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1 year late
by Antonio Wong on Friday, December 31, 2010 at 6:40pm
I had a grandiose summation of the decade planned out in my mind. A bittersweet nostalgia-filled recap of the first 10 years of the 21st century, a decade I began as a teenager and ended as a senior citizen. The pompous pontification, random references and revisionist recollections were all lined up. Unfortunately that decade ended last year. We are 364 1/2+ days into the first year of the second decade of the 21st century.
All days are not created equal. Today is December 31st, 2010. Right now, the crowds are gathering in Times Square, all manner of flesh is being stuffed into everything from too high shoes to too small dresses to too full ovens to too late guest lists. People all over NYC are preparing to do what people from Hong Kong to London have been doing for the last 12 hours. Get completely wasted and convince themselves that the passing of a particular moment in time when the last digit on their date stamp turns over to 2011 will usher in a new era, a clean slate, a fresh start.
Father time will fire a magic bullet into the temporal ether and erase the follies of the previous x number of years and this year will be different.
This year you will finally make it. This year you will figure it out. This year you will eat less, make more, drink less, love more, spend less, live more. This year you won't just be livin' on a prayer. This year you weren't born to follow. This year you will stop Always using Bon Jovi songs to make sweeping generalizations about life. This year you will stop giving love a bad name. However unlikely it is that this year will bring about any of the changes you so desperately seek. Take solace that this year will go by one day at a time just like all the other ones before.
A new year is just as good a time to start as any new minute you may come across. Change is possible, but not because you break open a new calendar or watch a thick Italian girl drop from the sky. Change comes when you commit to it without fanfare or proclamations.
Genuine sustainable change is a chain of individual decisions to go one way instead of another. Take enough steps to the left or right and eventually you'll turn around, take too many and you'll be headed right back where you were going before.
This year I turned in my wristbands, hand stamps, private booths, corner tables and the rest of the ballyhooed nonsense that preoccupies the minds of so many.This year I relapsed briefly and retraced some old ground. This year I discovered the power of no. This year I learned new answers to very simple questions.
Happiness is so ridiculously easy that constantly overlooking it is equally simple. Your life is like a gated community with varying degrees of security. Just about everything that makes its way in gained access with your full permission however unintentional it may have been. I have long since lost my wherewithal to try and help others see past the blinders of their own petty ignorance. I have also realized that it was my own petty arrogance that led me to believe I had a right and a duty to part fools from their stupidity.
Instead I have focused my efforts on keeping what I cannot change at bay. All that seeks to undermine my hard fought sanity and freedom will be held beyond the gates. Anything that threatens this peace will also be summarily exiled. It may not be the most elegant of systems nor does it engender much social interaction, but it damn sure is effective.
This year is mine.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Drive
Climb into 3 tons of steel, start a small explosion using electricity and gasoline and lumber onto strips of asphalt with other metallic boulders hurtling in different directions at about 73 feet per second all while navigating through a maze of lights, signs and increasingly blind pedestrians using bits of rubber and reflective glass. However this seemingly death defying act of sheer madness is orchestrated on a daily basis by hundreds of millions of people and it's actually quite enjoyable as long you're not driving near any taxis or Chinatowns.
Yet people are far more terrified of necrotizing fasciitis and paying for health insurance than from getting into their cars every morning. That's very understandable because driving is fun whereas flesh eating bacteria and deductible payments are not. What is it about driving that is so darn enjoyable anyhow?
Personally I always feel a soothing sense of tranquility on long drives. Whether it's a familiar trek down the Garden State Parkway or a quick run from McCarran onto 1-15, something about having a destination and the wherewithal to reach it provides a small sense of fulfillment and that ever elusive illusion of control.
It isn't always easy. There are plenty of obstacles that stand in the way of a comfortable drive; traffic jams, traffic cops, cabbies, texters, mobile makeup artists, state troopers, BICYCLISTS, truckers, soccer moms, drunk dads, minivans, fallen trees, falling rocks, carjackers, moon walkers, panhandlers and squeegee men. Then there's the cost of gas, cost of cars, cost of tolls, cost of insurance, cost of not having insurance, cost of parking, cost of parking tickets, cost of fighting ticket, and the cost of taxes to maintain the unions that "maintain" the endless roads, byways and highways.
Despite all of this crap, the simple joy of driving still emerges victorious.
Life is hard. Taking control of your life and deciding what you're going to do with it is even harder. The odds against success are enormous, but difficulty is not to be confused with impossibility. Think about the odds you had to beat to be sitting here right now reading the miscellaneous thoughts streaming from my semi-consciousness.
Your odds of just being born were about 1 in 390 to 412 million multiplied by approximately 1 in 800 depending on your father's virility. So just to enter this world was about a 1 in 320,000,000,000. Now multiply that by the odds of being a facebook user (1 in 12) that reads my notes (205 out of 500,000,000) Very small is a gross exaggeration of how unlikely this whole endeavor is.
So now we know why Han Solo didn't much care for odds.
Chances are you won't succeed, but then again the chances were that you should never have existed to begin with. So what are you waiting for? Get out there and get some drive!
Yet people are far more terrified of necrotizing fasciitis and paying for health insurance than from getting into their cars every morning. That's very understandable because driving is fun whereas flesh eating bacteria and deductible payments are not. What is it about driving that is so darn enjoyable anyhow?
Personally I always feel a soothing sense of tranquility on long drives. Whether it's a familiar trek down the Garden State Parkway or a quick run from McCarran onto 1-15, something about having a destination and the wherewithal to reach it provides a small sense of fulfillment and that ever elusive illusion of control.
It isn't always easy. There are plenty of obstacles that stand in the way of a comfortable drive; traffic jams, traffic cops, cabbies, texters, mobile makeup artists, state troopers, BICYCLISTS, truckers, soccer moms, drunk dads, minivans, fallen trees, falling rocks, carjackers, moon walkers, panhandlers and squeegee men. Then there's the cost of gas, cost of cars, cost of tolls, cost of insurance, cost of not having insurance, cost of parking, cost of parking tickets, cost of fighting ticket, and the cost of taxes to maintain the unions that "maintain" the endless roads, byways and highways.
Despite all of this crap, the simple joy of driving still emerges victorious.
Life is hard. Taking control of your life and deciding what you're going to do with it is even harder. The odds against success are enormous, but difficulty is not to be confused with impossibility. Think about the odds you had to beat to be sitting here right now reading the miscellaneous thoughts streaming from my semi-consciousness.
Your odds of just being born were about 1 in 390 to 412 million multiplied by approximately 1 in 800 depending on your father's virility. So just to enter this world was about a 1 in 320,000,000,000. Now multiply that by the odds of being a facebook user (1 in 12) that reads my notes (205 out of 500,000,000) Very small is a gross exaggeration of how unlikely this whole endeavor is.
So now we know why Han Solo didn't much care for odds.
Chances are you won't succeed, but then again the chances were that you should never have existed to begin with. So what are you waiting for? Get out there and get some drive!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Hindsight. (Irrelevant yet strangely powerful)
I lack the psychiatric and neurobiological credentials to properly explain how our brains use hindsight and confirmation bias to create a wildly inaccurate subjective reality. Suffice it to say that this nifty little mental parlor trick is the linchpin of nearly every facet of modern society. It ensures the smooth functioning of everything from casinos and bottle service to elected politicians and online dating. Our minds are designed with a critical flaw; we can only perceive the present, ponder the past yet cannot predict the future. However we are constantly forced to make decisions regarding the future and the only available data comes from events which have already occurred.
Now any finance jockey and/or degenerate gambler can tell you that past performance does not guarantee future results. Nature has done a pretty good job so far. I suppose evolution was far more concerned with us not jumping off cliffs and eating poisonous mushrooms rather than picking a good IPO or the right horse in the Third race at Churchill downs. Having the ability to predict the future would make for some very interesting TV, but I guess it would lead to pure chaos. Temporal mechanics is a messy subject.
Hindsight is a smug little son of a bitch which sits on the periphery of your mind and taunts you incessantly. It is the employer of every talking head on television and windbag at the bar fueling the endless choruses of "woulda coulda shoulda." Every single moment passing into the next is the result of an impossibly infinite array of probabilities collapsing into a single instance of actuality. Anything can happen, absolutely anything yet our little minds try to tell us that "I knew that was going to happen."
Is it a little insane that I am sitting here in the middle of the night railing against how my brain functions? 10 years ago tonight I have absolutely no idea what I was doing. If I knew what I knew now I would have bought all the right things, could have owned a piece of all the right companies and should have been drunk of of 60 year old scotch on a Saturday night instead of lamenting over the inefficiency of the human condition. But there's that asshole hindsight acting up again.
I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. I would like to. History suggests that it will involve food, TV and a fair amount of driving. Hindsight, for all of it's evil, doesn't work alone. He has an equally sick partner in crime called hope, don't get me started on her. The two of them together make Madoff look like a girl scout. I think I finally understand why it's so important to enjoy the things you do while also taking the time to do the things you enjoy.
Lamenting over the things you could have done only paves the way for more self-destructive disassociation from reality and responsibility . Hindsight is as powerful a drug as they come and should only be used as a recreational tool.
The world owes you nothing so don't take it personally.
Now any finance jockey and/or degenerate gambler can tell you that past performance does not guarantee future results. Nature has done a pretty good job so far. I suppose evolution was far more concerned with us not jumping off cliffs and eating poisonous mushrooms rather than picking a good IPO or the right horse in the Third race at Churchill downs. Having the ability to predict the future would make for some very interesting TV, but I guess it would lead to pure chaos. Temporal mechanics is a messy subject.
Hindsight is a smug little son of a bitch which sits on the periphery of your mind and taunts you incessantly. It is the employer of every talking head on television and windbag at the bar fueling the endless choruses of "woulda coulda shoulda." Every single moment passing into the next is the result of an impossibly infinite array of probabilities collapsing into a single instance of actuality. Anything can happen, absolutely anything yet our little minds try to tell us that "I knew that was going to happen."
Is it a little insane that I am sitting here in the middle of the night railing against how my brain functions? 10 years ago tonight I have absolutely no idea what I was doing. If I knew what I knew now I would have bought all the right things, could have owned a piece of all the right companies and should have been drunk of of 60 year old scotch on a Saturday night instead of lamenting over the inefficiency of the human condition. But there's that asshole hindsight acting up again.
I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. I would like to. History suggests that it will involve food, TV and a fair amount of driving. Hindsight, for all of it's evil, doesn't work alone. He has an equally sick partner in crime called hope, don't get me started on her. The two of them together make Madoff look like a girl scout. I think I finally understand why it's so important to enjoy the things you do while also taking the time to do the things you enjoy.
Lamenting over the things you could have done only paves the way for more self-destructive disassociation from reality and responsibility . Hindsight is as powerful a drug as they come and should only be used as a recreational tool.
The world owes you nothing so don't take it personally.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Will
It has been over two months since my last rant.
The biggest reason for the hiatus is a lack of new material. Being a hermit does not impart the level of inspiration that literary loners would have you believe. Another reason is that long impassioned diatribes against the follies of the world are ironically foolish. Cathartic, but mostly foolish. Perhaps the lag between entries means that I've become a much calmer person.
I do find it much more difficult to get angry these days. In fact it's much more harder to get happy, sad or even annoyed. Age seems to bringing with it an ever growing sense of detachment from the effects of day to day occurrences. What a long winded way of saying that life has become boring! But boring doesn't quite describe this most recent stretch of life. Numb seems to be more apt. A general numbness to stimuli seems to plague me.
At first I thought it was burnout from way too much work and excitement in the past few years. But then I took a very long break from everything and everyone and then even went on a nice long escape twice in the past few months. But still the numbness is pervasive. The need for instant gratification and stimulation overload are to blame. Perceptually there is too long of a lag between the exertion of will and desired outcome.
That lag is the explanation for why New Year's resolutions consistently fail. There is definitely plenty of faulty engineering with our brains. We perceive existence from one moment to the next yet if we are to achieve success on any meaningful level then we have to take actions for which there is no immediate positive feedback. In a nutshell that explains the power of chocolate cake and strippers over granola bars and 401k contributions. Luckily for me I'm allergic to chocolate and financial planning.
Free will is a grand notion which has very misleading implications. We all have to ability to choose a great deal of our own actions. Consequently most people believe that those actions have a disproportionately large effect on the eventual outcome. I'm going to avoid the obvious poker/life analogies that are springing to mind. The harsh reality is that while are choices may determine who we are, chances are what really dictate the action.
You can argue that chance is the aggregate result of individual choices colliding and collapsing upon one another in an ocean of whims and decisions, but that doesn't change the fact that a single individual has little to no control over randomness.
Where does that leave us?
Row row row your boat. The constant exertion of your free will towards your desired result is the only way to steer yourself towards your destination. But there's no guarantee you'll get there. There's even a chance that if you do nothing you still might get there. So why in the hell should you row at all? I don't know. You could just lay back and see where the currents take you, but that usually leads to some unpleasantness involving sinking or getting the boat repossessed.
Nautical themes aside, force of will is necessary, but not nearly as effective as I'd like it to be.
That's a very weak conclusion and it is leaving me most unsatisfied.
When will power alone isn't enough to achieve the desired outcome, what can you do to supplement your will? If I knew, I'd be out doing it instead of puzzling it over here on an idle Thursday night.
What do you do?
The biggest reason for the hiatus is a lack of new material. Being a hermit does not impart the level of inspiration that literary loners would have you believe. Another reason is that long impassioned diatribes against the follies of the world are ironically foolish. Cathartic, but mostly foolish. Perhaps the lag between entries means that I've become a much calmer person.
I do find it much more difficult to get angry these days. In fact it's much more harder to get happy, sad or even annoyed. Age seems to bringing with it an ever growing sense of detachment from the effects of day to day occurrences. What a long winded way of saying that life has become boring! But boring doesn't quite describe this most recent stretch of life. Numb seems to be more apt. A general numbness to stimuli seems to plague me.
At first I thought it was burnout from way too much work and excitement in the past few years. But then I took a very long break from everything and everyone and then even went on a nice long escape twice in the past few months. But still the numbness is pervasive. The need for instant gratification and stimulation overload are to blame. Perceptually there is too long of a lag between the exertion of will and desired outcome.
That lag is the explanation for why New Year's resolutions consistently fail. There is definitely plenty of faulty engineering with our brains. We perceive existence from one moment to the next yet if we are to achieve success on any meaningful level then we have to take actions for which there is no immediate positive feedback. In a nutshell that explains the power of chocolate cake and strippers over granola bars and 401k contributions. Luckily for me I'm allergic to chocolate and financial planning.
Free will is a grand notion which has very misleading implications. We all have to ability to choose a great deal of our own actions. Consequently most people believe that those actions have a disproportionately large effect on the eventual outcome. I'm going to avoid the obvious poker/life analogies that are springing to mind. The harsh reality is that while are choices may determine who we are, chances are what really dictate the action.
You can argue that chance is the aggregate result of individual choices colliding and collapsing upon one another in an ocean of whims and decisions, but that doesn't change the fact that a single individual has little to no control over randomness.
Where does that leave us?
