If there’s one song that pretty much everyone from my generation knows, it’s Jimmy Eat World’s “The Middle.” It got a lot of radio play when it first came out, and I’ll still hear it every once in a while, but more than that, it’s one of those pick-me-p songs that I can’t help but be in a good mood after listening to it. I’ve heard that song more times than I care to count, but it never gets old. I was listening to it tonight, and I started thinking about how some really great moments of my life have had that song playing in the background. I’m not gonna launch into a greatest hits, listing off the best moments I’ve ever had in my entire life, but these are some definite moments where I sat back for a second, looked around, and consciously thought, “Huh…this is kind of cool.”
Summer 2002, I went to a summer camp in Colorado called Camp Cheley. I stayed in the Haiyaha unit, which was for guys ages 14-17. We all got to be pretty close because we knew not to step on each others’ toes – we were all living together in pretty close quarters for about a month, so making enemies wasn’t the best idea. In the last week, my cabin was assigned bathouse duty, just normal stuff, sweeping, rinsing out the showers, etc. Someone had a stereo, and he started playing DJ as we went to work. He picked out a couple of his personal favorites, stuff that a few people knew, but then “The Middle” came on. Everyone perked up – I can’t explain it. By that point, we were all in the typical summer camp “I love everyone!” mindset, so that didn’t hurt. We all started singing along (everyone knew the words, of course) and playing guitars on our brooms. In that moment, we were all united. Common task that no one really wanted to do, singing the same song, with a big circle of friends. Male bonding at its finest.
Summer 2005, again at a summer camp, this time YMCA Camp Grady Spruce in Possum Kingdom. It was the last Saturday of camp, the last batch of campers had left that morning, so it was just the counselors in the dining hall for lunch that afternoon. Same situation as with Cheley – we’d all been with each other all summer, making it a point to legitimately make friends and include everyone. I plugged my iPod into the giant stereo system and started blasting the first thing I found as loud as I could. As we ate, people would get up and select the next song. Sure enough, someone put on “The Middle.” We were done eating by that point, so we were just milling around, avoiding the last bits of work we had to do before we could go home. We were all really excited and energized already – the fucking kids were gone, our job was all but done, and we could finally just chill and all be together for the last time. There wasn’t too much of a reaction to the song beyond a general nod of approval and a couple grins, but nothing else was really needed. That lunch, in the last couple days of July, was the first time that we had been able to hang out as a group without anything to do since the first group of campers came in May. Can’t really describe the feeling that we all had, looking around at each other, satisfied knowing that our work was finally (!) done. All we had was sandwiches and chips, but that was one of the best lunches I’d had in a long time.
And then we come to tonight. This one’s a bit more subdued, a bit more random than the others. We were sitting in the Blobby (the Blanton lobby), just like every other night, doing homework but not really doing homework, just like every other night, making fun of each other, just like every other night, etc. Jackie put on “The Middle,” and again, there was that general consensus that you just can’t not like this song (think about it). I looked around at everyone sitting there, there were probably ten people in all, and I was struck with this feeling of contentment. Not happiness, which can be pretty fleeting when something else comes along to hit you in the face, but contentment. Not only did I know everyone’s name, which is rarer than I’d like to admit, but I’ve had extensive conversations with everyone that was sitting there. I was comfortable, I fit in, I belonged. Everyone in that circle, I felt like I could randomly call on a weekday afternoon to see if they wanted to grab lunch or coffee, just for the hell of it. I’ve had a lot of ups and downs in the past few weeks, long story there, so it was kind of nice to realize that I still have this group that I see, talk to, and laugh with pretty much every day. A more subdued kind of contentment than the other examples, yes, but contentment nonetheless. Every once in a while, it’s the little things that get to you.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
My Economics Paper
As obvious as it sounds, economic principles are usually only used when studying the economy, past, present, and future. These principles were created for the specific purpose of describing how the economy works, both in theory and in practice, so it’s only natural that this should be their main application. However, with a wider scope, it’s possible to see that these economic goals, policies, and theories can relate to common events in everyday life. To view the average person’s daily routine through the lens of an economist might seem unusual, but a careful analysis results in a better understanding of the almost unconscious process of human interaction. In their book Freakonomics, Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner define economics as “…at root, the study of incentives: how people get what they want, or need, especially when other people want or need the same thing” (16).
