If I Get Eaten by a Shark

If I get eaten by a shark while in Australia I didn't want that last post to be my, well, last post. As such, I had to just get another one in. I was feeling kind of out of it and I believe I had some sort of dizziness resulting from the cheesesteak I made myself for dinner last night. I tend to get tired earlier these days, and I don't know why, but I don't think it is because of inactivity. I just think I need to "have a sleep" aka have a nap, as Bret and Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords say.

Bret? Present. Jemaine? Present.

This past week's episode centered around Jemaine, a New Zealander, dating an Aussie, much to the disappointment of Bret and Murray, and basically if you don't watch the show you have no idea what the hell I am talking about. Anyway, I thought it was a good episode, especially because it reminded me of how different those Aussies talk. At one point Jemaine's Aussie girlfriend excuses herself because she has to "go to the dunny to murder a brownsnake". Dunny is toilet, and you can figure out the rest. Seriously, I can't wait to relax with my cobbers and have a coldie and a sanger on a sunny arvo while sitting in my togs watching the tanned Jillaroos. Which obviously means, I can't wait to relax with my friends and have a beer and a sandwich on a sunny afternoon while sitting in my swimsut watching the tanned female trainee station managers. Wait what? Female trainee station managers? I don't even know what that means. Is that like a female gas station attendant, because if it is that's kind of gross. I think I need to work on this a little bit before I go opening my mouth over there.

But before I get there I have to fly there and that means close to 22 hours on a plane...with snakes...and Samuel L. Jackson. Flying plus layovers will surely put me over the 24 hour mark.

Have you ever seen snakes on a plane?

And you know what they say, all flying and no showers makes Johnnie a smelly boy. I'm not looking forward to it at all. At all. At all. Luckily I am flying with a friend so we can commiserate. The only cool part is that basically I'll be time traveling since I leave on Wednesday and arrive on Friday in Australia. It's literally the closest I'll get to being on the TV show Lost where everyone is all kinds of screwed up about time and people are always asking "When are we?".
Kate: Finger, when are we?
Me: I just proposed to you and you said 'yes'.
Kate: What?
Me: What?
Kate: What?
Me: You don't remember? We crossed the international date line, champagne, the ring, tears, hugs, you said you'd convert to Judaism...
Kate: I really don't recall that.
Me: It's the island Kate. IT'S THIS DAMN ISLAND! It's playing tricks on you.
Kate: Well, I guess, I mean...
Me: Listen, you got a little schmutz on your shirt there. You want my Tide pen? My mom swears by this thing...

And basically that's what I expect to happen when I cross the international date line, or something very very similar to that. I'll be time traveling, bitches, so that's really all I can say about that. Sydney, Cairns, Melbourne here I come. I'll take pictures and make at least three memories. That's a promise.

So see you later all you yabbo sheepshaggers (uncouth New Zealanders) and stickybeaks (nosy people), I'm off to Oz on Wednesday and I'll see you on the flipside unless I of course become a shark biscuit (a shark biscuit).

Shmalentine's

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, which I celebrated by going to a college hockey game and and then I did what any single person on campus should do on Valentine's Day and that's go to Rick's. I could explain to you in words what happens to special young ladies who go to Rick's on Valentine's Day, but I feel like a graph will probably do the trick.




Although, I feel like that's how it is there most nights anyway, so perhaps it was nothing special. Also, under the category of things that are nothing special, those new Mission 'G' commercials for Gatorade. Gatorade keeps taking 30 seconds of my life that I'll never get back.

I was pretty productive this past week so I've done all my final projects/papers, and now only have one test standing between me and my Wednesday flight to Australia. I did my job stimulating the economy in the past week, buying a camera and accessories, and $1 travel-size toothpaste. Every dollar counts. I'm pretty excited, not so much about the flooding in the north or about the brush fires in the south, but I'm hoping it'll be a seriously awesome 16 days down under. Should be a good time, and I'll be radio silent while I'm there, but will surely have stories when I'm back. For the next three days I'm going to figure out how to get three weeks of clothing into a gym bag and a backpack. Oh, it's happening. You may remember (likely not though) my blog about the 80/20 Rule in which I said that 80% of the time you only wear 20% of the clothes you bring, so keeping that in mind I'm going to be a better packer or just make sure I steal some clothing when I'm there.

Any must do Aussie activities let me know.

