You see, the swetervest makes he who wears it almost invincible. Sometimes invisble, too - for he who wears it blends into his khaki clad peers in the high density urban jungle. He who wears it will have an appearance that people believe comes off as "more finished" but we, my friend, know the truth. He wears it mostly because it covers the sauce stain on his shirt.
Today - mark your calendars - was the first time I got to work with data officially proclaimed to be "privileged data." I was data scrubbing before it's used in a forecasting model or something (does the remarkable lack of glamour hurt your eyes? I'll stop). Also, at a lunch meeting when something about age was brought up, one of my bosses said something to effect of, "I was telling my wife that our daughter is the same age as K. She started laughing at me." It's not just my little insecurities - I am the youngest and people notice this. How could they not, though? My uncalloused fingers and predisposition for candy and gum and my late morning/early afternoon naps. I do make a conscious effort to not talk about college, though. Unless the other person happens to be an alumnus or is an angst-ridden adolescent like me.
I saw someone who looked a lot like Lou Piniella today. They were walking out of Very Exclusive Hotel. They were also carrying their own luggage.
Another of my friends is getting married. My most vivid memories of him are from a few years ago when he was wearing torn jeans and a homemade Superman shirt, sliding into econ 20 or 30 minutes late. His fiancee is a junior high English teacher. I always liked talking about books with her - she's read almost her entire library - and she's the kind of junior high English teacher that boys spend too much time thinking about.
Yesterday was Bastille Day, babyducks. How did you spend it?