The arguable cornerstone of economics is the principle of supply and demand. When the supply of a product is low and the demand for it is high, a vendor can charge whatever price he wishes for the good in question. When the supply is high and the demand is low, he doesn’t quite have this freedom. The basic principle here is that a good is worth whatever someone is willing to pay for it; this can potentially dictate a price substantially higher than the good’s retail value.
For example, I was once in a large lecture class that required its students to bring blue books for every exam. During the first exam of the semester, a student entered the room five minutes into the exam, sat next to me, and promptly realized that he had forgotten to buy a blue book. Running off to buy one would take at least ten minutes, time that he didn’t have to spare. The supply of spare blue books was extremely limited, and his demand for one was almost off the charts – the exam was worth thirty percent of the final grade. Smiling to myself, I realized that anyone who happened to have an extra blue book in his backpack could have named any price that this student would be obliged to pay.
Here, the concept of inflation comes into play. The basic gist of inflation is that the cost of a certain good fluctuates as a result of outside circumstances – it takes more or less money to acquire the same product. In the economy, the price of imported cars in dollars, for example, rises or falls based on the exchange rate of the currency between the two countries. Similarly, in real life, people often find that it suddenly requires more effort to obtain the same result. A young man trying to woo a girl finds that paying her a compliment and buying her a cup of coffee gets him a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night. One night, after the compliment and the coffee, she gives him a hug and leaves. The following night, he takes her to dinner at an expensive restaurant and takes her dancing afterward. Sure enough, at the end of the night, he gets his kiss. Based on the progression of the relationship, a kiss on the cheek costs more.
In the above example, the price of a blue book (normally just thirty-nine cents) has skyrocketed because of the unfortunate student’s immediate need for the good. Three hours before the exam, the student would be crazy to buy a blue book for any more than retail price. During crunch time, however, with forty-five minutes left in the exam and no blank blue book in sight, the value of the good begins to inflate exponentially. Again, the value of a good is whatever the person is willing to pay for it. Let’s say that the entrepreneurial merchant’s asking price for his extra blue book is twenty dollars. The (admittedly disgruntled) student wouldn’t be paying that amount of money for eight sheets of paper stapled together; he’d be paying for his only option for salvaging his grade in the class. An “A” instead of a “C” in a class is of inestimable value, but twenty dollars seems like a good start.
Now, the obvious objection to this situation is that no good person would corner someone into this type of deal just to make a little bit of extra cash. While it wouldn’t surprise me if something akin to this situation has happened at least once, it’s certainly not the common response. I pose the following question: why? If economics is the study of incentives, and someone has both the means and the opportunity to make a quick buck, why wouldn’t he? It’s a bit dodgy, ethically speaking, but ethics aren’t usually a major factor in strictly businesslike transactions. There must be some other reason that this person with an extra blue book is more inclined to hand it over with a wink and a smile than to make the other person reach for his wallet.
To answer this question, I apply the principle of the balance of payments – regarding trade, a country wants to export as many goods as it can while simultaneously importing as few goods as possible. Just as a countries trade goods on a massive scale, people trade goods and services with those around them on a daily basis. A man offers a soda from his refrigerator to his neighbor. A student lets a classmate copy her notes. A girl moves her friend’s car out of a no-parking zone before the car gets towed. The societal norm seems to be that money doesn’t change hands during such personal interchanges; a person will do his friend a favor with the implication that the favor will be reciprocated later.
I would therefore like to propose the theory that in a group of close friends, especially in communal living environments like dormitories, doing favors for one another acts as the “currency” of the relationship. If someone does a small favor for me, I “owe” him one small favor. If I do a big favor for someone, he “owes” me either one big favor or several small favors. This system is obviously much more flexible than the dollar system, but on the whole, it seems to consistently match the daily interactions of acquaintances. As a side note, it is theoretically possible for one to live his life in a “closed” economy, that is, a completely self-sufficient person who doesn’t rely on anyone around him for anything, but this usually doesn’t last very long. Everyone requires someone else’s help at one point or another. We will therefore work with the model of an open market.
For example, say that John and Steve go out to lunch. John has forgotten his wallet, so Steve pays for the entire meal. Instead of reimbursing Steve with the exact dollar amount as soon as possible, John will probably just pick up the check the next time he and Steve eat together. Steve did a favor for John (“exporting” his good will), and later, he received one in return (“importing” John’s good will). The transaction is complete. Just as with national trade, it is better for one’s net exports to be positive than negative. A person who constantly does favors for his friends without asking for repayment for its own sake has a trade surplus, a useful stock that he can take advantage of should the need arise. A person who constantly asks his friends for goods and services without repaying them has a trade deficit; his friends will likely see him as a “moocher” and be less inclined to do favors for him in the future.