Hey Mr. Postman

I'm going to start off by saying never buy anything from Buy.com. This blog post will hopefully serve as that huge inflatable rat that you'll sometimes see in front of stores in NYC that violate union labor issue(s). So whatever you do, don't buy stuff from Buy.com, they've made my life miserable for the past week. And while I do exaggerate, they really have made purchasing a digital camera a royal pain. Bottom line, Buy.com's verification process makes buying a gun seem like a walk in the park, or so I've heard.

Rat.

Some of my friends are abroad right now. Study abroad in business school probably is as much of a joke as it sounds. Anyway, one friend is in Barcelona, so last night before we went to the hockey game a couple friends got together and did a skype video chat with him. I came in a little late, but they were doing a Power Hour (shot of beer every minute for an hour) via Skype. You gotta love technology. So every minute we'd stop our conversation say "drink" and take a shot of beer and then continue the conversation. It was like we were all right there looking at each other in the living room and drinking. I still think the whole video chat thing reminds me too much of Dateline: How to Catch a Predator, but it actually is a pretty awesome thing, especially when you are talking to a friend who is overseas. But then I got to thinking, and I guess this is how my mind works, but back in the 1800s how could they have pulled this off? This is how I envisioned it going down.

So it's 1866 and your sitting around your wood-burning stove and wifey is over by the mortal and pestle grinding some oats for tomorrow's breakfast and off in the distance you see a moving speck. As that speck gets closer you see it is the courier on horseback approaching your house. The courier comes in, and being the cordial folks that you are, you fix the man some toast and tea and talk about the weather. You say, "How long do you reckon this cold spell will last?" The courier sips his tea and says "About a fortnight". You look out at your crops and know that a fortnight's worth of frost will surely make it difficult to make ends meet, especially with your youngest entering kindergarten. That $15 prep school tuition won't pay for itself, and don't even try to suggest to the wife that maybe you should consider public school. The courier finishes his tea, mounts his steed and rides off to deliver his next letter two towns over. The envelope is from your friend living in the old country, England. The postmark indicates that this letter was sent about two months and three weeks ago, after all, overseas travel does take a long time. Your wife yells from the next room "who is it from?" and you say "jesus woman, I just walked in the door, can you give me 30 minutes to myself and stop breathing down my neck. Thirty minutes. That's all I ask". You grab your hunting knife off the mantle and cut open the envelope. In the envelope there's a small piece of paper. The paper is a fine paper, and you admire the density of this European papyrus. You turn over the note and this is what it says...


So you go over to the icebox, pour yourself a cold one, and take a sip.

I don't know how else this could've gone down. I guess they just do this and then after a few years they've taken 60 shots of beer. It's something to think about. Or not.

Two nights ago basketball game, last night hockey game, and tonight the Business School Follies show. I'm keeping busy, and I hope you all are too.

Love and Basketball

It is snowy here, and I'm sitting in my apartment, listening to Jay Z on my stereo. I just fried and egg and put it on top of some leftover Korean food. I went to the gym this morning for an hour and a half and I have class at 2:20p today. It is my only class today. I will come home, continue to plan my Spring Break trip to Australia and then meet my friends for dinner before our Wednesday bowling league starts. When we are done we will go to the bars. I've been getting a lot of people saying "are you sad to be leaving school in a few months?". What do you think.

Upon some gentle chiding from a friend last week about not playing basketball enough and not loving it enough I've been getting on the court more and more in the past few weeks.

Just like this...except not at all like this.

In the NYTimes a few weeks back there was an article about how when Michelle Robinson first started dating the President she asked her brother Craig Robinson to play pickup with Barack, because there was a belief in the Robinson family (a family with a strong basketball pedigree) that you could tell a lot about a person by the way they played basketball. Unfortunately I can't find the article, but when I do I'll link to it. (It was from Time). Well I would agree 100% with that. Last week I played my first refereed game since I left New York, which was fun, except for this one guy on my team. This guy has all the gear, he is stronger than pretty much anyone out there, yet complains the most about fouls. I don't know if he can dunk, but he sure as hell can miss a ton of attempted dunks during warmups. He doesn't play defense. He doesn't come out of the game, and he is a horrendous shooter. When I play pickup with this guy and he's on the other team I just yell "shoot it" whenever he touches it. And he usually does. If you play you know someone like this.

