him on proper basketball attire, and sent him on his way, but not without an awkward high five first.

I said I'd get to the high fives at some point, so here I am. Borat clearly has taken "high five" to a new level.

Can high fiving get any more high profile that it is today? I doubt it. International students come to campus before the US students and I have no idea what they are taught during International Student Week, but I'm guessing that these few items might be on the short-list...

1. Learn to compliment your classmates

"I love your shirt", "you have good basketball fundamentals", "your hair smells pretty". These are all things I've heard over the last few weeks. What do you even say to these things..."Well shit, your hair smells pretty damn good yourself Sandeep".

2. Understanding rhetorical questions

Do they have rhetorical questions in China? And was what I just wrote a rhetorical question? I don't know. But I do know that you can be in a lecture with 70 other students and have the professor ask "Do you all want to leave here ready to be global leaders?", and you will certainly hear at least one foreign student say, "Yes I believe so". Psssst, when the prof asks a question to 70 kids you're not supposed to answer out loud. But it's okay, you'll learn.

3. Social networking 24/7

You might see this on facebook. "Nice 2 meet u 2nite ;) I very much look fwd 2 going 2 parties w u very soon.!!!! My cell # is 221-925630-209-329345-18162 ext 23!!;) C U in class. L8r"

But sadly, during the pre-orientation week international students are not learning how to high five. High fiving is an American-born tradition and it isn't something that foreign students have had years to perfect in Little League, or in elementary school, or anywhere for that matter. So unfortunately, they are learning on the fly. Shanif gave me a "half dead fish middle five" when we left the courts. Shanif, amigo, you think your going to roll up to the Pike house and give 'em a half dead fish middle five and expect to get into their parties? Where are you going to learn to hit on ugly freshman girls if not in some random fraternity basement? There are things at stake here, Shanif, big things.

A few days ago I got what I like to call the Discus Throw High Five. Picture this, but a dude, a Chinese dude:
It's like, hey bro, I love the enthusiasm but my medical insurance doesn't kick in until September 1st, so maybe you can just calm the fuck down for a minute so I don't break my hand.

But like anything else, practice makes perfect and by the end of the two years I hope they'll be able to do a three part handshake as well as they'll be able to help me with my finance case studies.

But seriously, the international students I've met have been incredibly impressive folks. All are super smart and super motivated, and best of all they aren't shy about being heard. You have to really give them credit where credit is due, because they have to articulate complex ideas in a language that many of them haven't even fully mastered yet. Put yourself in their shoes for a minute and you'll realize how hard it must be. Not only are they at B-school, but for many of them this is their first time in the United States and it must be overwhelming. I can't wait to see them at the Michigan Ohio St game. In fact I might want to film that. High Five!

So in the end, Bangladesh, you're no longer dead to me, and high fiving, you are truly alive, well, and at the top of your game. International students, not that you read my blog, but for real, you all are highly impressive.

And yes, I figured out how to insert pictures, so hopefully you all enjoyed.

Public Private vs. Public Public

I'm going to put the high five conversation on hold. Tomorrow is the first mandatory B-School event, which will without a doubt be filled with many canned conversations and trust falls. But hey, you have to start somewhere. Regardless, I'm looking forward to it and looking forward getting this show on the road.

The issue of Public Private vs. Public Public is in regards to this crazy world of blogging. I've seen some pretty shiny blogs out there that include pictures, maps, links, and some even have a "Best of..." section. Basically, you'd buy my blog at a Walmart whereas there are many others that you'd buy at ABC Carpet. Some people go all "Dear Diary" or as I like to say "Are you There God, It's Me Margaret" on their blogs so when they are 45, not married and living alone with their cats they can look back to the time when they were 30, not married and living alone with their cats. To each their own. No disrespect to my unmarried, cat-loving readers either. I happen to love unmarried women, and I even like cats. Anyway, the majority of blogs out there are public. I don't write for my health, I write for my die-hard fans (please continue to send money). My die-hard fans know me pretty well and make up the majority of my readers, and they'd know this sheyn ponem if they saw it on the street or in bar. But really, if you didn't know me, you'd perhaps think I was kind of bitter, or kind of funny, or kind of cranky, or kind of dashingly handsome. Truth be told, I can be whatever I want on this thing, but I tries to keep it rrreal. So the question is at what point to I turn this public thing into a public public thing from a public private thing. When do I say, put this link up on facebook or add it to the list of other Ross MBA Bloggers?