Booms and slumps can be explained by a person’s attitude over a given period of time. A student who aces two tests and receives an acceptance letter from the graduate school of his choice in the same day is likely to be in a pretty good mood – he’d probably be willing to grab his roommate’s laundry from the dryer before it gets stolen or buy a round of drinks on a Friday night. By amassing these favors while in his positive emotional state, he’s going through a boom. Conversely, a student who has three midterms and a research paper all due in a single week will probably turn to his friends more than once in order to make it through. Borrowing notes from someone here, his roommate bringing him dinner there – the deficit builds up pretty quickly. He’s going through a slight slump. Both of these are common, and in the long run, the booms and slumps of a hectic college student’s life tend to balance each other out.
Returning to the above example, then, a student won’t charge his classmate twenty dollars for a blue book because he wants to retain his ability to receive a favor in the future. A person’s current “trade status” is not necessarily private information. What favors he does, for whom, and how often are all pretty common information just through gossip and small talk among his friends. The person who sells his classmate a blue book for twenty dollars damages his reputation considerably in the process. News of this irregularity will spread, and his friends will stop asking him for favors for fear of what he will ask in return. Since his friends aren’t asking him for any favors, in turn, they feel less obligated to do favors for him. Isolation ensues. Though this man’s actions are perfectly logical in an economic sense, they demonstrate what kind of deals he has the habit of making, lowering the chance of future interactions.
The quote from Levitt and Dubner makes it a point to distinguish wants from needs. Three hours before the test, the student wanted a blue book. Five minutes into it, he needs one. While it is certainly unjust and irregular to charge twenty dollars for something he so desperately needs, it might not be quite as unjust to overcharge for a nonessential good. For example, in college towns, fast food restaurants close their dining areas at midnight but keep the drive-through lane open all night long. However, the restaurants don’t serve food to people who walk through the lane – since many college students don’t have cars, this is a bit of a setback. A student with a car is in the position to make a little bit of money for himself. He can park his car in the parking lot with a sign in the passenger’s window that says, “I will drive you through for five dollars.” At one or two o’clock on a Friday night, he’s likely to have several (quite possibly inebriated) takers. Again, the price that someone is willing to pay for a cheeseburger has inflated because of his mental state and the lack of other options.
The difference between the two situations is the distinction between necessity and desire. Charging twenty dollars so that someone can pass an exam might as well be stealing, since the student has no other options besides paying the asking price. With the fast food example, though, the buyer makes the conscious choice to pay the five-dollar “transportation fee.” He doesn’t “need” a cheeseburger like the student needs the blue book, so there can be little comparison between the two.
Examining real life situations from an economic perspective provides an interesting view on human nature, both psychologically and sociologically. The study of the average person’s incentives, needs, and the lengths to which he will go to obtain these needs is a very practical use of time. A rational, unbiased, fresh perspective on the unconscious happenings of everyday life can be quite educational and can significantly increase the quality of one’s social life.
The arguable cornerstone of economics is the principle of supply and demand. When the supply of a product is low and the demand for it is high, a vendor can charge whatever price he wishes for the good in question. When the supply is high and the demand is low, he doesn’t quite have this freedom. The basic principle here is that a good is worth whatever someone is willing to pay for it; this can potentially dictate a price substantially higher than the good’s retail value.
For example, I was once in a large lecture class that required its students to bring blue books for every exam. During the first exam of the semester, a student entered the room five minutes into the exam, sat next to me, and promptly realized that he had forgotten to buy a blue book. Running off to buy one would take at least ten minutes, time that he didn’t have to spare. The supply of spare blue books was extremely limited, and his demand for one was almost off the charts – the exam was worth thirty percent of the final grade. Smiling to myself, I realized that anyone who happened to have an extra blue book in his backpack could have named any price that this student would be obliged to pay.