So then I got to thinking, would I want to be in a group with this guy, or work with this guy? Probably not. So our reffed game last week was part of a grad league, and I was just subbing in for someone that couldn't make it. I was hoping we'd play the med school or the law school, but no, we get the School of Information. Five Chinese guys, three with identical black glasses, one white guy, and two white girls. So what does our no-defense-playing-horrible-shooting friend do as soon as the 5'1" girl takes a jumper...he sends into the 42nd row. That's cute, especially because we were up by about 20. I don't get too emotional out there on the court, but at one point I went to the bench and told someone to take him out. I got pissed, and now when I play against him and he makes a shot I say out loud "that dude is garbage, keep giving him that". My blood is boiling...

But back to the rec league game. So at one point the School of Information was making a bit of a run, and I couldn't understand how. But then I realized what was going on and let the ref in on a little piece of information, if you will. These guys were subbing on the fly, and right off the break like it was a freaking hockey game. I was in China for a few weeks back in 2004 and I played about a half an hour of pickup with my cousin and his Chinese friends, and there was absolutely no stoppage in play, so once that ball went through the hoop they just started up again. They clearly didn't know any better. It was amusing more than anything, and most importantly, no broken fingers, ankles, or noses.

And now to love love love. We had our Business School Prom/Formal last weekend. I will not bore you with prom nostalgia, but you can check it out here if you love schadenfreude. So what of Prom 2009. A bunch of nerds getting dressed up and possibly having their first and only night out of the year. Getting drunk, "acting a fool", stuffing their faces with cookies and cake, beer tears, fights, wine stained dresses. Yes ma'am, I have seen it all. How about an extra scoop of INFIDELITY on top of all that. If this event had a theme it would be "Infidelity Rules the Day". Who knew? Especially from the collective awkwardness that is business school. Maybe I don't mix it up with b-school folks as much as others, but good Lord, all the gossip and the drunken debauchery with people who were married or fiance-d or just in relationships. I would say that if you go to school here, and your significant other does not, there is a solid 40% chance you are being cheated on, or you are cheating on your (apparently not so) special someone. If your "other" is not in the US bump that up to 70%. What? Do you question this? Do you want stories? How about the one where the European girl comes to town and she's arguably "bschool cute" (nothing to aspire to, trust me) but engaged to her Slavic Prince Charming...but then basically started dating a piece of American Apple Pie with blonde hair and broke off the engagement. I suppose once you kind of granulate all these relationships it's kind of like Junior High, but now it's junior high with wedding rings and kids. I suppose junior high has kids these days though. The point being, MBA stands not for 'Masters of Business Administration', but for 'Married But Available'.

So if you want to do some due diligence on that potential mate, a) take them to the courts for a little pickup basketball, and b) take them to prom and feed a couple Makers rocks then witness them actually or metaphorically swat that little girl's shot into the 42nd row, and then make that decision of whether you want that person on your team for life.

Surround Sound

I am sick, and I am tired, but I also have the day off from school so I can rest up...or can I. I cannot sleep late ever and let me tell you why. So when three things happen you call it a trifecta, like in horse racing. Well my apartment is officially the Quadfecta of Auditory Hell. I am a light sleeper which makes it worse, but if the government is looking for new sleep deprivation tactics, I think I might recommend apartment 402 at the wonderful Forest Plaza Inn Resort. I'm just going to break it down by direction. So assume I am lying face up on my bed at this point...

To the Left: To the left is really the most mild of my annoyances.I have a noisy fridge, one that clicks and hums, and occasionally sounds like it is about to explode. The good news is my fridge only broke once this year. I have to walk through my kitchen to get anywhere else in my apartment which apparently is the hallmark of a building built circa 1925. I made that up, but in case I feel like making a grilled cheese on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night I am incredibly well situated.

Towards my Feet: So this is where I have my window. My view to the world. It's actually a pretty decent view and in the Winter I can see a lot. I can also see the back door of the undergrad housing complex next door and around 11am on pretty much any day of the week I can see girls leave wearing their skanky outfits from the night before. Awwww. Daddy would be proud. But with the good comes the bad, or should I say, the "bayg". When there's a party on one of the top floors, and there are only 5 floors, and it's in an apartment facing mine I can hear literally every single word. I don't mean to sound like Old Man River, bitching about the youth of America, but sometimes at 4am you don't need to hear dudes yelling, "Dude, rip another shot. Go! Go! Go! Ahhhh Collllleeeege!" I'm actually kind of jealous they are all having so much fun. But those girls. Will they not shut up? Jesus. This is a typical conversation I hear.

Girl 1: Bayg Bayg. Bayg bayg bayg.
Girl 2: No way!
Girl 1: Bayg.
Girl 2: That's amaaaaaazing. She is such a bitch.