Row row row your boat. The constant exertion of your free will towards your desired result is the only way to steer yourself towards your destination. But there's no guarantee you'll get there. There's even a chance that if you do nothing you still might get there. So why in the hell should you row at all? I don't know. You could just lay back and see where the currents take you, but that usually leads to some unpleasantness involving sinking or getting the boat repossessed.
Nautical themes aside, force of will is necessary, but not nearly as effective as I'd like it to be.
That's a very weak conclusion and it is leaving me most unsatisfied.
When will power alone isn't enough to achieve the desired outcome, what can you do to supplement your will? If I knew, I'd be out doing it instead of puzzling it over here on an idle Thursday night.
What do you do?
Friday, July 16, 2010
There are 10 types of people in this world
"There are 10 types of people in this world. Those who understand binary and those who don't."
-mathematical humor on a T-shirt
On most mornings I drive across the Williamsburg bridge to get into the city. Generally traffic is miserably congested and strangely lopsided. One roadway is bumper to bumper while the other one is smooth cruising the entire length of the bridge. There are four lanes divided into an inner and outer roadway. The inner roadway has limited clearance so trucks and other large vehicles are forced to use the outer roadway. Conventional wisdom would suggest that in the absence of additional information, the lane without trucks would move the fastest. So the inner roadway should be the route of choice.
However you have to take into account the fact that there are far more cars than there are trucks and the majority of trucks are forced onto the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridge because of height restrictions on the Williamsburg. Also truck drivers tend to be more experienced and if they're out on the road in the morning then they are on a route and should be moving with some urgency. So a simple analysis of the situation would reveal that the outer roadway is ideal.
But at the end of the bridge the outer roadway is further divided. The right lane must turn right onto Clinton St; a small thoroughfare with heavy pedestrian traffic clogging the crosswalk which in turn jams the right lane back about 1/3 of the bridge length. Drivers attempting to make lane changes at the end of the bridge also back up traffic on the outer roadway.
So no we're back to square 1. Take the inner road way.
However at the end of the inner roadway the bridge opens into an S shaped wall of orange cones which creates a brief bottlneck between the first and 2nd traffic lights on Delancey. This causes a merging nightmare as frustrated morning drivers refuse to yield to each other.
So what the hell do you do? Which way has less traffic? Which route will be a 3 minute zip and which one will be a 25 minute stop and go exercise in road rage?
You have to choose.
Left or right.
If you guess correctly then you will be rewarded with an expeditious crossing of the east river and be on your way into Manhattan with a smile on your face. If you guess incorrectly then you will have to endure a snail's crawl across the span while watching the drivers who made the correct choice rush past you. As you roll forward inches at a time it begins to feel as if every car whooshing past you in the other lane is filled with a smugly self-satisfied driver laughing hysterically at your predicament.
So as you get on the bridge whether from the BQE ramp, Roebling street or through Washington Plaza you face a choice. Cars appear to be moving quickly in both lanes, but you know better than that. You know that one way is heaven and the other way is hell. But time is running out. This is a decision that will affect the rest of your day, your week or even your year.
Left?
Right?
PICK ONE!
Pause.
Go into bullet time. Everything slows down as the breadth and depth of experience washes over you. Take into account the time of day, the traffic patterns around you, is it a Jewish holiday, is school in session, have the medium sized rigs already made their delivery, what day of the week is it, do you see any Chinese commuter vans (they always know which lane is clear.)
There are 3 seconds left until the fork in the road.
Think faster!
Two. Why oh why didn't you just wake up earlier today.
One.
Then your eye catches it. A flashing orange light and a long slow road of traffic. It's a lane closure!!! One of the roadways is experiencing a lane closure. This makes the decision crystal clear.
The lane closure is flashing brightly in the outer roadway.
Which way do you go?
-mathematical humor on a T-shirt
On most mornings I drive across the Williamsburg bridge to get into the city. Generally traffic is miserably congested and strangely lopsided. One roadway is bumper to bumper while the other one is smooth cruising the entire length of the bridge. There are four lanes divided into an inner and outer roadway. The inner roadway has limited clearance so trucks and other large vehicles are forced to use the outer roadway. Conventional wisdom would suggest that in the absence of additional information, the lane without trucks would move the fastest. So the inner roadway should be the route of choice.
However you have to take into account the fact that there are far more cars than there are trucks and the majority of trucks are forced onto the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridge because of height restrictions on the Williamsburg. Also truck drivers tend to be more experienced and if they're out on the road in the morning then they are on a route and should be moving with some urgency. So a simple analysis of the situation would reveal that the outer roadway is ideal.
But at the end of the bridge the outer roadway is further divided. The right lane must turn right onto Clinton St; a small thoroughfare with heavy pedestrian traffic clogging the crosswalk which in turn jams the right lane back about 1/3 of the bridge length. Drivers attempting to make lane changes at the end of the bridge also back up traffic on the outer roadway.
So no we're back to square 1. Take the inner road way.
However at the end of the inner roadway the bridge opens into an S shaped wall of orange cones which creates a brief bottlneck between the first and 2nd traffic lights on Delancey. This causes a merging nightmare as frustrated morning drivers refuse to yield to each other.
So what the hell do you do? Which way has less traffic? Which route will be a 3 minute zip and which one will be a 25 minute stop and go exercise in road rage?
You have to choose.
Left or right.
If you guess correctly then you will be rewarded with an expeditious crossing of the east river and be on your way into Manhattan with a smile on your face. If you guess incorrectly then you will have to endure a snail's crawl across the span while watching the drivers who made the correct choice rush past you. As you roll forward inches at a time it begins to feel as if every car whooshing past you in the other lane is filled with a smugly self-satisfied driver laughing hysterically at your predicament.
So as you get on the bridge whether from the BQE ramp, Roebling street or through Washington Plaza you face a choice. Cars appear to be moving quickly in both lanes, but you know better than that. You know that one way is heaven and the other way is hell. But time is running out. This is a decision that will affect the rest of your day, your week or even your year.
Left?
Right?
PICK ONE!
Pause.
Go into bullet time. Everything slows down as the breadth and depth of experience washes over you. Take into account the time of day, the traffic patterns around you, is it a Jewish holiday, is school in session, have the medium sized rigs already made their delivery, what day of the week is it, do you see any Chinese commuter vans (they always know which lane is clear.)
There are 3 seconds left until the fork in the road.
Think faster!
Two. Why oh why didn't you just wake up earlier today.
One.
Then your eye catches it. A flashing orange light and a long slow road of traffic. It's a lane closure!!! One of the roadways is experiencing a lane closure. This makes the decision crystal clear.
The lane closure is flashing brightly in the outer roadway.
Which way do you go?
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
If you can't stand the heat
Buy an air conditioner.
If only all of life's problems were so easy to solve. But they are. Earlier today I watched a short documentary on minimum wage workers, aptly titled "Minimum Wage." Imagine Morgan Spurlock sitting at his desk. Having spent months chronicling the harsh struggles of the working poor in their futile conflict of sustenance versus solvency he needed to come up with a title. He spent 30 days working minimum wage jobs to experience what millions of Americans have to deal with on a daily basis. What should he name his documentary about living on minimum wage? Eureka! MINIMUM WAGE!
One more problem solved.
But let's move on to bigger problems. Minimum wage is not an issue that the Facebook demographic has to contend with. However the plight of the minimum wage worker is universal, financial inadequacy, or more colloquially, being broke-ass.
American society has a hypocritical adoration and false sympathy for the noble poor who live on nothing even though we all want to be a billionaire so freaking bad. What is the difference between what a laborer is worth and what a laborer is paid?
PROFIT....gasp.
This applies to all employees whether you're scraping roadkill off a highway or batting for the Yankees (Mets players are probably the sole exception to this universal principle.) Somebody is making money off of you. That's how the system works. Supply and demand in all of its infinite combinations.
Recoil in liberal horror as the harsh reality of a capitalist market based economy crashes on your bleeding heart.
When did profit become a dirty word? Why do corporations get away with using hordes of minimum wage or even below minimum wage workers? The same reason why the land is littered with drug dealers and prostitutes. Because people are willing to do it. This is not because they don't know that there are other opportunities, but because they settle for what they can get instead of what they can reach.
The driving force behind our entire economy and cultural psychology is bridging the gap between the haves and have-nots. Whether it's; food, freedom, security, iPads, iPhones, iPods, cars, yachts, mansions and lingerie model trophy girlfriends, consumption is key.
Once our basic needs of water, food and shelter are met, everything else becomes a whirlpool of advertisements, social programming and general white noise to occupy our sentient minds which would otherwise implode trying to figure out why the universe exists.
How the hell did we get go from economics to existentialist metaphysics? Back to minimum wage.
There is a large supply of people on this planet and all of them have a host of physiological demands. However since we decided to move past living in caves we also have a massive manufactured psychological demand for stuff. As the supply of people increases geometrically the artificial demand for stuff must also increase. Because we've done such a fine job of producing and distributing food, because there has to be something else to occupy the masses with once they're full.
How on earth does all of this justify minimum wage?
Minimum wage jobs have extremely high rates of turnover because people cannot survive on it. It is the inherent in unsustainable nature of this labor which drives people to seek out more gainful sources of employment or entrepreneurship. It takes some measure of being poor and hungry to motivate people to become rich and fat.
But then why do some people get stuck in these dead-end jobs for their whole lives? That's not right. That's not fair. They deserve better. No. They don't.
Social Darwinism. Those who are satisfied with their lot in life stop striving for a better one. Those who are unsatisfied with their life, but take no meaningful steps to improve it are getting exactly what they deserve. Those who try and fail are simply unfortunate, but they can live their lives satisfied in the knowledge that they've already gone much farther than most who simply bitch and moan.
Many of the greatest innovators in the history of humanity have started with little or nothing. Through sheer force of will, faith in their vision and fortitude of spirit they have forged nations, bent light, built cities and created gold from every substance imaginable.
So either make an effort to realize your dreams or resign yourself to the fact that even though your life will be a menial nightmare you are helping someone else create wealth.
Earn or burn, there's always a choice.
If only all of life's problems were so easy to solve. But they are. Earlier today I watched a short documentary on minimum wage workers, aptly titled "Minimum Wage." Imagine Morgan Spurlock sitting at his desk. Having spent months chronicling the harsh struggles of the working poor in their futile conflict of sustenance versus solvency he needed to come up with a title. He spent 30 days working minimum wage jobs to experience what millions of Americans have to deal with on a daily basis. What should he name his documentary about living on minimum wage? Eureka! MINIMUM WAGE!
One more problem solved.
But let's move on to bigger problems. Minimum wage is not an issue that the Facebook demographic has to contend with. However the plight of the minimum wage worker is universal, financial inadequacy, or more colloquially, being broke-ass.
American society has a hypocritical adoration and false sympathy for the noble poor who live on nothing even though we all want to be a billionaire so freaking bad. What is the difference between what a laborer is worth and what a laborer is paid?
PROFIT....gasp.
This applies to all employees whether you're scraping roadkill off a highway or batting for the Yankees (Mets players are probably the sole exception to this universal principle.) Somebody is making money off of you. That's how the system works. Supply and demand in all of its infinite combinations.
Recoil in liberal horror as the harsh reality of a capitalist market based economy crashes on your bleeding heart.
When did profit become a dirty word? Why do corporations get away with using hordes of minimum wage or even below minimum wage workers? The same reason why the land is littered with drug dealers and prostitutes. Because people are willing to do it. This is not because they don't know that there are other opportunities, but because they settle for what they can get instead of what they can reach.
The driving force behind our entire economy and cultural psychology is bridging the gap between the haves and have-nots. Whether it's; food, freedom, security, iPads, iPhones, iPods, cars, yachts, mansions and lingerie model trophy girlfriends, consumption is key.
Once our basic needs of water, food and shelter are met, everything else becomes a whirlpool of advertisements, social programming and general white noise to occupy our sentient minds which would otherwise implode trying to figure out why the universe exists.
How the hell did we get go from economics to existentialist metaphysics? Back to minimum wage.
There is a large supply of people on this planet and all of them have a host of physiological demands. However since we decided to move past living in caves we also have a massive manufactured psychological demand for stuff. As the supply of people increases geometrically the artificial demand for stuff must also increase. Because we've done such a fine job of producing and distributing food, because there has to be something else to occupy the masses with once they're full.
How on earth does all of this justify minimum wage?
Minimum wage jobs have extremely high rates of turnover because people cannot survive on it. It is the inherent in unsustainable nature of this labor which drives people to seek out more gainful sources of employment or entrepreneurship. It takes some measure of being poor and hungry to motivate people to become rich and fat.
But then why do some people get stuck in these dead-end jobs for their whole lives? That's not right. That's not fair. They deserve better. No. They don't.
Social Darwinism. Those who are satisfied with their lot in life stop striving for a better one. Those who are unsatisfied with their life, but take no meaningful steps to improve it are getting exactly what they deserve. Those who try and fail are simply unfortunate, but they can live their lives satisfied in the knowledge that they've already gone much farther than most who simply bitch and moan.
Many of the greatest innovators in the history of humanity have started with little or nothing. Through sheer force of will, faith in their vision and fortitude of spirit they have forged nations, bent light, built cities and created gold from every substance imaginable.
So either make an effort to realize your dreams or resign yourself to the fact that even though your life will be a menial nightmare you are helping someone else create wealth.
Earn or burn, there's always a choice.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Beating the Sunrise
Back in college I had the most durable alarm clock of all time. Whenever it would go off in the morning I'd slap the snooze button with a vengeance, kick it across the room, swing a baton at it, basically whatever it took to make it shut up. Eventually I managed to jump off the top bunk, turn off the alarm and fall back asleep in one graceful motion. Nowadays I always wake up 10 minutes before the alarm rings just so I can turn it off. Nothing quite like a preemptive strike.
Recently however I find myself waking up right before the sun comes up. That's one alarm clock that's a little more difficult to turn off. I suppose I could get automatic blackout shades on a timer, but that wouldn't be any fun. Unfortunately the sun comes up at about 5:20am which leaves me with even more time to wonder and ponder about things that don't really matter.
Where is this other cuff link? Why can't people see themselves? If you could relive the last 10 years, what would you change? What would happen to the time line? Would you have to kill your past self in order to take your own place? If you did that wouldn't you die too?
For better or worse the space time continuum will have to take care of itself for now. There are far more pressing matters on the agenda today. There are deals to be made, chops to be busted, shit to shoot and rules to be bent. I used to think that sleep was a necessity right up there with food and water. But maybe sleep is more like fried chicken. Its awfully good, but we could all do with a little less of it.
Ironically I'm getting pretty sleepy as I write this or did the previous analogy make me hungry? At this time of day, I'm relatively content. The world has yet to infuriate me with its inane prattle and petty nonsense. While that may be good for my blood pressure levels, it makes for some rather dull writing.
If calm=dull then anger=excitement? Help me out here you law jockeys.
For nearly a month now I've found myself extremely mellow. I almost feel like I'm losing my edge. I have eliminated over 90% of my bad habits. I've stopped engaging in self-destructive activities, I've stopped engaging negative people and places in my daily routine.
So let's see.
Wake up before dawn. Check.