Here, the concept of inflation comes into play. The basic gist of inflation is that the cost of a certain good fluctuates as a result of outside circumstances – it takes more or less money to acquire the same product. In the economy, the price of imported cars in dollars, for example, rises or falls based on the exchange rate of the currency between the two countries. Similarly, in real life, people often find that it suddenly requires more effort to obtain the same result. A young man trying to woo a girl finds that paying her a compliment and buying her a cup of coffee gets him a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night. One night, after the compliment and the coffee, she gives him a hug and leaves. The following night, he takes her to dinner at an expensive restaurant and takes her dancing afterward. Sure enough, at the end of the night, he gets his kiss. Based on the progression of the relationship, a kiss on the cheek costs more.
In the above example, the price of a blue book (normally just thirty-nine cents) has skyrocketed because of the unfortunate student’s immediate need for the good. Three hours before the exam, the student would be crazy to buy a blue book for any more than retail price. During crunch time, however, with forty-five minutes left in the exam and no blank blue book in sight, the value of the good begins to inflate exponentially. Again, the value of a good is whatever the person is willing to pay for it. Let’s say that the entrepreneurial merchant’s asking price for his extra blue book is twenty dollars. The (admittedly disgruntled) student wouldn’t be paying that amount of money for eight sheets of paper stapled together; he’d be paying for his only option for salvaging his grade in the class. An “A” instead of a “C” in a class is of inestimable value, but twenty dollars seems like a good start.
Now, the obvious objection to this situation is that no good person would corner someone into this type of deal just to make a little bit of extra cash. While it wouldn’t surprise me if something akin to this situation has happened at least once, it’s certainly not the common response. I pose the following question: why? If economics is the study of incentives, and someone has both the means and the opportunity to make a quick buck, why wouldn’t he? It’s a bit dodgy, ethically speaking, but ethics aren’t usually a major factor in strictly businesslike transactions. There must be some other reason that this person with an extra blue book is more inclined to hand it over with a wink and a smile than to make the other person reach for his wallet.
To answer this question, I apply the principle of the balance of payments – regarding trade, a country wants to export as many goods as it can while simultaneously importing as few goods as possible. Just as a countries trade goods on a massive scale, people trade goods and services with those around them on a daily basis. A man offers a soda from his refrigerator to his neighbor. A student lets a classmate copy her notes. A girl moves her friend’s car out of a no-parking zone before the car gets towed. The societal norm seems to be that money doesn’t change hands during such personal interchanges; a person will do his friend a favor with the implication that the favor will be reciprocated later.
I would therefore like to propose the theory that in a group of close friends, especially in communal living environments like dormitories, doing favors for one another acts as the “currency” of the relationship. If someone does a small favor for me, I “owe” him one small favor. If I do a big favor for someone, he “owes” me either one big favor or several small favors. This system is obviously much more flexible than the dollar system, but on the whole, it seems to consistently match the daily interactions of acquaintances. As a side note, it is theoretically possible for one to live his life in a “closed” economy, that is, a completely self-sufficient person who doesn’t rely on anyone around him for anything, but this usually doesn’t last very long. Everyone requires someone else’s help at one point or another. We will therefore work with the model of an open market.
For example, say that John and Steve go out to lunch. John has forgotten his wallet, so Steve pays for the entire meal. Instead of reimbursing Steve with the exact dollar amount as soon as possible, John will probably just pick up the check the next time he and Steve eat together. Steve did a favor for John (“exporting” his good will), and later, he received one in return (“importing” John’s good will). The transaction is complete. Just as with national trade, it is better for one’s net exports to be positive than negative. A person who constantly does favors for his friends without asking for repayment for its own sake has a trade surplus, a useful stock that he can take advantage of should the need arise. A person who constantly asks his friends for goods and services without repaying them has a trade deficit; his friends will likely see him as a “moocher” and be less inclined to do favors for him in the future.
Booms and slumps can be explained by a person’s attitude over a given period of time. A student who aces two tests and receives an acceptance letter from the graduate school of his choice in the same day is likely to be in a pretty good mood – he’d probably be willing to grab his roommate’s laundry from the dryer before it gets stolen or buy a round of drinks on a Friday night. By amassing these favors while in his positive emotional state, he’s going through a boom. Conversely, a student who has three midterms and a research paper all due in a single week will probably turn to his friends more than once in order to make it through. Borrowing notes from someone here, his roommate bringing him dinner there – the deficit builds up pretty quickly. He’s going through a slight slump. Both of these are common, and in the long run, the booms and slumps of a hectic college student’s life tend to balance each other out.