But that's not even the worst part. The worst part is the burned out Fraternity house that is being worked on. Here's the link. So the workers start at about oh 6am every morning, and they are working on the top floors and apparently they are gutting the place. So this means of course they are clearing debris and putting it in the garbage. And when I say clearing debris I mean dropping huge pieces of metal from the roof into one of those huge industrial metal garbage containers ...all morning...every morning...rain or shine. This of course is awesome because I have an unobstructed view to this house and can see when stuff is about to be dumped off the roof. Of course, you know, I'd rather be sleeping, but a show is a show right?

Behind my Head: There are four floors in my building and my head is directly, directly, directly next to the elevator shaft. And we are talking about an elevator shaft that is over 80 years old. I am not exaggerating. It's the kind with the two doors you have to pull back to get in. You have to pull back the two metal doors that slam every time they close. Any time anyone gets in and operates the elevator, on any floor, I hear it. I'm just going to repeat that last sentence. Any time comma anyone gets in and operates the elevator comma on any floor comma I hear it. The sound is not is not a gentle buzz, or a little click. It's like this.

Elevator: Knock knock.
Me: Who's there?
Elevator: It's the Industrial Revolution, motherfucker, and your ass is mine.

I don't know exactly what the Industrial Revolution would sound like, but that's what it sounds like every time the elevator is used. I hear it, and I feel the rumbling in my bones, from 5am when people wake up to run or whatever, to 3am, when the Chinese cats across the hall come home and smoke Pall Malls and watch Friends. It's been a year and a half and I still can't get used to it. True story, I used to go to the second floor, and then leave the elevator door slightly ajar so it wouldn't move if someone presses the button (there's some mechanism that requires full-closure of the elevator, thankfully). But if you are on the second floor you take the stairs, so the hope was that people would come in, press the button and the elevator would stay on Two forever so they'd give up and walk up all the way, and thus nobody would use the elevator. Sometimes it works. I'm an ass.

To my Right (aka through my wall): Have you ever watched Discovery Channel? I hope you have. Have you ever seen a lion catch a gazelle and bring it down? Do you remember what it sounds like? The guttural snarls and the high pitched whimpering. No? Well maybe you should meet my neighbor then. I think his name is Steve and I think he weighs 400 lbs, and I think about buying him breathe-right strips all the time to open up his passages. Sometimes I think he is choking, sometimes I think he is harboring African rhinos, sometimes it sounds like he is nursing raccoons, and there are other times I think he is chopping wood.

For starters it's like we are living in Memoirs of a Geisha times. The walls might as well be made of paper. And if they were I would reach through those walls and slap the man silly.

Steve, I can hear AND see you eating a gazelle in bed. Didn't we already discuss this?

Basically, this is my life.

I've smacked that wall so many times trying to get this guy to shut up, and maybe he will stop for a minute but then it's back to operating that chainsaw. But let's say that ol' Steve has had a quiet night, and that Mr. FingerTheBlog is sleeping like a little bebe, well at 6:08am Steve's alarm goes off. That damn alarm might as well be next to my face because I hear it like a whisper in my ear. Sometimes I'll wake up with Steve at 6:08 and slap the wall like it's a snooze button. 6:08am, like clockwork. And if I am so lucky as to fall back asleep right away, well you think 400lb Steve is taking the stairs when he leaves his apartment at 6:30am. Oh helllll no.

So there you have it. A cacophony of sound that is free with the rent I pay. I have four months left of this. If you don't think I'm buying Steve Breathe-Right strips and sliding them under his door before I leave Ann Arbor you are sorely mistaken.

That Smell in the Air...That is Business

Recruiting for MBA1s starts up next week and if you want to reminisce like I do you can go back and read some of my old posts. I'm still slightly involved with the process, giving my time to first years for mock interviews (you can call me Saint FingerTheBlog or San DedoElBlogo for those of you bilingually inclined). It's kind of funny because I try to be tough in these mock interviews because the better prepared these folks are the easier it is going to be for the real thing. I put on this pseudo-scowl, and sometimes I cut people off if they're taking too long to answer something...all tactics that were done to me when I was on the other side of the table. My favorite part of the mock interviews is when I rattle off a bunch of technical questions and then some scenario questions (tell me about a time when....) and then I kind of pause, pretend to write something down, scowl, and then say, without even looking up, "what do you do for fun?". And every time it catches the interviewee off guard. It's the easiest question in the world, but people are always thrown off. I was giving a mock yesterday and I asked "what do you do for fun?" and dude's all, "ummmm, I like reading", so I ask what's the last book he read and he starts saying something and cuts himself off, and then says "Winning by Jack Welch". Liar liar, pantalones en fuego. I don't know, but that question allows you to say just about anything in the world about anything at all, but if your answer to "what do you do for fun" is that you read Jack Welch, which is cool and all, it just sounds supremely lame. You can say you fly kites, rassle gators, or eat jalapenos. Reading Jack Welch...yawn...let me hit that snooze button for the rest of the interview.