Stretch. Check.
Review to do list for the day. Check.
Update the do list for the week. Check.
Go out and complete the list. Check.
Compile tomorrow's list. Check.
Watch TVB. Check.
Go to bed. Check.
Wake up before dawn....
Holy crap! It looks as if I have altered the time line. Apparently I've become a 70 year old man. It seems like I'm two bottles of ensure and a pair of depends and a little chest pain away from Shady Acres retirement home.
This hiatus from the hooha and rabble rousing may end tomorrow or drag on for a few decades, but for now it is definitely a welcome change of pace. It's nice to not want to kick people in the head or rip parking meters off of poles.
When this humdrum gets old there will be; lions, tigers and bears rivers of scotch, plenty of white sand, blue sky, spinning turbines and lots and lots of glitter.
Until then, just watch the sunrise.
Recently however I find myself waking up right before the sun comes up. That's one alarm clock that's a little more difficult to turn off. I suppose I could get automatic blackout shades on a timer, but that wouldn't be any fun. Unfortunately the sun comes up at about 5:20am which leaves me with even more time to wonder and ponder about things that don't really matter.
Where is this other cuff link? Why can't people see themselves? If you could relive the last 10 years, what would you change? What would happen to the time line? Would you have to kill your past self in order to take your own place? If you did that wouldn't you die too?
For better or worse the space time continuum will have to take care of itself for now. There are far more pressing matters on the agenda today. There are deals to be made, chops to be busted, shit to shoot and rules to be bent. I used to think that sleep was a necessity right up there with food and water. But maybe sleep is more like fried chicken. Its awfully good, but we could all do with a little less of it.
Ironically I'm getting pretty sleepy as I write this or did the previous analogy make me hungry? At this time of day, I'm relatively content. The world has yet to infuriate me with its inane prattle and petty nonsense. While that may be good for my blood pressure levels, it makes for some rather dull writing.
If calm=dull then anger=excitement? Help me out here you law jockeys.
For nearly a month now I've found myself extremely mellow. I almost feel like I'm losing my edge. I have eliminated over 90% of my bad habits. I've stopped engaging in self-destructive activities, I've stopped engaging negative people and places in my daily routine.
So let's see.
Wake up before dawn. Check.
Stretch. Check.
Review to do list for the day. Check.
Update the do list for the week. Check.
Go out and complete the list. Check.
Compile tomorrow's list. Check.
Watch TVB. Check.
Go to bed. Check.
Wake up before dawn....
Holy crap! It looks as if I have altered the time line. Apparently I've become a 70 year old man. It seems like I'm two bottles of ensure and a pair of depends and a little chest pain away from Shady Acres retirement home.
This hiatus from the hooha and rabble rousing may end tomorrow or drag on for a few decades, but for now it is definitely a welcome change of pace. It's nice to not want to kick people in the head or rip parking meters off of poles.
When this humdrum gets old there will be; lions, tigers and bears rivers of scotch, plenty of white sand, blue sky, spinning turbines and lots and lots of glitter.
Until then, just watch the sunrise.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Soul for sale
A very wise person sat me down today and told me that I had become a shell of my former self. In my unrelenting pursuit of personal growth I had ruthlessly stripped away my humanity. All I ever talk about anymore is real estate and poker. Under the guise of efficiency and dedication I had effectively become a one dimensional cliche; card playing, scotch swilling, snide commenting, broker-whore. Unfortunately she was absolutely right.
It takes a ton of nerve and a lot more compassion to put me in my place. Most people wouldn't take the time to steel themselves against the scathing tirades that rally in defense of my staunch self-denial. But she managed to hold a mirror up to my face long enough for me to see what I had wholeheartedly become of my own free will; a moderately successful underachiever on a one way track to becoming a lonely embittered old man who mutters to himself in the park.
The irony lies in the catalyst that set me upon this path about a decade or so ago. During college I learned that the secret to life was to enjoy it. What was most enjoyable at the time? Getting paid and getting laid. As the years wore on, an increasing amount of my actions were geared towards achieving those two very noble goals. Somewhere along the way I also learned that it is better to focus your energy on a single task; so nowadays the only thing that matters is getting paid.
Who doesn't like getting paid? All of history's greatest triumphs and darkest tragedies revolve around people trying to get paid. Ideally we would all get paid to do whatever our passions demand of us. Unfortunately there is only so much demand for Ninjas, cowboys, relationship advice columnists and princesses. To exacerbate the matter there are very few children who dream of becoming assembly line workers, dishwashers, disgruntled store managers and pamphlet distributors.
However us ever resourceful humans have devised countless methods of helping people bridge the mental and emotional gap between passion and profession, namely alcohol. Think back to the very first time that you did what you had to do instead of what you loved to do. The first time you did your homework instead of playing outside, the first time you took a summer job so you could go on a crazy spring break, the first time you put away your guitar and put on a tie, the first time you went home with the person you saw after the 10th shot instead of the one you were checking out in the coffee shop, the first time you worked a double so you could save for that down payment, the first time you bought sensible shoes instead of the ones that made your feet look like a Qing dynasty beauty but the rest of you look great, the first time you drove a minivan instead of a convertible.
The examples are endless, but we compromise our ideals for the sake of necessity we trade a little bit of our souls for some measure of solace. Solace in the fact that one day all of these little trades will pay off in a big way. Unfortunately for the vast majority of us we trade one too many pieces of our soul's true ambitions and we end up with an unrecognizable mess of half-baked plans; dead-end jobs, loveless marriages, spiteful kids, massive debt, and a massive void inside us that no amount of illicit affairs, shiny cars, oceanfront villas and fat bank accounts could ever hope to fill.
Talk about going off on a tangent.
Why did I suddenly discover that the secret to life was simply enjoying it?
I used to have much loftier goals. I wanted to save the planet, captain a starship, rid the world of greed, become a kung fu master and prosecute criminals to the fullest extent of the law. But after witnessing how much corruption, hypocrisy and self-serving duplicity is ingrained into so many people, I quite simply gave up. I lost my will to fight the good fight and instead focused all of my abilities on obtaining the most meaningless and transient things possible. So I find myself on a hedonic treadmill where nothing I earn is ever enough to quench my wants because of a deeply rooted self-loathing which stems from having surrendered to my baser instincts.
Where does this leave me?
I have a lot more writing to do. In her valiant attempt to salvage the remnants of my soul she suggested that I find something that I still enjoy doing outside of real estate and poker. Something that I can take pride in regardless of whether or not I actually make any money doing it. If in the course of pursuing said activity, I happen to make some money then I can try to turn it into a career I enjoy and then use it to achieve something and to make a positive contribution to some segment of society.
The first step was to create this blog. I have always enjoyed writing. Getting the words out of my head and onto paper or a screen is an extremely therapeutic pastime for me. Keeping all of these thoughts bottled up would have likely led to an psychotic breakdown.
For those who are reading my thoughts for the first time, welcome to the madhouse. I will transfer all of my old rants from Facebook in their entirety to this blog, so if you're bored at work and you want to have a couple of laughs, get a little angry and dip into the crazy then read through them. Just keep away from sharp objects and open windows.
For my veteran readers, thank you for taking the time to absorb what I have to say. Whether you take offense at this grammatically challenged raving loony asshole or take heart that there is a kindred spirit who shares in your frustrations, I hope that it at least makes you think. As long as we keep thinking there's a chance.
If I can be pulled back from the edge, anyone can.
It takes a ton of nerve and a lot more compassion to put me in my place. Most people wouldn't take the time to steel themselves against the scathing tirades that rally in defense of my staunch self-denial. But she managed to hold a mirror up to my face long enough for me to see what I had wholeheartedly become of my own free will; a moderately successful underachiever on a one way track to becoming a lonely embittered old man who mutters to himself in the park.
The irony lies in the catalyst that set me upon this path about a decade or so ago. During college I learned that the secret to life was to enjoy it. What was most enjoyable at the time? Getting paid and getting laid. As the years wore on, an increasing amount of my actions were geared towards achieving those two very noble goals. Somewhere along the way I also learned that it is better to focus your energy on a single task; so nowadays the only thing that matters is getting paid.
Who doesn't like getting paid? All of history's greatest triumphs and darkest tragedies revolve around people trying to get paid. Ideally we would all get paid to do whatever our passions demand of us. Unfortunately there is only so much demand for Ninjas, cowboys, relationship advice columnists and princesses. To exacerbate the matter there are very few children who dream of becoming assembly line workers, dishwashers, disgruntled store managers and pamphlet distributors.
However us ever resourceful humans have devised countless methods of helping people bridge the mental and emotional gap between passion and profession, namely alcohol. Think back to the very first time that you did what you had to do instead of what you loved to do. The first time you did your homework instead of playing outside, the first time you took a summer job so you could go on a crazy spring break, the first time you put away your guitar and put on a tie, the first time you went home with the person you saw after the 10th shot instead of the one you were checking out in the coffee shop, the first time you worked a double so you could save for that down payment, the first time you bought sensible shoes instead of the ones that made your feet look like a Qing dynasty beauty but the rest of you look great, the first time you drove a minivan instead of a convertible.
The examples are endless, but we compromise our ideals for the sake of necessity we trade a little bit of our souls for some measure of solace. Solace in the fact that one day all of these little trades will pay off in a big way. Unfortunately for the vast majority of us we trade one too many pieces of our soul's true ambitions and we end up with an unrecognizable mess of half-baked plans; dead-end jobs, loveless marriages, spiteful kids, massive debt, and a massive void inside us that no amount of illicit affairs, shiny cars, oceanfront villas and fat bank accounts could ever hope to fill.
Talk about going off on a tangent.
Why did I suddenly discover that the secret to life was simply enjoying it?
I used to have much loftier goals. I wanted to save the planet, captain a starship, rid the world of greed, become a kung fu master and prosecute criminals to the fullest extent of the law. But after witnessing how much corruption, hypocrisy and self-serving duplicity is ingrained into so many people, I quite simply gave up. I lost my will to fight the good fight and instead focused all of my abilities on obtaining the most meaningless and transient things possible. So I find myself on a hedonic treadmill where nothing I earn is ever enough to quench my wants because of a deeply rooted self-loathing which stems from having surrendered to my baser instincts.
Where does this leave me?
I have a lot more writing to do. In her valiant attempt to salvage the remnants of my soul she suggested that I find something that I still enjoy doing outside of real estate and poker. Something that I can take pride in regardless of whether or not I actually make any money doing it. If in the course of pursuing said activity, I happen to make some money then I can try to turn it into a career I enjoy and then use it to achieve something and to make a positive contribution to some segment of society.
The first step was to create this blog. I have always enjoyed writing. Getting the words out of my head and onto paper or a screen is an extremely therapeutic pastime for me. Keeping all of these thoughts bottled up would have likely led to an psychotic breakdown.
For those who are reading my thoughts for the first time, welcome to the madhouse. I will transfer all of my old rants from Facebook in their entirety to this blog, so if you're bored at work and you want to have a couple of laughs, get a little angry and dip into the crazy then read through them. Just keep away from sharp objects and open windows.
For my veteran readers, thank you for taking the time to absorb what I have to say. Whether you take offense at this grammatically challenged raving loony asshole or take heart that there is a kindred spirit who shares in your frustrations, I hope that it at least makes you think. As long as we keep thinking there's a chance.
If I can be pulled back from the edge, anyone can.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Doors
I was reading a transcript of Patrick Henry's impassioned speech at the Second Virginia convention in 1775. A singularly beautiful piece of writing and regardless of whether or not he was that actually that articulate 235 years ago, the sentiment still ring resoundingly sincere. In the face of an indomitable foe, a single man's earnest desire for freedom helped launch a nation such as the world has never seen.
But today I'll take my inspiration from a man with arguably less impact, the godfather of poker, Mr. Doyle Brunson, the pioneer of modern poker.
"The doors we open and close each day determine the lives we live." - Doyle Brunson
I spent the first twenty-plus years of my life learning how to open doors. Intellectual, emotional, social, physical, spiritual, financial and even actual doors; steel, wood, fire proof, etc. However in recent years I find myself spending more and more time closing them.
I began closing my intellectual doors in high school when I decided that academia would never figure prominently in my future, emotional ones I learned to close out of necessity, social ones out of preference, physical ones out of laziness, spiritual ones out of disappointment and financial ones if they led to red.
I have very few doors left to close and to go re-opening the old ones seems a little Sisyphean.
So does that leave me on a very narrow path to becoming an embittered old man who throws rocks at happy children? Maybe, but kids are very annoying these days.
Curious about my condition, I decided to do a little research into the term "loner." After an exhaustive search I stumbled upon the holy grail of answers, Wikipedia. The universal repository of half-baked knowledge informed me that there are two distinct types of loners.
1) Those who are deemed awkward and strange by the majority of society and subsequently ostracized to the fringe.
2) Those who deem society awkward and strange and isolate themselves from the majority.
Sounds a lot like half a pound vs. 8 ounces or rather we all hate you vs. I hate you all.
Sadly for those who haven't been paying attention I am a card carrying member of the latter group.
I kid you not. Every morning I wake up and take a few deep breaths, I bask in the glory that is life and I prepare myself for a day of positive change and goodwill towards all mankind. I doubt if I can count on one hand the number of days where I've felt the same way when I go to bed.
People just really really suck.
They're stupid. They're lazy. They're selfish. They're short-sighted, narrow-minded, thick-skulled, dim-witted, self-serving, self-aggrandizing, self-hating, overweight, underweight, arrogant, wrathful, petty, ignorant, ugly, vile, wretched creatures and those are just the other drivers on the road in the morning.
Sure every now and then you'll get a marine jumping on a grenade to save his friends, rescue workers running into fires to save babies, babies calling 911 to save their mothers, mothers beating muggers, muggers turning murderers and murderers killing rapists, but think of all of the evil that has to exist in order to highlight those isolated incidents of goodness.
But I digress. Let's keep the scope of this diatribe against humanity socio-economically local.
There was a news report of 5000 people showing up to apply for 300 hotel jobs at the new intercontinental in Times Square. This was a story designed to engender sympathy for the working man and shine spotlight on the dismal state of the economy. Well you know what? There is no sympathy. There are countless ways to make money, what people need is a rigorous course in PROBABILITY.
300 out of 5000 equals 6% which means you'd have to be better than 94% of the field. In other words you'd have to be an A quality candidate. Now if you were an A quality candidate, do you really think that you'd have to stand in a line of 5000 people?
Someone that really needed money and was somehow drawn to Times Square on the same day as the other 4999 people waiting for a handout from the Intercontinental (which is severely overrated by the way, the Peninsula is much better) would have done one of the following.
A) Buy 200 (24pk) cases of bottled water from Costco ($1200) and sell them for $1 each and net $3000+ in profit (gas, ice, transportation, coolers, runners)
B) Compile a list of job offers from Craigslist and print them into a 4 page brochure format at Staples and print a few thousand copies then sell job offers for $6 bucks a pop. Profit at least $5000+
C) Sell tickets to a job hunting/wealth building/health creating seminar at $10 dollars each or 2 for $18 or a 10 pack for $68 Profit: at least a year's worth of working at the InterContinental
D....infinity) ANYTHING EXCEPT WAIT IN THE GOD DAMN LINE
Wealth, security, health, happiness and success are not granted to those who wait their turn for it. It's SIEZE THE DAY not wait for the day to stroke you off because you deserve it.
