Cuban Pete

One of my favorite movies growing up was Big, not only because of the scene where Tom Hanks plays "Heart and Soul" by dancing on a giant piano keyboard in the middle of a crowded mall, but because I really liked his apartment.

It was furnished with all kinds of good stuff: a pinball machine, bunk beds, a soft drink machine, a trampoline. It was the bachelor pad of a ten-year-old boy's dreams. There was this icy career woman chick, you know, the type that wears white blouses with thick shoulder pads, and when Tom Hanks managed to bring her back to his place after a party, even she couldn't resist jumping on the trampoline with him all night.

I remember watching this movie and thinking, that's going to be me one day. I'm going to be that type of adult.

...

Know what's a bigger challenge than performing stochastic models? Maintaining levity. Work's been kicking my ass all over the place so far this week, and because of the office-wide summer vacation epidemic, as well as the growing expectations of me, I can no longer get away with being the boob who brings team meetings to a halt by excitedly slapping on the desk to get everyone to look at the huge bubble I've just successfully blown with my piece of grape Bubblicious. I've actually got to do work now. And doing more mathematically intense calculations that are way beyond what I've done before, being counted on to innovate on a daily basis, it's made me really tense all week. And that worries me.

The last few days I've been dragging my feet home from work with every intention of vegging out for a few hours before bed, and of course, thinking about pricing assumptions and valuation reports and shit like that. Only to continue the cycle again the next day. That's no way to live life, and I'm a little disappointed in myself that I've already broken my New Year's Resolution to "try not to plan my life around weekends while sleepwalking through the week."

I don't want to be that type of adult.

It's so easy -- especially if you live for the pats on the back -- to get caught up in your career. But then you realize that the weeks have whizzed by so quickly and unapologetically, and you find yourself asking, "Wasn't it just April yesterday? How did it suddenly become the middle of summer already?"

And it makes you wonder: where's my trampoline? My glow-in-the-dark rings? My plastic kazoos?

There was this one night back at school where we returned from a random late-night trip to the grocery store with a huge sack of grapefruits, and proceeded over to a nearby field to hit them with an aluminum bat. Like we were swinging at softballs. I'll never forget how great an idea that was, playing our own version of homerun derby while a growing mob of curious spectators howled in amusement as we giddily took turns smashing each grapefruit across the field, sending pulp and juice and peels flying in every direction. Not only did that over-the-top Tuesday night make finals week so much easier, it made us feel like carefree kids again.

So, with Grapefruit Softball Night in mind, it's become clear to me that I need a new great over-the-top idea to get through the tough work week. I need something to look forward to when I get home. Something sexy. Something I can bang all night long.

Conga drums.

You read right. Conga drums. I think I'm going to go on Ebay and buy a set. The tall ones with the straps that you slug over your shoulders. Starting bid, $49.95.

Why is this obnoxious waste of closet space worth it? Because I can't wait for the chance to one day come home stressed out from work, strap on my conga drums, and then, Ricky Ricardo style, sing: "And I'll teach you to chick-chicky boom chick-chicky boom chick-chicky boom!"

It may not be a trampoline or a sack of grapefruits, but it's close enough.

What, you got any better suggestions?