Gator Bait!

Last week I interviewed a chinese girl who I've met with a few times to help out. So I gave her a mock and we're talking after the mock and I'm about to say goodbye and leave and she's like "One more thing, is my english good enough?" So I say, "yes, you should be fine", which I truly believe, but then she pressed a little bit and it's like she wanted me to measure how good she was. I'm not sure what she wanted to hear but I was tempted to say, "yeah, you're a little better than Yao Ming, but not quite as good as Jackie Chan".

Yo. Yao? Yo. Yao.

I just told her, like I tell everyone "you should be fine".

Let me tell you what is also fine, the new $100 million business school, which finally opened it's doors. It's pretty unbelievable, and I don't want to complain so as to sound spoiled but I have one minor beef...

Minor beef

...and I don't want you to think that I am opposed to LEED Certification because I love me some LEED Certification but the urinals are soooo green, (how green are they?), the urinals are so green that they are WATER FREE. Remember back in the day when you were at the water fountain on the playground and some kid was taking forever and someone would yell out, "hey save some for the fish" and then everyone would laugh and then throw dodgeballs at the fat kid? I do. Well let me tell you, the Ross School of Business is saving some for the fish, in fact, they are saving a ton of water for the fish. The only issue is that the bathroom smells like a "squatty-potty" by about 1pm every day.

Squatty Potty

Instead of Water Free can we have an "Almost Water Free But Just Enough Water Not to Stank But Also Just Enough to Help the Environment" urinal? Can we do that instead. Like I say when people complain about the new school, "next time you want something different you spend your own $100 million". I got $23 in my wallet, so that's a start.

I Got a Feeling 2009 is Going to be Kind of Awesome

Hello 2009. Classes start tomorrow and I think I'm ready to get going on this new semester. I've got Susan Sarandon narrating Discovery Channel's Planet Earth for me this evening, while I chow down on a burrito and blog...and such is the life of a business school student. Winter Break, I believe, is reason enough to go back to graduate school. I spent break down in Florida with family, eating right, relaxing, and soaking the Vitamin D from the sun. Almost 3 weeks later I'm ready to rock in 2009. These poor seals stand no chance against this Great White shark by the way. It's like me trying to outrun a killer school bus with razor-sharp teeth. Anyway, Ann Arbor is no Palm Beach. For example last night I went out with some friends in Ann Arbor and enjoyed some local beers during a 10p-midnight happy hour, while listening to a pretty good cover band at an Irish Pub. In Palm Beach the scene is different. One night some kid had some people push his Lamborghini out of a parking spot, and then proceeded to get in and peel out of the parking lot at many miles per hour. Everyone at the bar probably thought the kid was a complete tool. That type of thing just doesn't happen in Ann Arbor. I think snow tires on a Lamborghini would probably look stupid anyway.

Before I left I cashed in on some free burritos from Chipotle. In Ann Arbor they were giving out burritos, and apparently in Palm Beach they were giving away tremendously largely tremendous diamond engagement rings. A couple years ago they were giving out these in Palm Beach...

Bentley Continentals for EVERYONE!!!

This year it's diamond rings. Maybe they grow on trees down there, or maybe they are given out like samples of iced mocha lattes at Starbucks. It's pretty shocking really. Now I know some of these kids cannot possibly afford such trinkets, so I'm just going to assume that they've just gotten extremely proficient at jewel theft. Maybe I'll explore starting a jewel theft cooperative in my Entrepreneurial Studies class this term.

I've decided to put Finance and Accounting behind me and explore some of the other types of classes offered here at Michigan. I'm taking a negotiations class, which I absolutely know will give me some blog fodder.

That's really all I got. This is second semester senior year all over again. Everyone's all "dude, we gotta go out hard" and there's something to be said for that. We'll see who is all talk and who is for real I guess. All I know is that I'll appreciate Second Semester Senior Year: Part Two way more than I appreciated Second Semester Senior Year: Part One.