Life is so agonizingly simple that it drives men to madness trying to figure out there must be more. Well there isn't.
Here are the answers to all of life's mysteries.
Spend less than you earn, eat less than you burn.
Better to be lucky than good, so go knock on wood.
Only what you do counts for anything,
doesn't matter what you would, could or should.
Whining about how hard you're trying
is as useful as putting out a forest fire with you're crying.
If I ever have kids, that will be their lullaby. That will be monogrammed on their blankets, carved into their jade necklaces, inscribed onto little plaques for their first cars, hung in the banquet halls of their weddings, etc. etc. etc.
If you're fat it's because you eat too much, if you're lonely it's because people don't like you, if you're broke it's because you spend too much and make too little.
It really is that simple. If you're the exception to the rule, then you know what? You're just un fucking lucky and that sucks, but so do you, so whaddya want me to do about it? Refer to the answer to life listed above.
This is what happens when I don't drink.
But today I'll take my inspiration from a man with arguably less impact, the godfather of poker, Mr. Doyle Brunson, the pioneer of modern poker.
"The doors we open and close each day determine the lives we live." - Doyle Brunson
I spent the first twenty-plus years of my life learning how to open doors. Intellectual, emotional, social, physical, spiritual, financial and even actual doors; steel, wood, fire proof, etc. However in recent years I find myself spending more and more time closing them.
I began closing my intellectual doors in high school when I decided that academia would never figure prominently in my future, emotional ones I learned to close out of necessity, social ones out of preference, physical ones out of laziness, spiritual ones out of disappointment and financial ones if they led to red.
I have very few doors left to close and to go re-opening the old ones seems a little Sisyphean.
So does that leave me on a very narrow path to becoming an embittered old man who throws rocks at happy children? Maybe, but kids are very annoying these days.
Curious about my condition, I decided to do a little research into the term "loner." After an exhaustive search I stumbled upon the holy grail of answers, Wikipedia. The universal repository of half-baked knowledge informed me that there are two distinct types of loners.
1) Those who are deemed awkward and strange by the majority of society and subsequently ostracized to the fringe.
2) Those who deem society awkward and strange and isolate themselves from the majority.
Sounds a lot like half a pound vs. 8 ounces or rather we all hate you vs. I hate you all.
Sadly for those who haven't been paying attention I am a card carrying member of the latter group.
I kid you not. Every morning I wake up and take a few deep breaths, I bask in the glory that is life and I prepare myself for a day of positive change and goodwill towards all mankind. I doubt if I can count on one hand the number of days where I've felt the same way when I go to bed.
People just really really suck.
They're stupid. They're lazy. They're selfish. They're short-sighted, narrow-minded, thick-skulled, dim-witted, self-serving, self-aggrandizing, self-hating, overweight, underweight, arrogant, wrathful, petty, ignorant, ugly, vile, wretched creatures and those are just the other drivers on the road in the morning.
Sure every now and then you'll get a marine jumping on a grenade to save his friends, rescue workers running into fires to save babies, babies calling 911 to save their mothers, mothers beating muggers, muggers turning murderers and murderers killing rapists, but think of all of the evil that has to exist in order to highlight those isolated incidents of goodness.
But I digress. Let's keep the scope of this diatribe against humanity socio-economically local.
There was a news report of 5000 people showing up to apply for 300 hotel jobs at the new intercontinental in Times Square. This was a story designed to engender sympathy for the working man and shine spotlight on the dismal state of the economy. Well you know what? There is no sympathy. There are countless ways to make money, what people need is a rigorous course in PROBABILITY.
300 out of 5000 equals 6% which means you'd have to be better than 94% of the field. In other words you'd have to be an A quality candidate. Now if you were an A quality candidate, do you really think that you'd have to stand in a line of 5000 people?
Someone that really needed money and was somehow drawn to Times Square on the same day as the other 4999 people waiting for a handout from the Intercontinental (which is severely overrated by the way, the Peninsula is much better) would have done one of the following.
A) Buy 200 (24pk) cases of bottled water from Costco ($1200) and sell them for $1 each and net $3000+ in profit (gas, ice, transportation, coolers, runners)
B) Compile a list of job offers from Craigslist and print them into a 4 page brochure format at Staples and print a few thousand copies then sell job offers for $6 bucks a pop. Profit at least $5000+
C) Sell tickets to a job hunting/wealth building/health creating seminar at $10 dollars each or 2 for $18 or a 10 pack for $68 Profit: at least a year's worth of working at the InterContinental
D....infinity) ANYTHING EXCEPT WAIT IN THE GOD DAMN LINE
Wealth, security, health, happiness and success are not granted to those who wait their turn for it. It's SIEZE THE DAY not wait for the day to stroke you off because you deserve it.
Life is so agonizingly simple that it drives men to madness trying to figure out there must be more. Well there isn't.
Here are the answers to all of life's mysteries.
Spend less than you earn, eat less than you burn.
Better to be lucky than good, so go knock on wood.
Only what you do counts for anything,
doesn't matter what you would, could or should.
Whining about how hard you're trying
is as useful as putting out a forest fire with you're crying.
If I ever have kids, that will be their lullaby. That will be monogrammed on their blankets, carved into their jade necklaces, inscribed onto little plaques for their first cars, hung in the banquet halls of their weddings, etc. etc. etc.
If you're fat it's because you eat too much, if you're lonely it's because people don't like you, if you're broke it's because you spend too much and make too little.
It really is that simple. If you're the exception to the rule, then you know what? You're just un fucking lucky and that sucks, but so do you, so whaddya want me to do about it? Refer to the answer to life listed above.
This is what happens when I don't drink.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Rounders Redux
The first time I saw the most misquoted poker movie of all time was in the fall of 2004. I was in my glorious 5th year of undergrad living in a very creepy apartment on the top floor of a house in the bottom of a pit with a creepy old lady for landlord and her grand daughter who had a penchant for sitting in a rocking chair on the first floor in the middle of the night. (Yes living on the set of a horror movie was preferable to Stony Brook housing)
Fall of 2004. Greg Raymer had turned a $160 dollar satellite entry into a $5,000,000.00 cash in the WSOP. His win followed Chris Moneymaker's famous $20 dollar to $2,500,000 the year before. Poker fever swept the nation. Home prices went up 20% a year, anyone who could pass a mirror test could finance 110% of their purchase price, and every guy from LA to NY, and Duluth to Dallas fantasized about going pro.
Card rooms around the city filled to the brim. On any given night you could find yourself sitting next to A-Rod at Acepoint or even Bill Gates at the Bellagio. Poker was the American Dream personified. At any given table you could find people from every walk of life, every income bracket, every ethnicity all fixated on the random distribution of 52 slips of plastic and small towers of clay. Any old shmuck could go from guppy to superstar in one lucky tournament.
Disposable time and income coupled with an unprecedented lack of a societal work ethic made poker an irresistible draw to generation zero. Fame, fortune and glory was only a few cards away. You didn't have to be fast, strong, graceful, balanced or good looking. Winning made you forget about losing and losing only made you want to win even more. Poker was the opiate of choice.
After seeing Rounders, I'll admit that I fell for the trap too. I had been playing cards for about a year, mostly with people who were as clueless as me. But I went out and I bought all of the classics; Brunson, Caro, Harrington, McEvoy, Sklansky, etc. etc. etc. If I had studied that hard in school, I would have been in the first year of my dissertation.
In 2006, poker paid for my first whirlwind tour of Asia. Sounds impressive right? If I hadn't spent all of my time playing cards then I probably would have had my first whirlwind tour of Asia on a Gulfstream. But money won will always be sweeter than money earned. Thus is the curse of the inveterate gambler. It was in the winter of 2006 that I realized that I lacked both the luck and the discipline to go pro, semi-pro or even successful amateur. Whatever edge I had in skill and technique was overwhelmed by my impatience and refusal to accept the realities of EV. I have learned an re-learned this lesson in various forms in the past few years.
This brings us to last night when I happened to watch Rounders again. The first time I saw it, I loved it. Over time I was taught to mock it derisively as a "noob" indoctrination video. But last night watching it with a weariness I didn't realize I had, I found it thoroughly enjoyable. There are of course inaccuracies, but the type of people who harp on those are the same type of people that can't see the forest for the trees, i.e. people who need to be kicked in the face. It's a movie about following your dreams and the infinite number of possibilities that chase can manifest itself.
Poker imitates life a little too well which explains its enduring popularity. The best hand doesn't always win, hard work doesn't guarantee success, sometimes those who deserve the least end up with the most. However there is an indescribable sense of satisfaction when things work out, a wave of relief when you get away with something you shouldn't, a constant fear that this could all be for nothing and a sense of absolute serenity when you can genuinely accept that what will be will be.
In the next paragraph please feel free to use the words life and poker interchangeably and hopefully you'll see what I mean.
There are those who coast along in poker never making an attempt to rise above where they are. All they see is other people winning in poker and they curse their infernal bad luck and wonder why they can never get ahead in poker. Then there those who constantly struggle with poker, they read books, they practice, they grind, but eventually they reach a plateau. Maybe they break even, or show modest, but consistent profits in poker. They falsely believe that his is all poker will ever hold for them and they never move beyond that level. Then there are those who enjoy outrageous runs of luck in poker, they have the best cards, the most chips and can fall ass backwards into a runner runner gut shot without a second thought. Those fortunate few can glide through the rest of their poker careers fun and fancy free until their luck runs out. That's when they deride poker as a fool's errand and their sense of entitlement magnifies their perceived losses to deafening boom at which point they become a maniacal time bomb in all aspects of poker. Then there are those who never stop trying in poker and for better or worse they accept the cruel realities of poker, but are not dissuaded by what may be hopelessly unattainable goals. But poker is a journey not a destination and ultimately poker is just a game with a beginning and an end; all of the ups and downs should be embraced and enjoyed because those are what make the ride.
My new favorite lines from the movie:
"In the poker game of life, women are the rake."
"It's not a pipe dream."
"We can't run from who we are."
"If you want to see this next card, then you'll stop speaking fucking Sputnik!"
So anyone who's read this far can really see how degeneracy can warp the neural pathways in your mind to the point where something as silly as a card game can take on such enormous metaphysical overtones. Pat you probably started reading this paragraph first, so please scroll up and start from the top. Mohegan on Wednesday Dave? lol
Shuffle (Shut) up and deal (with it)
Fall of 2004. Greg Raymer had turned a $160 dollar satellite entry into a $5,000,000.00 cash in the WSOP. His win followed Chris Moneymaker's famous $20 dollar to $2,500,000 the year before. Poker fever swept the nation. Home prices went up 20% a year, anyone who could pass a mirror test could finance 110% of their purchase price, and every guy from LA to NY, and Duluth to Dallas fantasized about going pro.
Card rooms around the city filled to the brim. On any given night you could find yourself sitting next to A-Rod at Acepoint or even Bill Gates at the Bellagio. Poker was the American Dream personified. At any given table you could find people from every walk of life, every income bracket, every ethnicity all fixated on the random distribution of 52 slips of plastic and small towers of clay. Any old shmuck could go from guppy to superstar in one lucky tournament.
Disposable time and income coupled with an unprecedented lack of a societal work ethic made poker an irresistible draw to generation zero. Fame, fortune and glory was only a few cards away. You didn't have to be fast, strong, graceful, balanced or good looking. Winning made you forget about losing and losing only made you want to win even more. Poker was the opiate of choice.
After seeing Rounders, I'll admit that I fell for the trap too. I had been playing cards for about a year, mostly with people who were as clueless as me. But I went out and I bought all of the classics; Brunson, Caro, Harrington, McEvoy, Sklansky, etc. etc. etc. If I had studied that hard in school, I would have been in the first year of my dissertation.
In 2006, poker paid for my first whirlwind tour of Asia. Sounds impressive right? If I hadn't spent all of my time playing cards then I probably would have had my first whirlwind tour of Asia on a Gulfstream. But money won will always be sweeter than money earned. Thus is the curse of the inveterate gambler. It was in the winter of 2006 that I realized that I lacked both the luck and the discipline to go pro, semi-pro or even successful amateur. Whatever edge I had in skill and technique was overwhelmed by my impatience and refusal to accept the realities of EV. I have learned an re-learned this lesson in various forms in the past few years.
This brings us to last night when I happened to watch Rounders again. The first time I saw it, I loved it. Over time I was taught to mock it derisively as a "noob" indoctrination video. But last night watching it with a weariness I didn't realize I had, I found it thoroughly enjoyable. There are of course inaccuracies, but the type of people who harp on those are the same type of people that can't see the forest for the trees, i.e. people who need to be kicked in the face. It's a movie about following your dreams and the infinite number of possibilities that chase can manifest itself.
Poker imitates life a little too well which explains its enduring popularity. The best hand doesn't always win, hard work doesn't guarantee success, sometimes those who deserve the least end up with the most. However there is an indescribable sense of satisfaction when things work out, a wave of relief when you get away with something you shouldn't, a constant fear that this could all be for nothing and a sense of absolute serenity when you can genuinely accept that what will be will be.
In the next paragraph please feel free to use the words life and poker interchangeably and hopefully you'll see what I mean.
There are those who coast along in poker never making an attempt to rise above where they are. All they see is other people winning in poker and they curse their infernal bad luck and wonder why they can never get ahead in poker. Then there those who constantly struggle with poker, they read books, they practice, they grind, but eventually they reach a plateau. Maybe they break even, or show modest, but consistent profits in poker. They falsely believe that his is all poker will ever hold for them and they never move beyond that level. Then there are those who enjoy outrageous runs of luck in poker, they have the best cards, the most chips and can fall ass backwards into a runner runner gut shot without a second thought. Those fortunate few can glide through the rest of their poker careers fun and fancy free until their luck runs out. That's when they deride poker as a fool's errand and their sense of entitlement magnifies their perceived losses to deafening boom at which point they become a maniacal time bomb in all aspects of poker. Then there are those who never stop trying in poker and for better or worse they accept the cruel realities of poker, but are not dissuaded by what may be hopelessly unattainable goals. But poker is a journey not a destination and ultimately poker is just a game with a beginning and an end; all of the ups and downs should be embraced and enjoyed because those are what make the ride.
My new favorite lines from the movie:
"In the poker game of life, women are the rake."
"It's not a pipe dream."
"We can't run from who we are."
"If you want to see this next card, then you'll stop speaking fucking Sputnik!"
So anyone who's read this far can really see how degeneracy can warp the neural pathways in your mind to the point where something as silly as a card game can take on such enormous metaphysical overtones. Pat you probably started reading this paragraph first, so please scroll up and start from the top. Mohegan on Wednesday Dave? lol
Shuffle (Shut) up and deal (with it)
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Sunset
I asked my sister, "Where do people go when they walk off into the sunset?" She promptly replied "Well I suppose at some point they'd hit the ocean." Apparently snark runs in the family.