The answer is...perhaps one day. Right now, at the beginning of school you just make sure that you're not tripping on stuff, you're not bleeding, and not talking too loudly, basically, not being "that guy". Because Guy in the Blue Shirt in the Second to Last Row yesterday, I promise you that you aren't the first person to stay up until 4am drinking beers, and I promise you that nobody wanted to hear your stupid Edward-40 Hands stories from college. Yeah yeah yeah, you taped 40s to you hands a la Edward Scissorhands and didn't untape them until they were finished. When you're done regaling us with your epic stories please report to the front of the class immediately to collect your Badge of Awesomeness. At this point, you meet people, you make friends, you make some jokes, you buy some rounds, you shower often, you commiserate over student loans (even though you are lucky enough to not have any), and you fit in and find your niche. You don't rock the boat. Maybe the public public isn't ready for THIS (me pointing to myself), and maybe THIS (again, me pointing to myself), isn't ready for the public public. But if either parties are every ready you, my lovely readers, will be the first to know.

Carry the 1...

There was an episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air that ran in 1990 called "Clubba Hubba". If you don't believe me then go to IMDB.com. Basically the premise was that Will wanted to take out Uncle Phil's friend's daughter, Mimi Mumford, princess of the country club. The episode was about Will trying to refine his manners and techniques in order to capture the heart of the country-club-going, pastel-wearing, prep-school attending Mimi. Will's training for a shot at Mimi included, among other things, a crash course in dinner table etiquette.

aspirations, or his impeccable manners. She wanted a bad boy, just like me...There's a scene where Will, Geoffrey, and Carlton are in the family room and they're quizzing Will on the proper cutlery. "Which is the salad fork", "which is the dessert spoon", etc etc. Will can't pick out the the correct cutlery to save his life. He'd seen all these forks, knives, and spoons before but he just didn't know which was meant for what, or where each belonged. After a two day crash course in math I kind of feel the same way. Sure, I've seen all the material before, and yeah, I've even used a couple of the formulas in the last few years, but sit me down and ask me to put these things into place and it's like, what the? I'm not intimidated, just a little in the dark, and busy shaking out the cobwebs, just like Will was. Eventually Will manages to master the place settings, and sets off to impress Mimi's father and win Mimi's heart and a date to the Apple Blossom Ball. In the end though, Mimi wasn't impressed by Will's faux persona. She wanted a bad boy, just like me...ok, not like me.

Like Will, I have no doubt I'll get a handle on the material. It's all right there for me and I just have to figure out what fork I'm going to need to use to stab myself in the leg to keep me awake during accounting. I might even ask Mimi to the Apple Blossom Ball. I don't know why this came to mind, but I thought there were some good parallels, so I'm sharing it with ya'll.

I need to get outside and get some fresh air asap. Next blog...some general b-school impressions and a brief synopsis on high-fives.

Il buono, Il brutto, Il cattivo

I wikipedia-ed, wikipediad, wikipedia-d, TJ Whosyamama, that.

THE GOOD
The weather has been great, although it rained today, but I've played ball three times this week and I even made a friend. Hooray for me! Playing pickup ball on a summer afternoon with the guys is one of the most masculine, manly, straight up being-a-dude thing that can possibly exist. You can play 5 games with a guy, give him high fives with your sweaty-ass hand, hell, maybe you even pat him on the ass when he makes a great shot to win the game. But regardless of what takes place between the lines, getting a dude's phone number so you can call him to play ball some other time is just a little bit awkward. It's like...

