Professionals are predictable; it’s the amateurs who are dangerous.
Winterball, with its obnoxious price tag (you absolutely must go, it’s the event of the season, how could you not?) was a bit of a letdown. Aside from a brilliant table and (finally) a chance to break out the tuxedo — it was getting lonely — we ended up eating goulash in a room that made me expect the wedding singer to show up at any time, and waltzing (I remembered how!) to a DJ. The whole thing was vaguely absurd, at least once Shehani decided to declare war on neighboring groups by throwing table decorations across the hall. Took out a full champagne glass too, good girl.
Rule #1 for overpriced events: always make sure you drink at least your admission price worth of champagne, notwithstanding the fact that I had to abscond from the unattended bar with a bottle. The cowboy ride from the parking garage standing on the back of a golf cart and hanging on for dear life was fun, though.
Dog helps those who help themselves...to booze
Classes have wound down, leaving us to contemplate the upcoming slaughter of the second round of exams. I honestly have no idea what to expect, yet hope that the distinct trend away from pure quantitative methodology will make things a bit easier on the mathematical idiots among us. I observed with interest which of our profs received standing ovations (Maenhout/finance, Randall/operations, Shipilov/strategy, Cohen/accounting) and for which the send-off was decidedly lukewarm. It will be amusing to see whether the final evaluations in any way reflect peoples’ rants about various aspects of our courses and instructors which, for diplomacy’s sake, I won’t repeat here. Note on Randall: you have to love a guy who gives you a catapult to play with as an assignment.
Many of my colleagues, myself included, are exhibiting varying mixtures of stress and fatigue; even otherwise enthusiastic types have something approaching a thousand yard stare when entering the lecture hall in the morning. Maybe it’s just lack of sleep; in my case, brought on by worries about impending financial doom, which has handily taken over from october’s worries about impending academic doom. People are worn out and ready for a break. In any case, the coffee is approaching new lows of dishwateriffic flavor; I hope I’m only imagining that the caffeine is starting to lose its effectiveness, as I will need it for at least 6 more months…
Regarding stress, our group nearly broke out in fisticuffs over a stupid logistical problem surrounding a late project submission. Fortunately, the storm blew over as quickly as it arose, but it left a sour taste in everyone’s mouths. Our valiant attempt at a last hurrah in our marketing lecture (solving Formula 1 Racing’s troubles by taking it downmarket to the white trash NASCAR crowd by introducing a lucha wrestling-style “bad boy” image and Oakland Raiders lookalike gangsta wear for McLaren-Mercedes) got nothing like the rise out of our class that we’d hoped for, everyone just seemed spent. If it weren’t for our stellar showing during the one exam where group cohesion and discipline really counted last period, I’d be irrevocably convinced that we’re a reprehensible pack of misfits. As it stands, we receive funny looks when explaining what a well-oiled goose-stepping machine we were. Tuesday will tell whether we’re capable of a repeat top-notch performance.
My career consulting session brought home the reality of what seems like it will be a mad dash for jobs, contacts, whatnot. I have a vague, fuzzy idea of looking at luxury and consumer goods companies, if only for the fact that these would let me work in Paris near Karin (plus I like shiny things. Plus I’d be good at it. Hire me.) My counselor surprised the hell out of me by encouraging me to look at broadcast media as an option — I’d always pictured them as a pack of fuzzy prima donnas. He immediately confirmed that suspicion. The rub is, I couldn’t erase the mental image of the uber-artistic TV producer seated next to us at Dong Huong a few weeks ago, who spent his entire lunch time trying to impress his obviously none-too-impressed girlfriend about his excess of awesomeness. Will I be working for him in a year?