Today was a beautiful day in NYC. The third one in a row actually. The first one was dismissed as a fluke, "ehhh it's probably gonna snow again tomorrow." The second one piqued the curiosity of the natives, but Noo Yawkas don't take the bait so easily. "Oh yea buddy, let's see you do that again." By day 3 the balmy 60 degree weather, unblemished blue skies and unabashed sunshine finally broke through our thick skins and it looked like spring was well its way. People walked with a bounce in their step, even the occasional furtive smiles at strangers happened without a single "Whaddya lookin at?" This is the best time of year in the city, the first whispers of springtime after a long and brutal winter. Hope is rekindled in the few short weeks before it gets so hot that 5th avenue ends up melting onto your shoes and everyone smells like 3 week old chicken and rice.
On this majestically beautiful day in New York I found myself standing next to a garbage can on a street corner in Soho seriously contemplated throwing my phone away and walking into the sunset. After dumping the crackberry I would stroll into Wachovia, TD and Bank of America liquidate everything and then dump the wallet and start walking. The handicappers in my mind immediately began calculating the over/under on how long it would be before I cracked and went running back to the garbage can to dig out the phone. The sharp money had it at about 3 minutes, but it would have been a exhilarating three minutes. (That's what she said. waka waka)
Leave the company, the clients, the projects, the contacts, all of it in the garbage can. Take whatever I could cash out and start over anonymously or just drift from one place to another. People have traveled exponentially farther on extremely less that what I was planning. I could get a one way ticket to somewhere, pay for a year's rent upfront and just rebuild from scratch.....
Um. Asshole. Rebuld what? If you're going to rebuild then why the hell are you going to stop building? What a load of pretentious bull SHIT. Wah wah wah I want to go where nobody knows my name. Well I think there's a bar named Jeers you can drown your loser sorrows in. It doesn't matter where you go, there you are.
Whatever load of crap you're pulling is like a Siamese version of that creepy little doll My buddy. "My buddy my buddy. Everywhere I go he follows me too. My buddy my buddy. My buddy and ME!!!" If you can't hack it in a place where you grew up, with all of the support systems and resources available to a native then you aren't going to hack it anywhere. Yes I am plagiarizing Sinatra. There's no way to run away from your problems, no way to hide from them. However there are very clear cut ways to solve them.
Identify. Analyze. Destroy.
What are some of the biggest motivating factors that make people think running away will solve their problems?
Boredom, yuppie poverty, loneliness. Hmm it looks like there's only one primary factor.
Boredom and loneliness are merely offshoots of a very serious malaise of the spirit that occurs in successful young urban professionals.
Yuppie poverty. It is a sickeningly whiny and shallow disease that is rapidly becoming an epidemic. Similar to how Alexander the Great went mad after conquering the known world except without all of the historical significance or Macedonian drama. It is most aptly described by the Chinese adage, "To be full without worrying about rice." That is not the recipe for a low-carb diet. It refers to people who have the necessities covered without realizing it.
I kicked myself in the mental nads for allowing such self-serving, ungrateful and entitled thoughts. Run away? From this? You must be stupid.
I am in one of the most vibrant and dynamic cities on the face of this planet.
I have opportunities and challenges that men twice my age have never even come close to.
I have the ability to shape my future and the future of those that I care about using little more than ingenuity and determination.
I have nobody to blame but myself.
I have no intention of losing.
I have the power to say YES I will and NO I will not. Not under any circumstances!
So as this motivational inner monologue began raging my phone rang.
I picked up and walked into the sunset onto my next meeting.
Today was a beautiful day in NYC. The third one in a row actually. The first one was dismissed as a fluke, "ehhh it's probably gonna snow again tomorrow." The second one piqued the curiosity of the natives, but Noo Yawkas don't take the bait so easily. "Oh yea buddy, let's see you do that again." By day 3 the balmy 60 degree weather, unblemished blue skies and unabashed sunshine finally broke through our thick skins and it looked like spring was well its way. People walked with a bounce in their step, even the occasional furtive smiles at strangers happened without a single "Whaddya lookin at?" This is the best time of year in the city, the first whispers of springtime after a long and brutal winter. Hope is rekindled in the few short weeks before it gets so hot that 5th avenue ends up melting onto your shoes and everyone smells like 3 week old chicken and rice.
On this majestically beautiful day in New York I found myself standing next to a garbage can on a street corner in Soho seriously contemplated throwing my phone away and walking into the sunset. After dumping the crackberry I would stroll into Wachovia, TD and Bank of America liquidate everything and then dump the wallet and start walking. The handicappers in my mind immediately began calculating the over/under on how long it would be before I cracked and went running back to the garbage can to dig out the phone. The sharp money had it at about 3 minutes, but it would have been a exhilarating three minutes. (That's what she said. waka waka)
Leave the company, the clients, the projects, the contacts, all of it in the garbage can. Take whatever I could cash out and start over anonymously or just drift from one place to another. People have traveled exponentially farther on extremely less that what I was planning. I could get a one way ticket to somewhere, pay for a year's rent upfront and just rebuild from scratch.....
Um. Asshole. Rebuld what? If you're going to rebuild then why the hell are you going to stop building? What a load of pretentious bull SHIT. Wah wah wah I want to go where nobody knows my name. Well I think there's a bar named Jeers you can drown your loser sorrows in. It doesn't matter where you go, there you are.
Whatever load of crap you're pulling is like a Siamese version of that creepy little doll My buddy. "My buddy my buddy. Everywhere I go he follows me too. My buddy my buddy. My buddy and ME!!!" If you can't hack it in a place where you grew up, with all of the support systems and resources available to a native then you aren't going to hack it anywhere. Yes I am plagiarizing Sinatra. There's no way to run away from your problems, no way to hide from them. However there are very clear cut ways to solve them.
Identify. Analyze. Destroy.
What are some of the biggest motivating factors that make people think running away will solve their problems?
Boredom, yuppie poverty, loneliness. Hmm it looks like there's only one primary factor.
Boredom and loneliness are merely offshoots of a very serious malaise of the spirit that occurs in successful young urban professionals.
Yuppie poverty. It is a sickeningly whiny and shallow disease that is rapidly becoming an epidemic. Similar to how Alexander the Great went mad after conquering the known world except without all of the historical significance or Macedonian drama. It is most aptly described by the Chinese adage, "To be full without worrying about rice." That is not the recipe for a low-carb diet. It refers to people who have the necessities covered without realizing it.
I kicked myself in the mental nads for allowing such self-serving, ungrateful and entitled thoughts. Run away? From this? You must be stupid.
I am in one of the most vibrant and dynamic cities on the face of this planet.
I have opportunities and challenges that men twice my age have never even come close to.
I have the ability to shape my future and the future of those that I care about using little more than ingenuity and determination.
I have nobody to blame but myself.
I have no intention of losing.
I have the power to say YES I will and NO I will not. Not under any circumstances!
So as this motivational inner monologue began raging my phone rang.
I picked up and walked into the sunset onto my next meeting.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Rut
As far as the eye could see lay an unblemished white sheet of freshly fallen snow. The quiet beauty of winter sprawled itself out lazily turning an otherwise unremarkable parking lot into a Siberian postcard. I would have stood there longer and espouse more cliches about snowfall except I had a 10 o'clock and this wintry wonderland was standing between me and punctuality.
I stomped through the snow leaving increasingly deeper footprints and for some strange reason I thought that I should be carrying a broom so that I could cover my tracks because there are a lot of cannibalistic Inuit hunters roaming around Astoria.
On a snowy day like this all SUV owners have a not so subtle smug look on their faces, much like the one I would be wearing as soon as I dug my jeep out from under the 2 feet of snow that had accumulated all around it. After 15 minutes of furiously lashing at the snow with shovel, pick and broom I started the jeep just to discover that the defroster decided to take the day off...yay for SUVs.
Quite agitated now I trudged back to the other end of the parking lot and dug the sedan out in only 5 minutes. I should be a professional snow remover. With the front and rear defrosters set to scalding I triumphantly rolled out of the parking lot through the driveway, went up the ramp, checked for oncoming traffic then proceeded to turn out onto the street and then promptly got stuck. All the vaunted German engineering that went into the all wheel drive doesn't mean squat against the harsh laws of physics. All four tires spinning above a frictionless surface only generates extreme agitation.
So there I was running late, car stuck in a slushy quagmire while SUV drivers drove by giving me derisively smug looks as they spent their 9 mpg cruising effortlessly as I tried to roll out of the snow pit. I returned a look that I was hoping would convey "I have an SUV in the parking lot, but the defroster's on the fritz, so I have to drive this thing in the damn snow." unfortunately I think the look came across as "Go fuck yourself."
Anyhow as I was trying to dig and roll out of this pit while still racing against the clock, a guy pulls up in a sation wagon/SUV crossover. Great more smugness...I wonder if he'd like shovel for breakfast. He introduced himself as a guy from Chicago and asked for an extra shovel to help dig me out of the ditch. I felt a little guilty for my instinctive mistrust, but the last black guy from Chicago I met is trying to socialize my health care, raise my taxes and take away my guns. But this guy was pretty darn nice and I still made it to my 10 o'clock albeit soaked with dirty slush since I left my driver side window open because I was hot from all the snow shoveling and I didn't want to be sweaty and I drove past an oncoming 18 wheeler which drove right through a puddle giving me a winter log flume experience. Life is great.
What does that have to do with the rut? Not much, I just wanted to share my blizzard misadventure. I suppose you could draw parallels with the car being stuck on that hump of snow and then needing rescue from the Chicago fellow, but no. I don't want to go there.
The biggest benefit of the white stuff is that people bother me a lot less when it's snowing. I have developed a Pavlovian fear of my phone; it's shrill ring and the unceasing blinking of the red LED indicator. Calls, emails, texts, messengers, reminders, updates, downloads and all other manner of merciless demands for immediate attention and response. If blackberries were people they'd be the most soul-sucking, needy, selfish bastards on earth much like (insert favorite enemies)
So the phone, the job, the investments, they all cause large amounts of stress. This stress leads to boredom, restlessness, fatigue and irritability. Those translate into a reluctance to partake in any and all forms of social interaction for fear of more phone calls, texts, etc. which then translates into a chronic low grade depression stemming from stress, fatigue and lack of social interaction.
So physician, heal thyself.
I'm not a physician nor a psychiatrist, psychologist, therapist or even someone you should ask for advice at a bar with two people. I'm just a very tired person much like the rest of you. I am exhausted by the same routine of grind, splurge,grind. I'm even more exhausted by the grind, save, grind. I read in a very good book, "The Pursuit of Happiness" by Daniel Gilbert that when we imagine ourselves doing a activity what we actually do is project our current emotional state onto said activity. For example right now I am bored, tired and annoyed. So when imagine going out tonight I will imagine it to be a boring, tiring and annoying night even though I may have the time of my life. Unfortunately our vanity tends to exert a great control over our perceptions. It's more satisfying to the brain to be right than to be happy, so if I project that negativity it is most likely that my evening out will very much live up to my pessimistic expectations.
So I am stuck in this rut because I thought I would be stuck in this rut. I'm quite the annoying little bastard aren't I? Alas, there is a way out. Since we're now aware of our brain's cognitive processes we can definitely delude ourselves into being happy. That's where those "power of positive thinking" people get their smiles, well that and Valium. But if I had the wherewithal to force my mind into a constant state of self-delusional peppiness then I would be a very different person. An entirely different brand of insufferable, but I prefer this version.
That being the case, I have no choice but to proffer the standard options for a Friday night. Drum roll please.....
Let's go:
a) to Atlantic City: drive for four hours in the storm of the century to wager thousands of dollars on a negative expectation and then chide ourselves for our impulsiveness and swear never to return to this den of destitution.
NO
b) to HIRO/Circle/Pink Elephant/Mansion aka hell no/360 degrees of doom/stink pachyderm/hovel again spend thousands of dollars on a negative expectation because on the off chance that one of the members of the roving bands of bottle hopping miners is just pretending to be a veteran digger and is actually a nice person, she will not leave with you because she doesn't want to expose herself to the rest of her pack lest they bar her from future hopping expeditions.
NO
c) to PR. One word to live by. One word to die for. One word to rule all words. NOPR
d) normal activities; watch a movie, eat dinner, bowl, paintball, tennis, swimming, racquetball, etc. etc.
These are all great things to do, but for people who have led a life mired in A,B and C these activities hold little appeal and on the rare occasion that they are appealing, the sad realization that such activities require an extended social network of non-degenerates dawns upon these ABC dwellers and they retreat to their fortresses solitude and bide their time till they can revert to their pagan ways.
So there you have it. A lifestyle rut.
In order to combat this disease I read, watch TV, consider charitable causes and then stick my head in the sand and focus on work because I cannot generate enough momentum to break free of that cycle, I can only hide from it as it stalks me relentlessly. Constantly beckoning with empty promises of drunken glory, superficial beauty and fleeting gratification. I run, it follows and the chase begins anew.
After running so hard, the little remainder of my energy is re-diverted to making money, growing the business, etc. etc. which in turn leads back to the blinking red light and shrill ring of my needy little friend.
Co-dependency is almost as beautiful as freshly fallen snow.
I stomped through the snow leaving increasingly deeper footprints and for some strange reason I thought that I should be carrying a broom so that I could cover my tracks because there are a lot of cannibalistic Inuit hunters roaming around Astoria.
On a snowy day like this all SUV owners have a not so subtle smug look on their faces, much like the one I would be wearing as soon as I dug my jeep out from under the 2 feet of snow that had accumulated all around it. After 15 minutes of furiously lashing at the snow with shovel, pick and broom I started the jeep just to discover that the defroster decided to take the day off...yay for SUVs.
Quite agitated now I trudged back to the other end of the parking lot and dug the sedan out in only 5 minutes. I should be a professional snow remover. With the front and rear defrosters set to scalding I triumphantly rolled out of the parking lot through the driveway, went up the ramp, checked for oncoming traffic then proceeded to turn out onto the street and then promptly got stuck. All the vaunted German engineering that went into the all wheel drive doesn't mean squat against the harsh laws of physics. All four tires spinning above a frictionless surface only generates extreme agitation.
So there I was running late, car stuck in a slushy quagmire while SUV drivers drove by giving me derisively smug looks as they spent their 9 mpg cruising effortlessly as I tried to roll out of the snow pit. I returned a look that I was hoping would convey "I have an SUV in the parking lot, but the defroster's on the fritz, so I have to drive this thing in the damn snow." unfortunately I think the look came across as "Go fuck yourself."
Anyhow as I was trying to dig and roll out of this pit while still racing against the clock, a guy pulls up in a sation wagon/SUV crossover. Great more smugness...I wonder if he'd like shovel for breakfast. He introduced himself as a guy from Chicago and asked for an extra shovel to help dig me out of the ditch. I felt a little guilty for my instinctive mistrust, but the last black guy from Chicago I met is trying to socialize my health care, raise my taxes and take away my guns. But this guy was pretty darn nice and I still made it to my 10 o'clock albeit soaked with dirty slush since I left my driver side window open because I was hot from all the snow shoveling and I didn't want to be sweaty and I drove past an oncoming 18 wheeler which drove right through a puddle giving me a winter log flume experience. Life is great.
