Wine Accident, or Wine Murder?

This was quite the weekend. I was able to scratch several items off my bucket list, that is, things I want to do before I drop out of medical school and open my bespoke bucket business.

First, I had a homemade ginger ale from a local Asian eatery. You could tell it was made with real ginger, because it had that unique onslaught of violent ginger flavor rocketed into your taste buds.

Pictured above: In-house ginger ale (with violence).

I also ate Thai doughnuts!

Pictured above: My two favorite things: doughnuts and Japanese stereotypes.

[Note: above two photos courtesy of Miss Mitali]

But food aside, I also fulfilled a lifelong dream to solve a murder in a grocery store. While at Jewel-Osco (named such because Osco didn't want to change its surname to Jewel), I discovered a bottle of wine that befell a tragic end.

Pictured above: Such senseless spilling of alcohol. But to be fair, everyone knows that the red wines live in a worse neighborhood than the whites.

I flashed my Northwestern detective badge and put together a crack squad of the floral center girl, the deli guy, and the free-liquor-samples guy to solve the case. Little did I know that one of them may be the culprit...

And finally, I wore my tobacco-brown suit for the first time when I went to a fancy restaurant with Ro last night. And I even surprised myself in how little I embarassed my friends at the restaurant.

Pictured above: Ah, it's like being a scrawny, awkward Don Draper.

Medical School: Prom

Like I have mentioned many times before, medical school is much like high school. There are the popular kids and nerds. There is gossip and drama. There are dissections of human cadavers in the basement. You know, high school stuff.

And like high school, last night we had our annual prom. It was a chance for all of us medical students to pretend that we were grown-ups enjoying a classy night out on the town. And like true adults, my classmates had two goals for the night: dressing formally and public drunkenness.

Pictured above: As a teetotaler, I could only enjoy the former. Though, to be fair, this was probably for the best. Had I been inebriated, I may have challenged a peer to fisticuffs after I noticed that he was wearing a better tuxedo than me.

Yes, it was the first time I have ever worn a tuxedo. Being dressed-up gave me the chance to re-enact my favorite moments from Mad Men, such as staring intensely into my glass, making sexist remarks with my friends, and not talking about my feelings.

We also enjoyed a three-course meal of salad, salmon, and chocolate cake. Emily Post's rules of men's etiquette flashed before my eyes, and I quickly forgot which was my salad fork and which was my entrée fork. It is times like these that make me glad that I always carry an emergency salad fork in my pocket.

But it wouldn't be be a true prom without some amount of public humiliation. I did, in fact, bust several moves on the dance floor. I disco-ed around to my request of "Stayin' Alive" (The Bee Gee's famous song about how The New York Times is trying to kill you), and I even entered a dance contest to "Billie Jean", which is the number one song for a gangly white guy to dance to.

Pictured above: The aftermath of dancing. Note the unfurled French cuffs and loosened bow tie. Although informal, it did allow me to pretend that I was George Clooney.

Ah, it was a good night. But alas, I must return to studying for medical school. Specifically, the limb muscles needed to successfully execute a moonwalk.

Foiled!

Sorry to disappoint my faithful fans, but I apparently have sold out. All this time, I've been in the pocket of Big Depression.

On a completely unrelated note, Happy Valentine's Day!

[Thanks to Diego for sending me the screen-cap.]

Dragons vs. Unicorns vs. Creeps

Ah, it's good to be back on the internet. I had a tough couple of days this past week. I was over-zealous at the H&M clearance rack and bought two pairs of brown slacks that look suspiciously similar. I also failed in finding some opera pumps for the formal next weekend, so I may be forced to endure the shame of wearing my black oxfords instead. It's a tough life.

Note: Apparently, there was also some sort of exam on Friday, which would explain why my entire class got together in a big room and didn't talk to each other for four hours. Maybe I shouldn't have just drawn pictures of dragons fighting unicorns on those papers we were given. Unless our exam was on fantasy warfare. No wait, I think that is our next unit.

But rather than dwell too much on my own inadequacies, I thought I would find something positive to discuss. As this is also a "sartorial" blog (in addition to the nonsense I post), I thought I should do some analysis on some popular fashion. For example, there is this new persona sweeping the nation called "The Creep."