Returning to the above example, then, a student won’t charge his classmate twenty dollars for a blue book because he wants to retain his ability to receive a favor in the future. A person’s current “trade status” is not necessarily private information. What favors he does, for whom, and how often are all pretty common information just through gossip and small talk among his friends. The person who sells his classmate a blue book for twenty dollars damages his reputation considerably in the process. News of this irregularity will spread, and his friends will stop asking him for favors for fear of what he will ask in return. Since his friends aren’t asking him for any favors, in turn, they feel less obligated to do favors for him. Isolation ensues. Though this man’s actions are perfectly logical in an economic sense, they demonstrate what kind of deals he has the habit of making, lowering the chance of future interactions.
The quote from Levitt and Dubner makes it a point to distinguish wants from needs. Three hours before the test, the student wanted a blue book. Five minutes into it, he needs one. While it is certainly unjust and irregular to charge twenty dollars for something he so desperately needs, it might not be quite as unjust to overcharge for a nonessential good. For example, in college towns, fast food restaurants close their dining areas at midnight but keep the drive-through lane open all night long. However, the restaurants don’t serve food to people who walk through the lane – since many college students don’t have cars, this is a bit of a setback. A student with a car is in the position to make a little bit of money for himself. He can park his car in the parking lot with a sign in the passenger’s window that says, “I will drive you through for five dollars.” At one or two o’clock on a Friday night, he’s likely to have several (quite possibly inebriated) takers. Again, the price that someone is willing to pay for a cheeseburger has inflated because of his mental state and the lack of other options.
The difference between the two situations is the distinction between necessity and desire. Charging twenty dollars so that someone can pass an exam might as well be stealing, since the student has no other options besides paying the asking price. With the fast food example, though, the buyer makes the conscious choice to pay the five-dollar “transportation fee.” He doesn’t “need” a cheeseburger like the student needs the blue book, so there can be little comparison between the two.
Examining real life situations from an economic perspective provides an interesting view on human nature, both psychologically and sociologically. The study of the average person’s incentives, needs, and the lengths to which he will go to obtain these needs is a very practical use of time. A rational, unbiased, fresh perspective on the unconscious happenings of everyday life can be quite educational and can significantly increase the quality of one’s social life.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Nicknames
I’m taking a break (i.e. procrastinating) from my philosophy paper, but I’m still in a writing mood, so I thought I’d ramble on here for a while. For no reason at all, the topic of nicknames came to mind. Someone’s real name doesn’t matter that much beyond it being the main method of identification (if my name’s Matt or Will or John, it doesn’t change who I am at all), but a nickname can define someone as a certain personality type or even prod them to act in certain ways. I think that a nickname’s a very important part of someone’s identity – if it catches on, it sticks with you for quite a while. Most people know that you can’t give yourself a nickname. Someone has to come up with one, and it has to fit the person to be common enough for everyday use. I’ve had my fair share of nicknames, some good, some bad.
FRODO – this came about during my first few years at Cistercian. I was one of the shorter kids in the class, and I had what I like to consider an affably eccentric personality. This was before the years of tests, papers, and teenage hormones killed my spirit. A big staple of Cistercian is that sixth grade English consists pretty much solely of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. When it came to Tolkien, everyone at Cistercian knew their shit, whether they wanted to or not. A guy in the class above me (either Nick Christensen or Mason Reeves, can’t remember) nicknamed me Frodo because of my height, and for whatever reason, it stuck. Everyone at CPS, even the high schoolers who normally wouldn’t bother to look in my direction, knew me as Frodo. Between classes, at football games, whatever, I’d hear someone shout “Hey, Frodo!” and turn to see someone sprinting from the other side of the hallway to say hey. It was a term of endearment more than anything else. I eventually grew out of it as our class stopped being the low men on the totem pole, but I wonder how many CPS graduates from the classes of ’99, ’00, ’01 occasionally think, “Whatever happened to that Frodo kid?”
JONESY – not too much of a story here. My high school nickname. My last name’s Jones, so it’s only fitting. I just want to say, though, that during junior and senior year, I’d guess that a good portion of people I hung out with on a daily basis didn’t know my first name.