What does that have to do with the rut? Not much, I just wanted to share my blizzard misadventure. I suppose you could draw parallels with the car being stuck on that hump of snow and then needing rescue from the Chicago fellow, but no. I don't want to go there.
The biggest benefit of the white stuff is that people bother me a lot less when it's snowing. I have developed a Pavlovian fear of my phone; it's shrill ring and the unceasing blinking of the red LED indicator. Calls, emails, texts, messengers, reminders, updates, downloads and all other manner of merciless demands for immediate attention and response. If blackberries were people they'd be the most soul-sucking, needy, selfish bastards on earth much like (insert favorite enemies)
So the phone, the job, the investments, they all cause large amounts of stress. This stress leads to boredom, restlessness, fatigue and irritability. Those translate into a reluctance to partake in any and all forms of social interaction for fear of more phone calls, texts, etc. which then translates into a chronic low grade depression stemming from stress, fatigue and lack of social interaction.
So physician, heal thyself.
I'm not a physician nor a psychiatrist, psychologist, therapist or even someone you should ask for advice at a bar with two people. I'm just a very tired person much like the rest of you. I am exhausted by the same routine of grind, splurge,grind. I'm even more exhausted by the grind, save, grind. I read in a very good book, "The Pursuit of Happiness" by Daniel Gilbert that when we imagine ourselves doing a activity what we actually do is project our current emotional state onto said activity. For example right now I am bored, tired and annoyed. So when imagine going out tonight I will imagine it to be a boring, tiring and annoying night even though I may have the time of my life. Unfortunately our vanity tends to exert a great control over our perceptions. It's more satisfying to the brain to be right than to be happy, so if I project that negativity it is most likely that my evening out will very much live up to my pessimistic expectations.
So I am stuck in this rut because I thought I would be stuck in this rut. I'm quite the annoying little bastard aren't I? Alas, there is a way out. Since we're now aware of our brain's cognitive processes we can definitely delude ourselves into being happy. That's where those "power of positive thinking" people get their smiles, well that and Valium. But if I had the wherewithal to force my mind into a constant state of self-delusional peppiness then I would be a very different person. An entirely different brand of insufferable, but I prefer this version.
That being the case, I have no choice but to proffer the standard options for a Friday night. Drum roll please.....
Let's go:
a) to Atlantic City: drive for four hours in the storm of the century to wager thousands of dollars on a negative expectation and then chide ourselves for our impulsiveness and swear never to return to this den of destitution.
NO
b) to HIRO/Circle/Pink Elephant/Mansion aka hell no/360 degrees of doom/stink pachyderm/hovel again spend thousands of dollars on a negative expectation because on the off chance that one of the members of the roving bands of bottle hopping miners is just pretending to be a veteran digger and is actually a nice person, she will not leave with you because she doesn't want to expose herself to the rest of her pack lest they bar her from future hopping expeditions.
NO
c) to PR. One word to live by. One word to die for. One word to rule all words. NOPR
d) normal activities; watch a movie, eat dinner, bowl, paintball, tennis, swimming, racquetball, etc. etc.
These are all great things to do, but for people who have led a life mired in A,B and C these activities hold little appeal and on the rare occasion that they are appealing, the sad realization that such activities require an extended social network of non-degenerates dawns upon these ABC dwellers and they retreat to their fortresses solitude and bide their time till they can revert to their pagan ways.
So there you have it. A lifestyle rut.
In order to combat this disease I read, watch TV, consider charitable causes and then stick my head in the sand and focus on work because I cannot generate enough momentum to break free of that cycle, I can only hide from it as it stalks me relentlessly. Constantly beckoning with empty promises of drunken glory, superficial beauty and fleeting gratification. I run, it follows and the chase begins anew.
After running so hard, the little remainder of my energy is re-diverted to making money, growing the business, etc. etc. which in turn leads back to the blinking red light and shrill ring of my needy little friend.
Co-dependency is almost as beautiful as freshly fallen snow.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Millionaire gives up his fortune. Two thumbs DOWN!!
After a long and stressful day I go to my favorite website mushacay.com. to unwind.
Musha Cay is a cluster of private islands in the Exuma Chain south of the Bahamas. It is one of the most beautiful, exclusive and expensive resorts in the world perhaps better than even Richard Branson's Necker Island. (Google's 2 co-founders had their respective weddings on each of these resorts) But such indescribable luxury comes at an astronomical price. At anywhere from $27,000-$42,000 per night for up to 25 people not including the $ 120,000 for a pair of Gulfstream Vs to take everyone down there this vacation is just a little north of completely obscene bordering on despicable. I can't wait to celebrate my 30th birthday there.
Ambitious? Believe it when I see it? Crock of shit? Delusional? Egotistical? Fuck yea? Greedy? Hell no? I wanna come too? Let's not finish the alphabet. When the time comes I'll have the 23 invitations hand delivered.
The amorphous "they" would have you believe that this luxury and altruism are mutually exclusive polar opposites. Don't take Lamborghini advice from someone who's only ever ridden a bicycle. Bill Gates and Warren Buffet are two of the richest men in the world and they have their fair share of enemies and detractors. But they also have some of the world's largest charities. The cynical screams of "TAX WRITE-OFF" are duly noted, bitter bunch of bastards eh? Who cares about their motivations when they give away more than entire generations of humanity have ever earned? Sometimes the ends do justify the means. What does that have to do with the Austrian guy?
Google Karl Rabeder and you'll find a heartwarming story about an Austrian millionaire who has decided to donate his entire $4.7 million fortune and exile himself to the fringe of society. What a load of crap. It's great that he is donating it to charity and not blackjack 32 in pit 18 at Venetian's Paiza club, but give me a break. That guy is quitting and heckling everyone else for still playing and I find it a little too self-righteous and mildly pathetic.
Waahhh I made a lot of money and it made me sad. Now I'm going to give it all away and live in a tiny cabin in the Swiss alps. What would have happened if Bill Gates and Warren Buffet gave up at $ 4.7 M. Where would the world be today? Spiderman's uncle had it right all along, "With great power comes great responsibility.
Karl Rabeder, you may be a nice rich Euro dude, but you are doing no great service by announcing your faux Buddha ways. Someone in your position obviously has enough intelligence and/or good fortune to create an even bigger fortune. So you don't want to live the 5-star lifestyle, that's fine. You can take the subway or rather, the metro, to work like the IKEA guy. But that's no reason to give all of your money away. You're only 47, go make some more and then give it away, or if you just want anonymity, then move to your damn cottage and donate the money anonymously. Don't go and make a big show of it man. You're heart's in what seems to be the right place, but it seems that your head is not.
I'm not hating on Mr. Rabeder. His money will definitely enrich many lives, perhaps more than my money ever will, but it definitely sends a mixed message. Wealth is not to be feared or reviled neither is it to be worshiped nor yearned for. Wealth is a tool and like all tools it can be used for good and evil.
There is nothing wrong with wanting to experience some of the finest things in life and contrary to appearance I do not believe the finest things in life are private jets, villas and islands. True love, genuine affection, camaraderie, respect, compassion, loyalty, faith, kung fu, Triad movies, casinos, models, Bugatis, scotch, books, cooks, real family, music, poker, winning, losing, writing. These are a infinitesimal number of things that can be enjoyed and experienced in this life. In the tapestry of these infinite possibilities is it really so hard to imagine that indulging in both luxury and benevolence is a path worth following?
Achieving your dreams doesn't mean destroying those of others, at least not permanently.
Musha Cay is a cluster of private islands in the Exuma Chain south of the Bahamas. It is one of the most beautiful, exclusive and expensive resorts in the world perhaps better than even Richard Branson's Necker Island. (Google's 2 co-founders had their respective weddings on each of these resorts) But such indescribable luxury comes at an astronomical price. At anywhere from $27,000-$42,000 per night for up to 25 people not including the $ 120,000 for a pair of Gulfstream Vs to take everyone down there this vacation is just a little north of completely obscene bordering on despicable. I can't wait to celebrate my 30th birthday there.
Ambitious? Believe it when I see it? Crock of shit? Delusional? Egotistical? Fuck yea? Greedy? Hell no? I wanna come too? Let's not finish the alphabet. When the time comes I'll have the 23 invitations hand delivered.
The amorphous "they" would have you believe that this luxury and altruism are mutually exclusive polar opposites. Don't take Lamborghini advice from someone who's only ever ridden a bicycle. Bill Gates and Warren Buffet are two of the richest men in the world and they have their fair share of enemies and detractors. But they also have some of the world's largest charities. The cynical screams of "TAX WRITE-OFF" are duly noted, bitter bunch of bastards eh? Who cares about their motivations when they give away more than entire generations of humanity have ever earned? Sometimes the ends do justify the means. What does that have to do with the Austrian guy?
Google Karl Rabeder and you'll find a heartwarming story about an Austrian millionaire who has decided to donate his entire $4.7 million fortune and exile himself to the fringe of society. What a load of crap. It's great that he is donating it to charity and not blackjack 32 in pit 18 at Venetian's Paiza club, but give me a break. That guy is quitting and heckling everyone else for still playing and I find it a little too self-righteous and mildly pathetic.
Waahhh I made a lot of money and it made me sad. Now I'm going to give it all away and live in a tiny cabin in the Swiss alps. What would have happened if Bill Gates and Warren Buffet gave up at $ 4.7 M. Where would the world be today? Spiderman's uncle had it right all along, "With great power comes great responsibility.
Karl Rabeder, you may be a nice rich Euro dude, but you are doing no great service by announcing your faux Buddha ways. Someone in your position obviously has enough intelligence and/or good fortune to create an even bigger fortune. So you don't want to live the 5-star lifestyle, that's fine. You can take the subway or rather, the metro, to work like the IKEA guy. But that's no reason to give all of your money away. You're only 47, go make some more and then give it away, or if you just want anonymity, then move to your damn cottage and donate the money anonymously. Don't go and make a big show of it man. You're heart's in what seems to be the right place, but it seems that your head is not.
I'm not hating on Mr. Rabeder. His money will definitely enrich many lives, perhaps more than my money ever will, but it definitely sends a mixed message. Wealth is not to be feared or reviled neither is it to be worshiped nor yearned for. Wealth is a tool and like all tools it can be used for good and evil.
There is nothing wrong with wanting to experience some of the finest things in life and contrary to appearance I do not believe the finest things in life are private jets, villas and islands. True love, genuine affection, camaraderie, respect, compassion, loyalty, faith, kung fu, Triad movies, casinos, models, Bugatis, scotch, books, cooks, real family, music, poker, winning, losing, writing. These are a infinitesimal number of things that can be enjoyed and experienced in this life. In the tapestry of these infinite possibilities is it really so hard to imagine that indulging in both luxury and benevolence is a path worth following?
Achieving your dreams doesn't mean destroying those of others, at least not permanently.
You can have all of this and still contribute to society.
Really you can. Just don't be lazy.
And don't stop believing!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Comps Castles and Caskets
The frequency of my facebook notes is rising considerably, maybe I should turn it into a blog, but then I'm not that pretentious...yet.
Comps, castes and caskets. Sounds like an episode of Las Vegas. The rapid approach of Chinese New Year brings an annual resurgence of ethnic awareness. I once took great pride in being a person of Tang, but that's a story for another day. One indisputable fact about the Chinese is that we love to gamble. After all what kind of person jumps on a boat to cross the world's largest ocean in order to mine a golden mountain but instead slaves away in a laundromat 20 years before coming home to show off their winnings to their fellow villagers. Sounds like just another trip to Atlantic City.
Whether this passion for (im)probability is genetic or cultural is irrelevant. It is enough of a reality that the mega corporate powers that be who control the gambling industries have devoted mountains of treasure in order to court the golden geese of high rollers: Chinese whales. The code word is Asian gambler, but in actuality China mints millionaires and billionaires faster than Obama can print money and issue government bonds. These schools of noveau riche fish are just what the doctor ordered to prop up a struggling stock prices.
The masters of Las Vegas; Sheldon Anderson and Steve Wynn have poured billions into Macau to turn it into the world's largest whale farm. Player development specialists and sales representatives target ultra high net worth individuals at the Macau properties and introduce them to the wonder that is Sin City. They then load these whales into private jets and personal Boeing 747s and transport them to the desert where they stay in 8,000 square foot unnamed villas and play in private salons wagering the GDP of the Dominican republic on a hand of Baccarat. Teams of 3-star Michelin chefs, five diamond concierges and grand master English butlers cater to their every whim.
The billionaire is happy because he gets a 24 hour buffet that changes every 45 minutes, his favorite jade statue in the dominant position of his villa's great room which faces the auspicious south west and then places his bet during when the blade of Lord Guan is in the seventh trigram of the goddess of mercy.
The casino is happy because it's going to get at least ten times whatever it spends on Feng Shui, Shui Mai and Mai Mai the masseuse. The whale believes that they are duping the casino and the casinos know they are duping the whales. Ultimately the whales can afford it and if they can't they'll lose everything, kill themselves and someone else will fill their LV flip flops.
Why do we devote so much time and energy to the accumulation of wealth, status and power? So we can get comps. Once you can buy everything you could possibly want, then you want it for free. Thus is the selfish entitlement that dominates the typical human mind. Now that you have money you want status, because only a part of the joy comes from having it, the rest of it stems from having someone else want it. But unfortunately our brain develops a tolerance to this fairly quickly as well. That's why billionaires become politicians and philanthropists. Because even with wealth and status you are still at the mercy of those with authority outside of your sphere of money and fame. So the quest for power ensues. Billionaire presidents, governors, mayors, etc. and then of course there are the philanthropists. Those who seek to change the world with the strength of their vision and the depth of their bank accounts.
This is by no means an attack on those who seek to do good with their billions. It is just a simple fact that there is no limit to human ambition and equally no limit to our propensity for good or evil. But certain inalienable truths remain. The crippled and diseased beggar foraging for moldy bread crusts was born and the debonair gambler in the hand cut Brioni pushing a stack of flags ($5000 chips) onto Banker and swirling a glass of MacCallan 55 while his $20,000/day escort feigns interest will die. Between birth and death, the tapestry of humanity and inhumanity contains countless manifestations of luck, fate, unfairness and repetitiveness.
Repetition seems to be a universal theme. Ever drive down a long stretch of road and watch the signs? Cross the Holland tunnel into Jersey and you'll see Exxon, McDonald's, Home Depot, Applebee's, IHOP, Wendy's, Burger King, Car dealership, Costco, Wal-mart, Target, Exxon, Mc Donald's, Home Depot, Applebee's, IHOP, Wendy's, Burger King, Car dealership, Costco, Wal-mart, repeat for a few thousand times and you'll see a sign that says Welcome to Los Angeles.
Our lives are geared towards a decades long cycle of repetition. Eat, work, drink, mate, sleep. Having been given this ignoble gift of sentience we have to convince ourselves that we're not just repeating the same motions of a bumble bee. Please spare me your protestations citing love, literature, art, music, compassion and grace. All of that falls under the mating category.
