confidencegame
New member
- Mar 21, 2009
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Lets all put ourselves in the shoes of Daniel Brou. It’s the 1990s, and Daniel Brou’s professors at the University of Western Ontario are encouraging him to apply economics graduate school. Joanne Yiokaris, his man Friday, stands fast by his side. The world is Daniel Brou’s oyster.
Daniel Brou, our man, claims to love Canada, Oh Canada, and Joanne, Oh Joanne, and after his brief sojourn at the University of Toronto opts to leave for…… of all places that Trash Heap in the South, i.e. New York City. Everyone knows Sex in the City gets plotted in New York City. Daniel Brou never liked New York City. He didn’t like the noise, the traffic, the trash, the crowds. He preferred the Rust Belt that is London Ontario, and his faithful, if uncomprehending, muse, Joanne Yiokaris. He wrote many songs in Spanish to Joanne Yiokaris primarily because she didn’t speak any Spanish. Daniel Brou’s creative juices flowed best when his muses had no idea what he was talking about. He loved seeing the blank faces of his students staring back at him.
Daniel Brou worked and worked. And worked and worked. And worked and worked. Joanne, in her long-distance phone calls, never wondered why her true love didn’t stand by her side. Without question, she accepted his decision to go for the big names over the small names. Daniel wished every day he was in sunny Canada next to his true love, and then he faithfully sat in front of the computer and cranked out a few more pages of his dissertation.
Meanwhile, those brats, those pains in the ass, i.e. his students, became more demanding. Hey dood, they said, what I am, “Bologna? What nation are you living in?” Daniel Brou just ignored the masses. Let them eat cake, he thought. Daniel wished for the true, the only meaningful ones—his hometown, his alma mater, his Trueist of true loves. The Trash Heap to the South really needed to keep a lid on it.
One day Daniel Brou got close enough to dissertation completion, and his advisors did some cutting and pasting with his master’s level work. Suddenly, the interminable painful process had ended and they kicked him out the door. He hit the pavement clutching his PhD diploma. It occurred to Daniel Brou the mass market couldn’t tell the difference between him, the guy who just earned a PhD from UPenn, the guy who graduated a couple years ago from Harvard. They were all “homogenous skilled labor” who fit a particular need in the labor market. None of this was relevant to Daniel Brou because he desired the One, the True—the hometown, the alma mater, the first love.
So because he was an attractive guy and people really didn’t think critically about male economists, the Daniel Brou was returned to the place from which he came. Far far away from the Trash Heap to the South. After proving his manhood, his courage, his resiliency and his wit in the Trash Heap to the South, he returned triumphant to the One, the True, the Real.
Daniel Brou, our man, claims to love Canada, Oh Canada, and Joanne, Oh Joanne, and after his brief sojourn at the University of Toronto opts to leave for…… of all places that Trash Heap in the South, i.e. New York City. Everyone knows Sex in the City gets plotted in New York City. Daniel Brou never liked New York City. He didn’t like the noise, the traffic, the trash, the crowds. He preferred the Rust Belt that is London Ontario, and his faithful, if uncomprehending, muse, Joanne Yiokaris. He wrote many songs in Spanish to Joanne Yiokaris primarily because she didn’t speak any Spanish. Daniel Brou’s creative juices flowed best when his muses had no idea what he was talking about. He loved seeing the blank faces of his students staring back at him.
Daniel Brou worked and worked. And worked and worked. And worked and worked. Joanne, in her long-distance phone calls, never wondered why her true love didn’t stand by her side. Without question, she accepted his decision to go for the big names over the small names. Daniel wished every day he was in sunny Canada next to his true love, and then he faithfully sat in front of the computer and cranked out a few more pages of his dissertation.
Meanwhile, those brats, those pains in the ass, i.e. his students, became more demanding. Hey dood, they said, what I am, “Bologna? What nation are you living in?” Daniel Brou just ignored the masses. Let them eat cake, he thought. Daniel wished for the true, the only meaningful ones—his hometown, his alma mater, his Trueist of true loves. The Trash Heap to the South really needed to keep a lid on it.
One day Daniel Brou got close enough to dissertation completion, and his advisors did some cutting and pasting with his master’s level work. Suddenly, the interminable painful process had ended and they kicked him out the door. He hit the pavement clutching his PhD diploma. It occurred to Daniel Brou the mass market couldn’t tell the difference between him, the guy who just earned a PhD from UPenn, the guy who graduated a couple years ago from Harvard. They were all “homogenous skilled labor” who fit a particular need in the labor market. None of this was relevant to Daniel Brou because he desired the One, the True—the hometown, the alma mater, the first love.
So because he was an attractive guy and people really didn’t think critically about male economists, the Daniel Brou was returned to the place from which he came. Far far away from the Trash Heap to the South. After proving his manhood, his courage, his resiliency and his wit in the Trash Heap to the South, he returned triumphant to the One, the True, the Real.