Guy 1: So, yeah, that was fun. We should play later this week.
Guy 2: Yeah, definitely.
Guy 1: So I have my cell phone with in my bag, but uh...
Guy 2: Yeah, my phone's in my bag too, but it's off.
Guy 1: Oh ok, no, I mean...why don't you give me your number.
Guy 2: Ok, don't you want to put it in your phone?
Guy 1: Nah, I have a good memory. I'll just put it in after I finish having sex later. With a girl.

And that, children, is how you exchange numbers on the basketball court.

In other GOOD NEWS...
I bought a flat screen LCD TV that I'm waiting to have hooked up. Again, hooray. There is a Thai restaurant a block and a half from my apartment, which is something I was very concerned about not having here at school. I did the requisite Pad See Yu test to see how good it was, and it was decent. Probably decent enough for two years. The best Pad See Yu is still at Luscious Thai on 1st Ave between 60th and 61st. There's a very good sneaker store two blocks from my apartment. Gotta love that. Lastly, I never had a car in college or needed one in NYC, and I'm enjoying having one at school, and at $2.78/gallon I leave the gas station only feeling slightly nauseated.


THE BAD
For someone who just arrived on a beautiful college campus I have a lot to complain about. I don't want to sound like a brat, so I'll just get this out of the way.

1. My bed is next to the elevator shaft. It is loud. I am a light sleeper.
2. I have a Labrador-sized hole in my closet. It was temporarily patched up by a man weighing over 500 lbs. He ate half a ham sandwich and put the other half in the hole for later.
3. The hot water in the bathroom is somewhere between non-existent and it's-so-lukewarm-I'd-rather-just-not-have-it-at-all.
4. Repairs on all of these things are not scheduled for another month.

I know I'm going to care a lot less about this once I'm not spending the bulk of my time in my apartment although the shower thing is really going to piss me off. The workers, all eight of them, were so nice it was hard to get mad at them. The interesting thing was when they spoke to me and talked about one another they didn't use names or even "he" or "that feller over there", it was all the "old man", or the "young one". For example....

Me: Why the eff is it going to take a month to get me hot water in the bathroom?
Worker: Well, you gotta speak to the Old Man about that one. We're working as fast as we can, and me and the Young One here are working 10 hour days.
Me: I appreciate you and uh, the Young One helping me out, but this should've been dealt with a long time ago.
Worker: The Young One will be back tomorrow to get you a new showerhead and in the meantime I'm gonna talk with the Old Man to discuss timing.

My question is how do you graduate from "young one". I'll tell you what though, Young One needs to shave his Football mustache (11 whiskers on a side) because he looks like he's 14. Actually, he might be 14.


THE UGLY
If you are looking for a date for prom you probably want to avoid the Walmart in Livonia. Ok, that was kind of mean. I don't want people to get the wrong impression about Livonia, so I'll say that you should probably avoid the Walmart in Bellville as well. It's hard to maintain that heroin chic physique when the 2-gallon red Kool-Aid is on special "Rollback" and it only costs $1.49. And speaking of mustaches, the number of kids running around with Juicy Juice mustaches is just absolutely astounding. I swear to you that my kids will NEVER go to school in the morning looking like they just made out with Ronald McDonald.

So in Walmart I'm in the electronics section because I'm going to buy a flatscreen and I'm there looking, comparing, contemplating. From around the corner comes this 4-toothed woman, and she's 100% talking to herself and she's saying "Ain't nobody gonna stop me today, no sir, I had told them I was gettin' a TV, oooh lawdy, mmm mmm mmm, I love me this silver one right hurrr....". Then from the top of her lungs she yells "Excuse me, salesLADY, hello..." obviously talking to nobody in particular. Well she must've gotten what she wanted because she had a 42" TV, a DVD player, and a huge bag of McDonald's in her cart when she came up to the register. All the while she's holding this wad of cash. When she finally gets to pay she is literally at the register uncrinkling ones and rolling dimes and nickels to pay for it all. And once she realized she couldn't afford the DVD player AND the TV she takes the DVD player out of her cart, turns to the guy behind her and says "I didn't want that no way". And I guess the moral of the story here is two-fold: 1. A free show in a Walmart after a long day of big box shopping is almost priceless, and 2. Who needs teeth when you can buy McDonald's and watch the Price is Right in HD on your 42 inch TV.