I was initially delighted to discover how much of myself I saw in these "creeps." Like me, they have an unstoppable swagger and are definitely a hit with the ladies. Watch out kids, because there is new dance craze sweeping the nation!

Pictured above: Seriously, watch your kids.

First, I should list the similarities between me and these "creeps."

Pictured above: Screen-capture of some "creeps." Probably thought it was a photograph of me, didn't you?

1. Hair parted to the side

2. Distinctive glasses

3. White collared shirt

4. Bold, solid-colored tie

5. Sensible, well-fitting gray suit

6. Brightly-colored argyle socks

7. Brown dress shoes

Sound familiar? Apparently, I have been creeping for quite some time now, and I demand credit for it. Their "characters" were clearly based off of me, and I am entitled to royalties. Girls have been calling me a "creep" in bars for a lot longer than this video has been circulating.

Sno' Money, Sno' Problems

Once again, I have an upcoming exam, so I will have to keep this update short. I do, however, promise you all a very special episode of The Sartorial Skeptic next week, so stay tuned. For this week, I will recap the light snow we got here in Chicago on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Pictured above: "Oh, don't worry. I can't imagine that I'll need waterproof boots in Chicago."

Pictured above: Waiting for the bus. To be honest, I was expecting roves of snow-motorcycle gangs to be running the city by now.

Pictured above: Ha, ha! Your fixed gears cannot save you now, hipsters.

Pictured above: Crossing the street is a risky endeavor. It is considered customary to shove other pedestrians onto oncoming traffic if you feel they are taking too long climbing over the snow hill.

Pictured above: My brother, like all bears, was re-thinking his decision to come out of hibernation.

Pictured above: "Don't worry, honey. I'll shovel out our car. How bad could it be?"

Pictured above: Probably not everyone's favorite neighbor.

Birth of a Hero

Most birthdays are a time to celebrate the day when an individual's human incubation period has ended and is subsequently expelled into the world of the living. However, like many classic heroes, I was born not of man, but rather was pulled from the chest of Poseidon* and raised by orcas.

*Note, some historians claim I was born of Zeus. This is false, as Zeus was busy at the time of my birth trying to pick up ladies in the form of a bull.

Pictured above: Zeus's famous party trick of appearing as a shower of sparks.

Once I had established myself as King of the Killer Whales, I rode the largest of them to the vast ocean shores of Kansas, where I entered the realm of the land-dwelling mortals. So, on that day every year, I eat cake with my friends.

Pictured above: My brother celebrates my birth by mocking my love of bowed ties.

My mother, who knows me so well, sent me a package of my most favorite things: material goods and perishable foods!

Pictured above: The tongs even match my apartment's green color scheme. Greatest mom ever.

Speed Dating 2: Beastiary

Loyal readers may remember my previous failed attempt at speed-dating a few months ago, where even my best lies could not convince law students to go on a date with me. But now, armed with a whole new quiver of lies, I drew my bow towards another speed-dating adventure last night.

Pictured above: I was dater number 35, which is the most sensual multiple of seven.

Rather than retell all of my misadventures, I instead will provide for those unfamiliar with the speed-dating habitat an abridged beastiary of the kind of males present.

Ponytail Guy

Usually wearing an over-sized trenchcoat, Ponytail Guy has taken precious hours away from his Dungeons and Dragons league to appease his parents' wishes for him to "meet a nice girl." He usually knows better than to mention LARPing on the first date.

Leather-jacket Guy

He doesn't take off his leather jacket while in the bar; Leather-jacket Guy knows he's too cool for that.

Clearly-too-old Guy

Armed with a crew-neck sweater and glass of wine, Clearly-too-old Guy hopes that his obvious maturity will compensate for the fact he is hitting on 22-year-old girls.

Homeschooled Guy

Introducing himself with a firm handshake and a "nice to meet you," Homeschooled guy was raised with an appreciation for proper etiquette by his mother. You can ask her yourself, when he takes you to meet her on your second date.

Ed-Hardy Guy

Wearing a tight t-shirt, Ed-Hardy guy isn't afraid to show off the unsettling amount of muscles in his forearms.

Also, here is a collection of out-of-context quotes from the ladies of speed-dating last night:

"Sometimes I just want to be unhappy!"

"I've been a parole officer for 15 years."

"I hate doctors."

"I was just fired 4 hours ago."

"That's not your name. Show me your driver's licence."