You can eat $1.78/lb. ground beef, collect cans for recycling, drink Taurino beer for $6.99/18 pack, hook up with a toothless meth tweaker, and sleep next to a dumpster. Or you can nosh on $300 lb. Kobe Wagyu, live on the residual income of your oil well money, sip your single cask 60 year old Isle of Islay single malt, retire to a chamber of super models and when you're spent slump onto your $60,000 vivendus mattress on your $ 1,600,000 Ruijssenaars floating magnetic bed. Whichever end of the spectrum you inhabit, there is an inevitably similar ending.
What the hell is the point? We all know this already. There are some really rich people and there are some really poor people. After the game the king and the pawn go into the same box. Do you have anything new to add Antonio?
Why yes I do.
More than just descriptions of increasingly outrageous luxuries?
Yes. Please let me finish.
By all means.
As my alter ego so rudely points out. Money doesn't buy happiness.
The ultimate equalizer is already in place for all of us. So whether you are chasing money, love, power, respect or chicken nuggets just GO FOR IT.
It isn't gambling, life isn't a gamble, life is a game of musical boxes. Run around in circles as long as the music is playing, laugh, scream, dance, chase, leap and tumble because once it stops....
you have to wait for it to start over again.
Chinese people like reincarnation =)
Comps, castes and caskets. Sounds like an episode of Las Vegas. The rapid approach of Chinese New Year brings an annual resurgence of ethnic awareness. I once took great pride in being a person of Tang, but that's a story for another day. One indisputable fact about the Chinese is that we love to gamble. After all what kind of person jumps on a boat to cross the world's largest ocean in order to mine a golden mountain but instead slaves away in a laundromat 20 years before coming home to show off their winnings to their fellow villagers. Sounds like just another trip to Atlantic City.
Whether this passion for (im)probability is genetic or cultural is irrelevant. It is enough of a reality that the mega corporate powers that be who control the gambling industries have devoted mountains of treasure in order to court the golden geese of high rollers: Chinese whales. The code word is Asian gambler, but in actuality China mints millionaires and billionaires faster than Obama can print money and issue government bonds. These schools of noveau riche fish are just what the doctor ordered to prop up a struggling stock prices.
The masters of Las Vegas; Sheldon Anderson and Steve Wynn have poured billions into Macau to turn it into the world's largest whale farm. Player development specialists and sales representatives target ultra high net worth individuals at the Macau properties and introduce them to the wonder that is Sin City. They then load these whales into private jets and personal Boeing 747s and transport them to the desert where they stay in 8,000 square foot unnamed villas and play in private salons wagering the GDP of the Dominican republic on a hand of Baccarat. Teams of 3-star Michelin chefs, five diamond concierges and grand master English butlers cater to their every whim.
The billionaire is happy because he gets a 24 hour buffet that changes every 45 minutes, his favorite jade statue in the dominant position of his villa's great room which faces the auspicious south west and then places his bet during when the blade of Lord Guan is in the seventh trigram of the goddess of mercy.
The casino is happy because it's going to get at least ten times whatever it spends on Feng Shui, Shui Mai and Mai Mai the masseuse. The whale believes that they are duping the casino and the casinos know they are duping the whales. Ultimately the whales can afford it and if they can't they'll lose everything, kill themselves and someone else will fill their LV flip flops.
Why do we devote so much time and energy to the accumulation of wealth, status and power? So we can get comps. Once you can buy everything you could possibly want, then you want it for free. Thus is the selfish entitlement that dominates the typical human mind. Now that you have money you want status, because only a part of the joy comes from having it, the rest of it stems from having someone else want it. But unfortunately our brain develops a tolerance to this fairly quickly as well. That's why billionaires become politicians and philanthropists. Because even with wealth and status you are still at the mercy of those with authority outside of your sphere of money and fame. So the quest for power ensues. Billionaire presidents, governors, mayors, etc. and then of course there are the philanthropists. Those who seek to change the world with the strength of their vision and the depth of their bank accounts.
This is by no means an attack on those who seek to do good with their billions. It is just a simple fact that there is no limit to human ambition and equally no limit to our propensity for good or evil. But certain inalienable truths remain. The crippled and diseased beggar foraging for moldy bread crusts was born and the debonair gambler in the hand cut Brioni pushing a stack of flags ($5000 chips) onto Banker and swirling a glass of MacCallan 55 while his $20,000/day escort feigns interest will die. Between birth and death, the tapestry of humanity and inhumanity contains countless manifestations of luck, fate, unfairness and repetitiveness.
Repetition seems to be a universal theme. Ever drive down a long stretch of road and watch the signs? Cross the Holland tunnel into Jersey and you'll see Exxon, McDonald's, Home Depot, Applebee's, IHOP, Wendy's, Burger King, Car dealership, Costco, Wal-mart, Target, Exxon, Mc Donald's, Home Depot, Applebee's, IHOP, Wendy's, Burger King, Car dealership, Costco, Wal-mart, repeat for a few thousand times and you'll see a sign that says Welcome to Los Angeles.
Our lives are geared towards a decades long cycle of repetition. Eat, work, drink, mate, sleep. Having been given this ignoble gift of sentience we have to convince ourselves that we're not just repeating the same motions of a bumble bee. Please spare me your protestations citing love, literature, art, music, compassion and grace. All of that falls under the mating category.
You can eat $1.78/lb. ground beef, collect cans for recycling, drink Taurino beer for $6.99/18 pack, hook up with a toothless meth tweaker, and sleep next to a dumpster. Or you can nosh on $300 lb. Kobe Wagyu, live on the residual income of your oil well money, sip your single cask 60 year old Isle of Islay single malt, retire to a chamber of super models and when you're spent slump onto your $60,000 vivendus mattress on your $ 1,600,000 Ruijssenaars floating magnetic bed. Whichever end of the spectrum you inhabit, there is an inevitably similar ending.
What the hell is the point? We all know this already. There are some really rich people and there are some really poor people. After the game the king and the pawn go into the same box. Do you have anything new to add Antonio?
Why yes I do.
More than just descriptions of increasingly outrageous luxuries?
Yes. Please let me finish.
By all means.
As my alter ego so rudely points out. Money doesn't buy happiness.
The ultimate equalizer is already in place for all of us. So whether you are chasing money, love, power, respect or chicken nuggets just GO FOR IT.
It isn't gambling, life isn't a gamble, life is a game of musical boxes. Run around in circles as long as the music is playing, laugh, scream, dance, chase, leap and tumble because once it stops....
you have to wait for it to start over again.
Chinese people like reincarnation =)
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Men of a Certain Age
Men of A Certain Age is a great new show on TNT featuring Ray Romano, Scott Bakula and Andre Braugher. Maybe I should be concerned that a show depicting the trials and struggles of 40-something men resonates so strongly with me. But I guess we all grow up a little too fast these days.
I was at a stop sign on the corner of North 11th Street and Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg today on the way to an appointment. Having already stopped at the sign I rolled through the crosswalk to check for oncoming traffic. A pack of teenagers begin to cross the street. I roll forward to allow them to pass, but one of the leaders of tomorrow decides to cross in front of me, so I stop. The rest of the pack is crossing behind the car and one of them bangs on my trunk window angrily. I glance out the passenger side window to see a bunch of them giving me dirty looks and rude gestures.
In the ensuing two seconds a remarkably complex and detailed chain of events unfolded in my mind. Perhaps I've been watching too much Lost. I felt the usual warning signs of danger.
Pupils dilating- taking in the whole scene; 8 teens. 1 with his back turned continuing to walk. 7 of them staring at me. 4 small ones, 2 medium sized and 1 oaf sized. The large one is the pack leader holding his chin up with a defiant stare. The rest are divided half with hesitant fear playing across their faces and the other 3 slightly emboldened by their proximity to the big one. No visible weapons, thick jackets but thin jeans.
Jaw clenching- give the most bloodthirsty scream you can manage.
Blood pressure skyrocketing- throw the car in park, close the distance with maximum possible speed. The weaker ones will naturally back away, the large one will step forward. Take out his knees, keep your hands up, use your forward momentum to throw the smaller ones into each otehr.
Adrenaline pumping- If you can't trigger their flight response with the first charge, then you are going to get hit. A lot. Immobilize the largest threat, find a weapon, keep them in front of you, use oncoming traffic to your advantage, throats, balls, kidneys, knees, anything vulnerable, make them bleed, KILL KILL KILL.
That was the first second.
In the second second.
Cost benefit analysis- What do I gain by fighting a pack of street punks. Experience? Glory? A good facebook story? Maybe someone will catch it on video, I'll become a youtube sensation and get a bit part in Rush Hour 4. (I kid you not these thoughts ran through my mind)
What ifs- if they produce knives, boxcutters or firearms game over. If you get hit by a car game over. If you slip on your shoe laces, embarrassingly game over. If you manage to actually kill or paralyze one of them will they sue? Prison? Do I have enough personal liability insurance. What if I'm late for my appointment? Am I going to blow 10k on a street fight? What if I just throw this in reverse and run these mofos down? Vehicular manslaughter...at least 3 counts. That's 3-8 upstate minimum.
Analysis- I'm really out numbered here. I might actually lose this fight. I'm too old for this shit. I'm chickening out.
Final result. I spent two seconds in the crosswalk and then drove away.
Hooligans: 1 Antonio: 0
Did I do the right thing? Most would say yes. I have no business fighting in the street. There are 7 of them. The greatest victory is not having to fight. BLAH BLAH BLAH. All that is well and good and I could pat myself on the back for my epic maturity IF and only if I would never fight in those circumstances.
I don't know.
I could have taught that pack of shitheads that Chinese guys are not the sick men of Asia. I could have reinforced one of our best cultural stereotypes and show them the "real power" of Chinese kung fu. lol I could be licensed to carry firearms and gunned them down....for banging on my car. lol
Ultimately there was no reason to fight in that situation. As much as those assholes deserved a beating, assuming I was able to administer said beating, they would not associate the punishment with the crime. They would simply cradle their broken arms, put a splint on their dislocated knees, wipe their bloody noses and ice down their bruised throats and feel as if they were victims of a deranged SUV driver.
Whether it is the fear of injury that comes with age or the wisdom that comes with time, I abstained from violence. But what really upsets me isn't the fact that I didn't brawl with a bunch of jerkoff high school kids. I can safely say that I won't get involved in petty altercations where there is nothing to gain and everything to lose.
My question is, what happens when there is a fight that deserves to be fought? Let's say I happen upon a driver being harassed by a group of hooligans, will I join the fracas or will I rationalize my way out of that one too? With enough thinking, it can be reasoned that you should never fight and if a situation escalates to the point where violence is necessary then you should contact the proper authorities and let the trained professionals deal with the situation. Spoken like a true old man completely emasculated by an increasingly spineless culture.
There is a time to fight and there is a time to walk away. I just hope that when the time comes I'm still capable of making the first choice.
It's an age thing.
I was at a stop sign on the corner of North 11th Street and Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg today on the way to an appointment. Having already stopped at the sign I rolled through the crosswalk to check for oncoming traffic. A pack of teenagers begin to cross the street. I roll forward to allow them to pass, but one of the leaders of tomorrow decides to cross in front of me, so I stop. The rest of the pack is crossing behind the car and one of them bangs on my trunk window angrily. I glance out the passenger side window to see a bunch of them giving me dirty looks and rude gestures.
In the ensuing two seconds a remarkably complex and detailed chain of events unfolded in my mind. Perhaps I've been watching too much Lost. I felt the usual warning signs of danger.
Pupils dilating- taking in the whole scene; 8 teens. 1 with his back turned continuing to walk. 7 of them staring at me. 4 small ones, 2 medium sized and 1 oaf sized. The large one is the pack leader holding his chin up with a defiant stare. The rest are divided half with hesitant fear playing across their faces and the other 3 slightly emboldened by their proximity to the big one. No visible weapons, thick jackets but thin jeans.
Jaw clenching- give the most bloodthirsty scream you can manage.
Blood pressure skyrocketing- throw the car in park, close the distance with maximum possible speed. The weaker ones will naturally back away, the large one will step forward. Take out his knees, keep your hands up, use your forward momentum to throw the smaller ones into each otehr.
Adrenaline pumping- If you can't trigger their flight response with the first charge, then you are going to get hit. A lot. Immobilize the largest threat, find a weapon, keep them in front of you, use oncoming traffic to your advantage, throats, balls, kidneys, knees, anything vulnerable, make them bleed, KILL KILL KILL.
That was the first second.
In the second second.
Cost benefit analysis- What do I gain by fighting a pack of street punks. Experience? Glory? A good facebook story? Maybe someone will catch it on video, I'll become a youtube sensation and get a bit part in Rush Hour 4. (I kid you not these thoughts ran through my mind)
What ifs- if they produce knives, boxcutters or firearms game over. If you get hit by a car game over. If you slip on your shoe laces, embarrassingly game over. If you manage to actually kill or paralyze one of them will they sue? Prison? Do I have enough personal liability insurance. What if I'm late for my appointment? Am I going to blow 10k on a street fight? What if I just throw this in reverse and run these mofos down? Vehicular manslaughter...at least 3 counts. That's 3-8 upstate minimum.
Analysis- I'm really out numbered here. I might actually lose this fight. I'm too old for this shit. I'm chickening out.
Final result. I spent two seconds in the crosswalk and then drove away.
Hooligans: 1 Antonio: 0
Did I do the right thing? Most would say yes. I have no business fighting in the street. There are 7 of them. The greatest victory is not having to fight. BLAH BLAH BLAH. All that is well and good and I could pat myself on the back for my epic maturity IF and only if I would never fight in those circumstances.
I don't know.
I could have taught that pack of shitheads that Chinese guys are not the sick men of Asia. I could have reinforced one of our best cultural stereotypes and show them the "real power" of Chinese kung fu. lol I could be licensed to carry firearms and gunned them down....for banging on my car. lol
Ultimately there was no reason to fight in that situation. As much as those assholes deserved a beating, assuming I was able to administer said beating, they would not associate the punishment with the crime. They would simply cradle their broken arms, put a splint on their dislocated knees, wipe their bloody noses and ice down their bruised throats and feel as if they were victims of a deranged SUV driver.
Whether it is the fear of injury that comes with age or the wisdom that comes with time, I abstained from violence. But what really upsets me isn't the fact that I didn't brawl with a bunch of jerkoff high school kids. I can safely say that I won't get involved in petty altercations where there is nothing to gain and everything to lose.
My question is, what happens when there is a fight that deserves to be fought? Let's say I happen upon a driver being harassed by a group of hooligans, will I join the fracas or will I rationalize my way out of that one too? With enough thinking, it can be reasoned that you should never fight and if a situation escalates to the point where violence is necessary then you should contact the proper authorities and let the trained professionals deal with the situation. Spoken like a true old man completely emasculated by an increasingly spineless culture.
There is a time to fight and there is a time to walk away. I just hope that when the time comes I'm still capable of making the first choice.
It's an age thing.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Blast from the past
Xanga excerpt from December 25, 2003
Merry Christmas Everyone!!!!!!