Walmart did me right that afternoon. I got my TV, a printer, a fire extinguisher, and some Monterrey Jack. And truth be told, do I really need a TV for entertainment when there's a Walmart right down the road. I think not.

Todo...I've a Feeling We're Not in Connecticut Anymore

Michigan. The Land of 10,000 White Trash Steak Restaurants. Michigan, I kid because I love, I kid because I love. Anyway, I know you are all dying to know how the 11 hour drive was. It went a little something like this...

Welcome to New York
Welcome to New Jersey
Welcome to Pennsylvania
Welcome to Ohio
Welcome to Michigan

And that was it, plain and simple. It's so easy maybe you'll feel like driving up to visit me. You start feeling like you ain't in the Northeast no mo' somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania. I even saw the filming locations for a couple TV shows I've seen before. You might have seen these shows as well...

Cops: Toledo
Cops: Cleveland
Cops: Pittsburgh
Cops: Ypsilanti

I think the crowning moment when I realized I would be living in the midwest for 2 years happened somewhere right over the Michigan border at about 10pm on Thursday. So you know those bumper stickers that say "My Child is an Honor Roll Student at Whatever Middle School"? Of course you've seen those. And you've likely seen the bumper stickers that say "My Child Beat Up Your Honor Roll Student", which is kind of amusing for like five seconds. Well in Michigan I saw this gem "My Horse Bucked Off Your Honor Roll Student" complete with a picture of a horse bucking some little boy backwards into the air. I mean, seriously, you tell me where you've seen that bumper sticker before. The guy also had a bumper sticker that said "Get My American Flag Off Your Foreign Car". This here is car country, and don't you forget it.

But anyway, the campus is really really nice and my apartment is coming along slowly, but after hitting up ever major big box with my Dad the past few days I am in good shape. And just a shout to my Dad, because we did an absurd amount of hustling in the past 3 days. I could've done it myself, but it surely would've taken me until graduation. Thank you. And because not only am I the source of 5 minutes of entertaining reading a few days a week, but also the source of important suggestions and recommendations I'm going to give you this brief synopsis

Ikea > Bed Bath and Beyond > Linens and WT > Yo Momma

Ikea is beyond ridiculous. If you are moving and budget conscious and you are in Ikea and want to hold out to see what's up at the other big boxes save your time and buy it at Ikea. Where else can you buy a plant, wines glasses, a couch, a tool set, art and get 15 Swedish meatballs (for $4.59 at Cafeteria) all whilst drinking the finest Lingonberry juice you have ever tasted? None of this half-assed, from concentrate Lingonberry juice I've seen you all drinking lately, I said THE FINEST. And of course it is very tough to beat their prices.

I have a ton of red tape to deal with in the next week or so but I'm going to keep up with the blog because I hear you America, you just can't get enough. And as long as I'm in the foreign land of Michigan I'm going to have plenty to write about. So I'm just going to leave you with this last little anecdote. I went out in my 'hood yesterday to buy sandwiches for me and my Dad. He wanted Roast Beef with lettuce, tomato, and Russian. Easiest sandwich ever. So I see a sub shop which will obviously have what I need and I go in. And this place is a chain mind you. So I go in and I order the sandwich, Roast Beef with lettuce, tomato, and Russian. The guy at the counter shoots me this crazy look and says "We don't have Russian", to which I replied "Really?". So this jagass says, "Hey man, this is a sub shop, we don't serve salads here". Oh so in the Midwest I guess Russian dressing is too dainty to put on sandwiches? What do they use instead of Russian, perhaps the blood of their first-born?. Or is it that people here are soooo pro-America that they won't even carry Russian dressing because it's too "foreign sounding"? I know people are sensitive about losing their jobs to foreign competition, and I understand that, but it's Russian dressing people, Russian dressing isn't going to steal your job so just relax. I mean, I love me some America, but jeez.

