Friday, June 11, 2010

Blackhawks and Books

Today, the Blackhawks, an athletic team representing Chicago, were champions of some hockeyed game.

Pictured above: a Blackhawk. It is reassuring to know that casual racism and arbitrary sports are still living happily together.

They were to hold a parade today downtown, and some of my colleagues encouraged me to attend. "Ah," I thought to myself. "This is a good chance to bond with the locals." This was immediately followed by the thought "I don't care about any of this."

Pictured above: I don't even care about this picture.

Nevertheless, I found myself alone in a sea of inebriated Chicago-ans at 11:00 this morning. Upon reaching the intersection of Michigan and Erie, my brain came to its own intersection of misery and ennui. I turned to leave, and my spirits were brightened when I noticed this window display.

Pictured above: Triumph of humanity. It is difficult to see, but the mannequin is wearing a polo shirt with two collars popped. I can only assume he is on his way to forcing a lesser mannequin into drinking an entire bottle of Smirnoff Ice (the name is deceptive; it actually is consumed as a liquid).

On my way back, I passed by the medical school and pondered my own future. On Monday I will start my first research rotation, which will also be the first time I will be paid for being a scientist. It will be first time I won't be able to excuse my incompetence by being an undergraduate.

Pictured above: The owner of my soul for the next 8+ years.

But rather than dwell on trivial things like my future or the scientific progress of humanity, I began to look for literature to read during my hour-long commute to and from the laboratory over these summer months. From my limited experience of seeing hipsters read on trains, I knew I needed to be careful when choosing the right book, something both pretentious and bizarre. I wanted other passengers on the train to think I was an interesting person, but also have no desire to speak to me.

Pictured above: The semi-complete works of Mr. John Hodgman.

Perhaps books of fake trivia seems like a shallow choice. But I defy you to not be entertained by a list of 700 fake hobo names.

1 comment:

  1. I can't wait until you fail at Trivial Pursuit because you can't remember which trivia is real and which is not! Also, Floozie sends her regards. Not necessarily her "best wishes," and definitely not a hello. She and NASA are far too efficient for emotional displays.