Grateful

I was crossing the Michigan avenue bridge toward Wacker when I saw the #6 bus start to make its way west so I RAN across the bridge and east on Wacker. The bus driver waited for me at the stop. It was probably only 30 seconds, but with the new schedule that may have saved me 30 minutes in the cold. Thank you, Mr. CTA Driver!



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Go Colts

GO COLTS!!

Okay, I know Indy won the Super Bowl recently and New Orleans hasn't. I know the Saints were important in the emotional recovery of New Orleans. If these were two teams I didn't care about, I'd probably root for the Saints.

But when one of these teams is the Colts, that all goes out the window. I don't have a very good explanation for it. I'm not from Indiana, and Indy has never been the closest NFL team to anywhere I've lived. I just love watching Peyton Manning play, even if he is OCD. I guess when you grow up in northeastern Ohio, you either become a defeatist like my grandmother or you find a new team. (There are no hopeless optimists in Cleveland, at least not when it comes to the Browns. "Maybe next year" is only ever said sarcastically.)

I chose the find-a-new-team approach, at least in football and baseball. Since doing so, I have actually gotten to experience teams I care about winning. I would be thrilled to see the Browns wins a Super Bowl and the Indians win a World Series, but that doesn't seem very likely. I know Laz thinks I'm a complete traitor, but I find it very difficult to care about losing teams when I don't even live there anymore. Heck, I found it fairly difficult to care about them when I did live there.

So, I will root for my adopted team today. I love the Colts for one simple reason: they are fun to watch. I've watched enough bad football in my day to truly appreciate a team that is so talented, that can actually make difficult plays, that doesn't give up if they're losing with five minutes left. And watching Peyton is like watching a master class in how to be a quarterback. I can't help but enjoy it.

interloper

I always feel out of place at these events. I'm at a professionalization conference for underrepresented minority graduate students. I'm here for work, and I take this part of my job very seriously. But I always wonder if the people here take me seriously. I feel very conspicuous. I'm not the only white staff member here, but I'm the only one who looks young enough to be mistaken for a student. I feel like the students from other schools must think I'm pretending to be a minority, just to be invited to the conference. I realize this is ridiculous, and I'm sure, intellectually, that the students are thinking no such thing, but every time I catch someone looking at me, I'm plagued with doubt.

Plot excercise, attempt two

We were cooking lunch over the fire, a couple of packets of Tasty Bites in boiling water, our usual backpacking fare. The sun shone brightly overhead, shaded a bit by the towering trees. Sonya sighed, "I wish we had brought coffee." John rolled his eyes and dished up her food. I glanced at Bobby, who was absently scratching his leg as he tended the fire. In the distance, the figure of a man suddenly appeared. As he came closer we could see that he was tall and fit, sporting a walking stick and a large black backpack, an iconic mountaineer. Spotting us, he ambled over. We greeted him and offered him food.  Thanking us, he sat down and then yelped as he noticed Bobby. "Is that a bug bite? You need to get medical attention!" Bobby answered, "I think it was just a mosquito. I'm fine." I peered more closely at Bobby's leg and spotted pus oozing out. "It looks a little infected," I ventured. Sonya frowned and walked over to Bobby to investigate. She jumped back: "I think there are baby bugs and blood in there!" Bobby shook his head: "I'm FINE!" Bobby started dabbing at the bite with his bandanna, scrunching his face in disgust and starting to look a bit concerned. John was fiddling with his cell phone and suddenly yelled: "WebMD says it's a sign of a poisonous bite!" "Call 911!" Sonya and I shouted in unison. Bobby was flailing around, panicked, as John yelled into the phone that they should send a helicopter. "Cut off my leg!" Bobby screamed at me. I could hear the helicopter overhead as the stranger slinked away.

Plot exercise, attempt one

Betsy and Tim looked at Michael and me and raised their glasses. Tim exclaimed, "To another great vacation."

"The cruise was a great idea, Betsy!" Michael said. Betsy smiled as she clinked his raised glass.

"Can you believe this is our tenth trip together?" I asked.

Just then, a portly man in a white linen suit walked over. "Hello folks, I hope you're having a good time."

"Yes," Betsy gushed, "this ship is amazing."

"Thank you," the man responded. "I'm Ross, the program director. May I join you?" When we nodded reluctantly, he pulled over a chair and stuck it on the corner between Michael and me. It seemed an oddly casual move in such an elegant dining room. I glanced at Tim who raised his eyebrows.

Ross turned to Tim and me. "How long have you two been married?"

I giggled. "No, I'm married to Michael, and Tim is married to Betsy," I said, gesturing.

"Really?" Ross asked, "I saw you from across the room, and..." he trailed off.

Betsy shot a panicked look at Michael and back at Ross, stuttering, "you didn't think that we..."

"Yes," Ross nodded.

"No," Betsy said, in shock.

"Well, Betsy, we are friends," Michael mumbled.

"Janie and I are too," Tim defended. "But we're not... I mean, I like her."

"Well, I like Michael," yelped Betsy, knocking over her wine glass. Michael leaped to help her mop the wine.

Without thinking, I shouted, "I love Tim!" and then looked over at Michael with horror. To my surprise he seemed almost relieved as he put his arm around Betsy.

Tim rose out of his chair and leaned down to whisper in my ear, "I love you, too, Janie."

Just before turning to kiss him, I saw Betsy and Michael kissing and a smirking Ross walking away.