I'm off to do some walking around, and despite my ranting and raving I really do like it here and am looking forward to paying $6.59/lb. for cold cuts at the local Kroger for the next two years.

The onions in my salsa make me cry and miss NYC

NYC was literally in my rear-view mirror as I drove back home having moved out of my apartment. For whatever reason, whenever I think about my departure from NYC I think of two ridiculous cheers that can sometimes be heard at the end of a sporting event...

1. It's all ov-er clapclap clapclapclap
2. Warm up the bus, warm up the bus.

These phrases are meant to add insult to injury for the loser of a sporting event. Maybe I feel like big, bad, New York City is mocking me as I leave for a college town. Maybe my new 48104 zip isn't as sexy as 1-double O-21 (sadly, it isn't). Part of me wishes the powers that be acknowledge my departure from the city with a moment of silence, or maybe a life-sized statue of me hailing a cab...you know, something understated and meaningful. Maybe they could do one of those installments like they did with the painted cows, but instead of cows, just paint statues of me and place them all over the city. The reality is that NYC will continue to chug along, and people are going to keep keepin' on. Before I left I managed to make it to my favorite cheap eats place, Pampano Taqueria. I will miss those tacos. That place is really a hidden gem. Cheap, fresh, unlimited home made salsa, and the guy at the counter hisses the shit out of his "s"s so much so it's almost like he's mocking himself. If you don't believe me then order a bistec, carne asada, pescado, and an agua fresca and see for yourself. If it was socially acceptable these days to take a date to a taco stand for dinner I would take them to this one.

My friends, The Summer of Finger is almost over, and this cereal killer is down to his last box of Cheerios. Next time I hit this crazy blogosphere it will be from Ann Arbor, MI, the home of Finger: The Blog for the next two years (assuming I graduate on time).

Costco...for the beautiful people too

First, I just want to say I appreciate the feedback I've been getting on this blog thing. Granted, the feedback has been mostly from family and friends, but whatever.

I went to Costco today and I'm not going to bore you with the whole "who really needs 3 lbs of coleslaw" thing, because that's old. But I want to comment about a few things. One was a blue cheese burger which entailed bits of blue cheese pre-mashed up into a hamburger patty. The kosher man's wet dream if you will. Flavored water, fine, flavored chips, obviously, flavored condoms, pretty nasty but this is America, so whatever...but pre-flavored meat? Are we really at the point where we are too lazy to top our own burgers. I ate about four samples so I can vouch for the blue cheese burger's tastiness, but if I'm eating a cheeseburger I'm doing it ye olde fashioned way. I did buy some regular burgers though, Kirkland burgers, and if I wanted to I could've bought some Kirkland t-shirts, and maybe even a Kirkland sofa too. I can only comment on their t-shirts, of which I own many, but if their burgers feel even half as soft as their t-shirts do then I might forgo B-school and work for Senor Kirkland, because this man is a genuis.

If you ever want to prevent people from spending unnecessarily you can call me and for a few dollars I'll say "no" to everything your friend/spouse/roommate/parent ever picks out, at any store. I can single-handedly cut $200 of your monthly expenditures. When we moved I went around and took every last roll of toilet paper with me, and the reason is this "This is America, and shit ain't free". Maybe I'm cheap, maybe I'm crafty, maybe you want to take me home to your mother and make me your baby's daddy, but without a doubt, I can save you money and I can be your own personal Costco, sans initiation fee.