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.

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.

You can have all of this and still contribute to society.

Really you can. Just don't be lazy.

And don't stop believing!

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 =)

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.