So I was reading an article the other day and the overreaching topic was motivation. Not Tony Robbins "I'm gonna go all motivational speaker on your ass" or "You can touch the stars if you are light enough at heart" or some cotton candy bullshit like that. It was more sincere, like, when you strip away the frustration, the bluster, the counterfeit senses of accomplishment that you may or may not truly be behind, what really motivates you? And anyone who knows me realizes that this probably put me into a deep thought trance that burdened me for hours. Actually it was only 20 minutes until some angry Israeli called and flipped out because I dared, just dared, to act like the world didn't revolve around him for 30 min. Yes I will call and harass my customer who has only had the stone for 2 days (which, for perspective, is no time at all) just so your over caffeinated Zionist ass will make like a tree and shut the fuck up.
But I digress. I took it as a healthy opportunity, as I am on the verge of a new step in my professional growth, to truly think what I am about. What drives me? Some people would say "Money, Cash, Hoes", but really, I'm from the hood stupid, so what kind of facts are those? I mean, does money drive me? Abso-flippin-lutely. Its always on my mind. And honestly? Its because its the most tangible thing to me right now. Being successful has many different forms, mutations, and stations. But for me, right now, at 24 years of age? Success right now is having a wallet-full of Benjamins and having the freedom to do something with them. Unfortunately, that isn't a scenario that I am living, so I question my success, while others would call me successful to this point (thanks Dad!). As with much in life, its all a matter of perspective.
But money as a driver 10 years down the line? No its not the end all be all. When I was trading, I was making a nice chunk less than I am now (and I've brilliantly articulated before what a princely sum that is), however, I loved every second of my job. I knew that if I was good to great at my job, the money would absolutely come. But for the time being, it was honestly secondary to me being thrilled to do what I was doing. Now, that desktop euphoria isn't there, so I am a little less patient with the idea of "paying my dues" or "letting the money come in time." But, all that being said, it taught me a bit about the idea of loving your job being more important than loving your paycheck. Down the road, I have every want, desire, and attention of being that mythical "rich". Its different for everyone, but I want to be in a situation where I don't have to worry about money. That theoretically is never the case, but it can be to a point where without spending like a Saudi prince, you are doing pretty damn well for yourself. My parents both were extremely smart, financially prudent, and above all, hard working in my youth. My dad still is to this day, all in an effort to make sure we didn't want for anything. I was blessed enough to have a lot of things I took for granted, and I can only hope one day to achieve a similar level for whoever is dependent on me. And I want to be able to be like "Yep, Dad, I screwed up and took that victory lap in college, and you wasted alot of money on me 'finding myself', so here is a Porsche. Happy Birthday." Yeah, I said it, I want to buy my dad a $70,000 sports car someday, thats just how I'm wired. Love it or leave it. I'm not going to pretend some of my monetary dreams and motivations aren't materialistic, cause they totally are. And I frankly see nothing wrong with that.
What else motivates me? In all sincerity, I want my name to be known. Not to be uber famous like Bill Nye the Science Guy or Mr. T, but in whatever field I end up in, I want people to know who I am. Part of it is arrogance, sure. But that "arrogance" is firmly centered in a confidence in myself and a respect for what I feel are my own abilities. Another part is I just feel like it shows you are doing something right. For example, I respect my Dad for alot of things, but the thing that always gets me is that fact that most people in the diamond industry know who my dad is. Now they may not like him or his company, might think he is full of shit and never desire to work with him (in which case they are clearly ass-faced tools), but they know who he or his company are to some extent. That to me is incredibly cool and says that you are doing something right. My Dad isn't some hotshot who is commonly known for his business exploits like Bill Gates or hmm, Lee Iacocca, but he has been successful enough, influential enough, aligned himself with the right people enough within the industry to become a name of note. I would absolutely prefer that to being a nameless upper level executive at a major corporation. Now I have nothing against large corporations and the vital business functions they serve, but I would rather be some maverick running a small company, and maybe making less money than VP X at Big Company Inc., but people within the industry knew who I was...probably because of my chiseled good looks showing up in trade publications and my gunslinger attitude, naturally. I never wanted to be a movie star. I wanted to be a rock star, but less for the notoriety and more because I love being on stage. I have absolutely no desire to be deluged by paparazzi. That being said, I love seeing my name in print, loving hearing myself on playback and would want nothing more than to give a bunch of interviews later in life, preferably to Forbes and Crains Chicago Business, not just my children's school newsletter. Again, no shame, I'm 24, I can be motivated by the most grandiose and seemingly self-important of factors. I'm sure in 10-15 years my motivation will be completely different, but thats how it stands now.