I hope all of you got what you wanted this year. If not then at least you still have things to look forward to next year =) I had a blast at my family's Christmas eve dinner thanks for the bruises =) Finally leaving for Vegas on Saturday I've been pretty nervous. I've trained at home, with the Native Americans and in Atlantic City in preparation for the days ahead. Hopefully I have learned the skills and discipline required to see me through the difficult tasks before me. It is with great anticipation and mild trepidation that I embark upon this journey to this city of Las Vegas land of dreams destroyed and wasted wallets. lol Was that dramatic enough? Wish me luck ppl this is the real deal hahaha. A more detailed holiday update when I return with a nice end of the year summary and hopefully some pictures.
It's been over six years since my first trip to the desert. Now a little over sixteen hours since my return I can't help but marvel at how much has changed on the surface without affecting anything underneath. At its very core Las Vegas remains an unapologetic sieve which thoroughly separates its visitors from their money and inhibitions. However now everything can be done with an air of faux sophistication whereas it was once only executed with unabashed vulgarity. You can still get your 99 cent hot dogs and 3.99 buffets while gambling away the rest or you can try to set yourself apart from the peasants and chase Michelin Stars and Mobil Diamonds instead of cherries and bars.
Sin City. Clever and catchy but woefully inaccurate. Las Vegas is a city of dreams which by definition are not real, dreaming shouldn't be a sin. In Vegas you can be a worldly connoisseur one minute and a degenerate drifter the next. You can surround yourself with beautiful people, objects, and food or immerse yourself in the most vile aspects of human nature on the slightest whim. You can wander around with cash dripping from your pockets and lose all faith in your fellow man as you see how cheap it is to elicit the full range of human emotions and actions. Or you can walk around penniless and absorb all the beauty that exists from any point on the strip into the horizon as far as your eye can see. Every last bit of that city exists because of the human propensity to dream. Serving no practical purpose other than to satisfy our cultural need for extravagant self-indulgence. A sparkling oasis carved into the desert because we wanted to. Then again you could say the same about a highway lamp.
Why am I talking about Vegas? I was no stranger to gambling the first time I visited the city, but it was that first trip that really captured (tortured) my imagination.
I was all of 22 years old and fancied myself an idiot savant when it came to gambling (I was half right) My heart was set on law school while my mind devoted increasing amounts of time to counting systems and poker probabilities. But even then I knew that luck was better than skill and boy was I lucky. I could split 4s against a 10 and come out 8 times better, I could stroll into a runner runner flush at will and 3 card poker was 2 cards too many for me to turn a profit. Those were interesting times.
Full of the half cocked bravado and swagger that can only accompany inexperienced youth, I tucked my rubber banded roll into my pocket and headed to the airport. Since I was under 25, the nicest car they would let me rent was a white Chevy impala. But we packed into that little car and drove it like it was Bugatti Veyron. Checked into the JW Marriott suites off the strip as if was the penthouse at the MGM Mansions. There on one of the twin queen beds in my junior garden view suite I spread my fortune across the bed and snapped a picture of it. Ten crisp one hundred dollar bills in a fan across the 250 thread count flower patterned comforter. A "gangsta wad" ready to conquer all of Vegas in one endless shoe of good fortune.
Do you know what happened? I won.
Every table. Every shoe. Almost every hand. Over a period of 3 days I turned that little chunk of change into an earth shatteringly huge amount...... $6800. It might as well have been 68 million. Endless food, drink, treasures, LV bags, wallets, shoes, shirts, crocodile belts. Everytime I spent some money I'd go win it back. Life was good. Luck had nothing to do with it. It was all me. Pure skill was what I used to overcome games where everyone else looses money.
I'm smiling as I remember how invincible I felt, how alive.
In the six years since I've returned to that city a couple dozen times with increasingly nicer hotels, bigger rooms, faster cars, and larger bankrolls but I've never had more fun than that first time. Yesterday night I was having dinner at the Encore and I felt something I never thought I would feel in Las Vegas. Apathy.
There was neither happiness, sadness, boredom nor excitement. I think I may have reached a significant plateau on the hedonistic treadmill. Sitting in the middle of one of the most luxurious hotels ever constructed in the history of mankind, surrounded by beauty both aesthetic and functional, being waited on hand and foot with food good enough to be art I found myself thoroughly not interested.
Make no mistake that is not to be confused with ungrateful or unhappy just not terribly into it all. Did Vegas lose its magic or have I just lost all of my charm. There are still plenty of mountains left to climb; mental, spiritual, emotional, physical and financial. It's not like I spend my free time racing towards enlightenment in a Bugatti roadster solving a rubix cube Miranda Kerr and Megan Fox are holding without hands.
The trappings of luxury are really just that; trappings. I can have a more fulfilling time reading on my kindle while sitting on my roof looking at the Queensboro bridge.
Six years ago I looked forward to Vegas eagerly anticipating world conquest. Today I understand that the only world worth conquering is the one in my mind. But when I'm done with that tell Orlando Bloom and Brian Austin Green get their Jets helmets ready.
Viva Las Vegas!
Merry Christmas Everyone!!!!!!
I hope all of you got what you wanted this year. If not then at least you still have things to look forward to next year =) I had a blast at my family's Christmas eve dinner thanks for the bruises =) Finally leaving for Vegas on Saturday I've been pretty nervous. I've trained at home, with the Native Americans and in Atlantic City in preparation for the days ahead. Hopefully I have learned the skills and discipline required to see me through the difficult tasks before me. It is with great anticipation and mild trepidation that I embark upon this journey to this city of Las Vegas land of dreams destroyed and wasted wallets. lol Was that dramatic enough? Wish me luck ppl this is the real deal hahaha. A more detailed holiday update when I return with a nice end of the year summary and hopefully some pictures.
It's been over six years since my first trip to the desert. Now a little over sixteen hours since my return I can't help but marvel at how much has changed on the surface without affecting anything underneath. At its very core Las Vegas remains an unapologetic sieve which thoroughly separates its visitors from their money and inhibitions. However now everything can be done with an air of faux sophistication whereas it was once only executed with unabashed vulgarity. You can still get your 99 cent hot dogs and 3.99 buffets while gambling away the rest or you can try to set yourself apart from the peasants and chase Michelin Stars and Mobil Diamonds instead of cherries and bars.
Sin City. Clever and catchy but woefully inaccurate. Las Vegas is a city of dreams which by definition are not real, dreaming shouldn't be a sin. In Vegas you can be a worldly connoisseur one minute and a degenerate drifter the next. You can surround yourself with beautiful people, objects, and food or immerse yourself in the most vile aspects of human nature on the slightest whim. You can wander around with cash dripping from your pockets and lose all faith in your fellow man as you see how cheap it is to elicit the full range of human emotions and actions. Or you can walk around penniless and absorb all the beauty that exists from any point on the strip into the horizon as far as your eye can see. Every last bit of that city exists because of the human propensity to dream. Serving no practical purpose other than to satisfy our cultural need for extravagant self-indulgence. A sparkling oasis carved into the desert because we wanted to. Then again you could say the same about a highway lamp.
Why am I talking about Vegas? I was no stranger to gambling the first time I visited the city, but it was that first trip that really captured (tortured) my imagination.
I was all of 22 years old and fancied myself an idiot savant when it came to gambling (I was half right) My heart was set on law school while my mind devoted increasing amounts of time to counting systems and poker probabilities. But even then I knew that luck was better than skill and boy was I lucky. I could split 4s against a 10 and come out 8 times better, I could stroll into a runner runner flush at will and 3 card poker was 2 cards too many for me to turn a profit. Those were interesting times.
Full of the half cocked bravado and swagger that can only accompany inexperienced youth, I tucked my rubber banded roll into my pocket and headed to the airport. Since I was under 25, the nicest car they would let me rent was a white Chevy impala. But we packed into that little car and drove it like it was Bugatti Veyron. Checked into the JW Marriott suites off the strip as if was the penthouse at the MGM Mansions. There on one of the twin queen beds in my junior garden view suite I spread my fortune across the bed and snapped a picture of it. Ten crisp one hundred dollar bills in a fan across the 250 thread count flower patterned comforter. A "gangsta wad" ready to conquer all of Vegas in one endless shoe of good fortune.
Do you know what happened? I won.
Every table. Every shoe. Almost every hand. Over a period of 3 days I turned that little chunk of change into an earth shatteringly huge amount...... $6800. It might as well have been 68 million. Endless food, drink, treasures, LV bags, wallets, shoes, shirts, crocodile belts. Everytime I spent some money I'd go win it back. Life was good. Luck had nothing to do with it. It was all me. Pure skill was what I used to overcome games where everyone else looses money.
I'm smiling as I remember how invincible I felt, how alive.
In the six years since I've returned to that city a couple dozen times with increasingly nicer hotels, bigger rooms, faster cars, and larger bankrolls but I've never had more fun than that first time. Yesterday night I was having dinner at the Encore and I felt something I never thought I would feel in Las Vegas. Apathy.
There was neither happiness, sadness, boredom nor excitement. I think I may have reached a significant plateau on the hedonistic treadmill. Sitting in the middle of one of the most luxurious hotels ever constructed in the history of mankind, surrounded by beauty both aesthetic and functional, being waited on hand and foot with food good enough to be art I found myself thoroughly not interested.
Make no mistake that is not to be confused with ungrateful or unhappy just not terribly into it all. Did Vegas lose its magic or have I just lost all of my charm. There are still plenty of mountains left to climb; mental, spiritual, emotional, physical and financial. It's not like I spend my free time racing towards enlightenment in a Bugatti roadster solving a rubix cube Miranda Kerr and Megan Fox are holding without hands.
The trappings of luxury are really just that; trappings. I can have a more fulfilling time reading on my kindle while sitting on my roof looking at the Queensboro bridge.
Six years ago I looked forward to Vegas eagerly anticipating world conquest. Today I understand that the only world worth conquering is the one in my mind. But when I'm done with that tell Orlando Bloom and Brian Austin Green get their Jets helmets ready.
Viva Las Vegas!
18 holes and all equally easy to fall into.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Insomnia
11 days into this new year/decade and I find myself unable to sleep. This is an extremely unusual occurrence Sleep usually brings a measure of peace that is quite unattainable during the day. But there is no great mystery to tonight's bout of restlessness. I took a nap earlier and now my body thinks Monday is well underway.
2009 was a banner year for introspection, reflection and correction. It was a great way to cap off a decade that transformed from a friendly and naive college freshman to a scotch swilling freewheeling compulsive gambler to a more subdued scotch sipping, mildly compulsive dabbler.
So what does a long winded weary soul think about on a night when sleep remains elusive?
The past, the present, the future, the universe, poker, vacation, villas, condos, FHA, rentals, leases, Alessandra Ambrosio, Aston Martins, errands, banks, skiing, facebook notes, cleaning, moving, sleeping, waking, and all sorts of random things that keep bouncing around unsolicited.
What's in store for 2010?
Growth. Unrestricted growth. Personal, financial, intellectual, professional, emotional and maybe even spiritual. I've spent the last couple of years figuring out how to stop dying and how to stop killing myself. Now it's time to apply those hard earned and hard learned lessons into everyday life. I have culled toxic habits, hobbies and people from my world. So much so in fact that it leaves me a little worried.
Having removed all barriers to my success I have left one very crucial area exposed. Failure at this juncture would leave only one person culpable. That would be me. Accountability. What a novel concept. Taking responsibility and control of the direction my life is headed leaves me with a dizzying sense of freedom. It's very empowering. I'm also getting very tired. But there is a slight twinge of euphoria in fatigue. Strange how the mind works.
What else is in store for 2010?
Fun. Lots and lots of fun. The biggest benefit of growth is the ability to have more fun. Personal growth allows you to have fun on days you're doing what you have to do, even if you don't want to. Emotional growth allows you to have fun even when you should be miserable, professional growth allows you to have fun at work, intellectual growth allows you to have fun overcoming problems that stupefy other. Last and most certainly not least, financial growth allows you to have fun anytime anywhere.
So where is the fun going to occur?
January- Los Angeles/Las Vegas for a week of much needed downtime
March- the big 2-8. I'm thinking palm trees and rum
June- A few more palm trees and a couple of infinity pools
July- WSOP 2010. A chip, a chair and a prayer
September- Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong and Macau
November- WSOP final table? Dream big right? lol
December- A really big boat
Now in between all of these excursions there will be lots of work and very little play. But then again work is play, play is play. I think I'm going to go to bed happy.
Now I understand why people seek conflict and drama in their lives. When you take a step back and simply stop doing the things that make you unhappy and then you take another step back and stop letting other people's problems become your own and then take yet another step back and stop caring about what people think about you and why they so desperately want you to fail. All of a sudden you find yourself awake at 2am early on a Monday morning with a bemused smile on your face typing on Facebook and realizing that angst and strife make for much better writing.
I'll leave the good writing to someone else.
2009 was a banner year for introspection, reflection and correction. It was a great way to cap off a decade that transformed from a friendly and naive college freshman to a scotch swilling freewheeling compulsive gambler to a more subdued scotch sipping, mildly compulsive dabbler.
So what does a long winded weary soul think about on a night when sleep remains elusive?
The past, the present, the future, the universe, poker, vacation, villas, condos, FHA, rentals, leases, Alessandra Ambrosio, Aston Martins, errands, banks, skiing, facebook notes, cleaning, moving, sleeping, waking, and all sorts of random things that keep bouncing around unsolicited.
What's in store for 2010?
Growth. Unrestricted growth. Personal, financial, intellectual, professional, emotional and maybe even spiritual. I've spent the last couple of years figuring out how to stop dying and how to stop killing myself. Now it's time to apply those hard earned and hard learned lessons into everyday life. I have culled toxic habits, hobbies and people from my world. So much so in fact that it leaves me a little worried.
Having removed all barriers to my success I have left one very crucial area exposed. Failure at this juncture would leave only one person culpable. That would be me. Accountability. What a novel concept. Taking responsibility and control of the direction my life is headed leaves me with a dizzying sense of freedom. It's very empowering. I'm also getting very tired. But there is a slight twinge of euphoria in fatigue. Strange how the mind works.
What else is in store for 2010?
Fun. Lots and lots of fun. The biggest benefit of growth is the ability to have more fun. Personal growth allows you to have fun on days you're doing what you have to do, even if you don't want to. Emotional growth allows you to have fun even when you should be miserable, professional growth allows you to have fun at work, intellectual growth allows you to have fun overcoming problems that stupefy other. Last and most certainly not least, financial growth allows you to have fun anytime anywhere.
So where is the fun going to occur?
January- Los Angeles/Las Vegas for a week of much needed downtime
March- the big 2-8. I'm thinking palm trees and rum
June- A few more palm trees and a couple of infinity pools
July- WSOP 2010. A chip, a chair and a prayer
September- Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong and Macau
November- WSOP final table? Dream big right? lol
December- A really big boat
Now in between all of these excursions there will be lots of work and very little play. But then again work is play, play is play. I think I'm going to go to bed happy.
Now I understand why people seek conflict and drama in their lives. When you take a step back and simply stop doing the things that make you unhappy and then you take another step back and stop letting other people's problems become your own and then take yet another step back and stop caring about what people think about you and why they so desperately want you to fail. All of a sudden you find yourself awake at 2am early on a Monday morning with a bemused smile on your face typing on Facebook and realizing that angst and strife make for much better writing.
I'll leave the good writing to someone else.
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