SHEETS – ah, yes, the fucking infamous Sheets story. It’s ubiquitous in Austin and it’s apparently even spread back to Dallas and all over the country with various high school friends of mine who’ve gone on to college. I’m not gonna tell the whole story for privacy reasons, as there may or may not have been certain illegal activities involved, but suffice it to say that this one stuck in a big way. During my freshman year of college, pretty much everyone in the Quad knew me only as Sheets, due in no small part to Mr. David Zummo and Mr. Saul Elbein. The nickname isn’t as common this year as it was last year, but it’s something that I’m pretty sure I’ll never live down completely. I compare being Sheets to being Michael Bolton from Office Space – everyone has a joke to make, and not one of them is original (or funny).
KIDDO – this one’s used exclusively by the Broccoli Project, the Plan II theater group that I’m in. My friend Brandan calls someone “kiddo” when she can’t remember his real name, so that’s how it started, but even when she finally learned it, she kept calling me Kiddo because she said it fit. Fair enough. A nickname’s a great way to know you belong to a group, and that’s what happened with Broccoli. When I meet people at auditions or shows, I don’t even bother introducing myself as Matt. I just hold out my hand and go, “Hey, I’m Kiddo, nice to meet you,” and everyone around me who knows me nods in approval. They’d correct me immediately if I said anything else. This one’s still going strong, and I don’t see it dying out in the foreseeable future, at least with this crowd.
Just something I was thinking about while I was sitting outside. Even if it’s completely pointless, it’s fun to write stuff like this for posterity. Twenty years from now, I’ll be flipping around on my computer (or whatever the equivalent is by then), find this, and think, “Holy shit, I completely forgot about the whole Frodo thing.” Good times, good times.
FRODO – this came about during my first few years at Cistercian. I was one of the shorter kids in the class, and I had what I like to consider an affably eccentric personality. This was before the years of tests, papers, and teenage hormones killed my spirit. A big staple of Cistercian is that sixth grade English consists pretty much solely of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. When it came to Tolkien, everyone at Cistercian knew their shit, whether they wanted to or not. A guy in the class above me (either Nick Christensen or Mason Reeves, can’t remember) nicknamed me Frodo because of my height, and for whatever reason, it stuck. Everyone at CPS, even the high schoolers who normally wouldn’t bother to look in my direction, knew me as Frodo. Between classes, at football games, whatever, I’d hear someone shout “Hey, Frodo!” and turn to see someone sprinting from the other side of the hallway to say hey. It was a term of endearment more than anything else. I eventually grew out of it as our class stopped being the low men on the totem pole, but I wonder how many CPS graduates from the classes of ’99, ’00, ’01 occasionally think, “Whatever happened to that Frodo kid?”
JONESY – not too much of a story here. My high school nickname. My last name’s Jones, so it’s only fitting. I just want to say, though, that during junior and senior year, I’d guess that a good portion of people I hung out with on a daily basis didn’t know my first name.
SHEETS – ah, yes, the fucking infamous Sheets story. It’s ubiquitous in Austin and it’s apparently even spread back to Dallas and all over the country with various high school friends of mine who’ve gone on to college. I’m not gonna tell the whole story for privacy reasons, as there may or may not have been certain illegal activities involved, but suffice it to say that this one stuck in a big way. During my freshman year of college, pretty much everyone in the Quad knew me only as Sheets, due in no small part to Mr. David Zummo and Mr. Saul Elbein. The nickname isn’t as common this year as it was last year, but it’s something that I’m pretty sure I’ll never live down completely. I compare being Sheets to being Michael Bolton from Office Space – everyone has a joke to make, and not one of them is original (or funny).
KIDDO – this one’s used exclusively by the Broccoli Project, the Plan II theater group that I’m in. My friend Brandan calls someone “kiddo” when she can’t remember his real name, so that’s how it started, but even when she finally learned it, she kept calling me Kiddo because she said it fit. Fair enough. A nickname’s a great way to know you belong to a group, and that’s what happened with Broccoli. When I meet people at auditions or shows, I don’t even bother introducing myself as Matt. I just hold out my hand and go, “Hey, I’m Kiddo, nice to meet you,” and everyone around me who knows me nods in approval. They’d correct me immediately if I said anything else. This one’s still going strong, and I don’t see it dying out in the foreseeable future, at least with this crowd.
Just something I was thinking about while I was sitting outside. Even if it’s completely pointless, it’s fun to write stuff like this for posterity. Twenty years from now, I’ll be flipping around on my computer (or whatever the equivalent is by then), find this, and think, “Holy shit, I completely forgot about the whole Frodo thing.” Good times, good times.
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