Well, on to more merry and mirthful topics. As Chicago is warming up, it has seemingly woken the homeless from their complacent winter hibernation. This past Friday, while grabbing some late night food, my roommate and I were approached by a hobo inside the establishment. Up till that point, he was loudly chirping about the Blackhawks and "getting out the broom" for a sweep and other nonsensical hobo chatter. I could sense, in my endless drunken cynicism, that he was merely buttering up the drunk masses for his transient sales pitch. Then without warning, he began working his way through the line. As he approached us, unsuccessful up until that point, I immediately thought "Daniel-San is going to buy him whatever he wants cause he is 1) a genuinely nice person and 2) going to think it is more of a hassle to say no than to order what the dude wants." Now I am not a heartless bastard, but I get annoyed with some of the more overbearing and aggressive homeless. My annoyance is confirmed as this pungent ruffian attempts to commandeer our order. This spot has a spectacular "Buy 1 Get 1 Free" gyro special which worked out as I was craving some lamb-filled goodness and it also got our new "friend" a gyro at no real extra cost. But this demanding fuck starts trying to assume he is getting both by requesting cheese (aka that shitty Cheez Wiz) on both gyros. All I could think of was how dare he defile a gyro with cheese and how much he looked like a darker version of Jafar dressed as an old man from Aladdin (or at least his crusty teeth). So we managed to fend him off, get our orders and start to leave. Leading to this exchange:
Jafar: "Hey man, give me some fries too!"
Me: (thinking how these are Dan's fries from his order) Here...(gives 2 fries).
Jafar: "You gotta give me more than 2 fries man!"
Me: "Umm, take those and like it dude."
Jafar: "Y'all are cheap!"
Ok, seriously? Luckily I just wanted to go home and eat otherwise I would have been peeved. When the nature of your existence, by misfortune or not, is to leech off the kindness of others, one would think you wouldn't act entitled? But no, you feel the need to not only take more than was offered, but then complain that the portions were not to his liking? Get bent you dirty rapscallion.
Enough of that rant. The weather has been just superb as of late. I stood on my porch last night, around 8, it was that cool-ish 75 degrees and wanted to clap my hands with glee. You really dont appreciate the quality of early summer weather until you endure a crappy winter and then a spring that is about as pleasant as the awful new promos for the final season of the Hills. So hooray for that. The upcoming weekend features a birthday celebration, trolley rides, a Cubs game, and most importantly, Game 1 of the Stanley Cup (aka the first time a favorite team of mine has ever been in the position to win a championship, the 2007 Bears were just not gonna beat the Colts). Ive watched the ESPN previews and read the articles multiple times, I just want this puck to finally drop on Saturday. We all know nothing good has ever come out of Philly, so lets send the Flyers and their stupid jerseys back to the city of Brotherly Sadness ASAP...and scene.
I don't really have any new music recos right now or bands that I feel the need to highlight, but I have been spinning these 3 tracks alot, so dive right in...
Tegan and Sara-Where Does the Good Go
Brand New-Last Chance to Lose Your Keys
Elliot-Blessed by Your Ghost
"What do you do with the leftover you?"
JW
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
That's a lovely accent you have...New Jersey?
So every once and awhile, you just need to get the hell out of Dodge. I love Chicago and impending summer has me giddy, but the stress of life (most of it self-created) and work and whatever else just starts to grate on you. Thankfully, my little trip to Gotham rolled around and I was on a Thursday night flight to the Big Apple.
Side note: For being ridiculously trafficked and being the central hub for the biggest and most flashy city in America, La Guardia is really a piece of shit. No offense to anyone who feels it is beloved. Besides the delays, its just an aesthetic abomination. It feels old as hell (probably because its 70 years old). In 1960, La Guardia was voted "the best airport in the world". Well congratu-fucking-lations, cause I feel like its 1962 everytime I'm in it. Each time I land there, I should be wearing a skinny brown tie and smoking 14 cartons of unfiltered cigarettes as I walk to a meeting on Madison Avenue with Don Draper, except way less sweet.
I don't often compare New York and Chicago cause its just not fair to either city cause they are so different in feel and makeup. Its like comparing ex girlfriends. Sure Girl A had a tremendous rack but she was a complete bitch. Girl B wasn't well endowed, but she had a great personality and cute dimples. Comparing the 2 will just devalue the positives of both and leave you thinking both are lacking. They really don't have anything in common except that you used to romp between the sheets with them, just like Chicago and New York are dissimilar except for the fact that they both are large cities. However, there are a few things New York has going for it that I wish could be injected into Chi-city.
Primarily, the corner stores. They are like the convenience store/deli hybrids that are all over Manhattan. I mean, if you go outside the central hub of Chicago into some of the more urban neighborhood-like places, I'm sure they exist. However, these strongholds of culinary greatness are nowhere to be found in either my general area or closer to downtown Chicago. I blame a lack of Middle Eastern influence. When I'm in New York, I go to these things at least once a day for Falafel, or Schwarma, or lest I forget the best thing ever, the chopped salad bar. 6 bucks for a salad and like 5 toppings? And I can get an H&H bagel with it for another 50c? Are you kidding me? Dear reader, I would punch each and every one of you in the eye if one of these took over the pet supply store that currently stands on the corner of Wells and Division near my house. Your anger would be well worth it for a limitless supply of reasonably priced Middle Eastern food and tossed salads made to order. That stuff is far harder to acquire in Chicago than friendship.
The other thing? There is just a much more striking diversity of people. I mean, yeah, I meet more unique and different people from varying backgrounds in Chicago than I would back in Milwaukee, but by and large they are all from the Midwest. So despite their differences, there is a homogeneous feel to it all. Now New York, thats a horse of a different color. Friday night I met a girl who was very distinctly Cajun who had transferred to NYU when Tulane got overrun by Katrina and then Saturday, I met a couple of Puerto Ricans from San Juan and Ponce (more about that later). Meeting either of those people would have been a standout, semi-rare occasion here (where everyone, for better or for worse, seems to have went to a Big Ten school and is either an accountant, consultant, or in grad school), but it was just another night in New York. The other thing is the unique racial makeup of Manhattan. I grew up in Milwaukee which is one of the most segregated cities in the country. Chicago is not as severe, but its similar. When you go out in the areas I've lived or grown up, you're around mainly white people with a decent dose of Asians, and then some other races tossed in here or there. You go to the South Side of Milwaukee or the Southwest side of Chicago and you see a more distinct Latin flavor, and so on and so forth. Its just how it is. Whereas Manhattan, its like goddamn racial potpourri. I think thats what makes the nightlife and just social scene so interesting. Naturally, New York has its pockets as well, but it seems like there is alot more random juxtaposition of backgrounds on the island. For example, running into my new Puerto Rican friends at the bar we were at.
So we enter this bar in Midtown Manhattan behind a group of 3 extremely attractive women and a (im not ashamed to admit it) good looking dude. And when I say attractive, they turned around and my buddy without thinking muttered "Dear God..." And strangely enough, the rest of the bar was similarly populated. An easy 65-35 ratio of girls to guys, with the majority being aesthetically pleasing to say the least. It looked like a damn beer commercial. I was tempted to chuck some paint on the wall to see if a train would come rushing out. Maybe go order a fucking Disaronno on the rocks to see if the bottle would spin open in slow motion and some sultry Eastern European dime would lock eyes with me from across the bar cause I ordered some crappy almond flavored liqueur. But anyways, after a few minutes, said companion of mine (who is in a wonderful 2+ year relationship with serious potential, so he could care less about being humiliated by the Latin Mean Girls) saunters up and strikes up conversation. So soon enough, I'm drawn in and we converse. I don't remember much of the conversation verbatim but I pretty much recall... "We are laughing and we are very good friends. Good buddies sharing a special moment." There was much jealousy rampant throughout the striped shirt douche-pocalypse leering at us around the bar. Its pretty hard to carry on an engaging conversation with an interesting young lady when you are winking and making shooting motions at each assclown who attempts to shoot you an icy glare. The best part was the fact that all of these vixens and their male companion were intelligent, well spoken, and with baller careers. One was a top fashion designer back in San Juan, the gentleman was a surgery resident in Manhattan, one of the other girls was a lawyer, and the girl my buddy and I talked to the most was a personal stylist for Caroline f-ing Kennedy among others. I was gleefully clapping and prodding her to name drop more, but unfortunately her class and professional courtesy prevented it. What a Puerto Rican Buzz Killington. Either way, it was just another one of those cool "only in New York" moments. That being said, I think thats part of the fun and excitement when I go there. I've been there 10+ times, lived there for 3 months, so its not like I'm a tourist when I go back *cough* everybody look at how cool I am! *cough*, but at the same time, its still such a dramatic change of pace. It also makes Chicago seem a bit more intimate and personal, which I can totally dig.
At CVS today, my checkout girl was named Mignon. Yep, you read that right. Like Filet Mignon. I wanted to ask if her sister was named Bisque.
Finally, this weather better stop fucking around. Pardon my French, but fuck me 55 degrees. In New York, it was 85 and I was melting like I was in a Zima commercial. And I get back to Chicago, and I need to put long sleeves back on? I was ready to start going to work wearing a t-shirt because F this, I'm overheated. But nope, back to sweaters till June when most likely 85 degrees will appear out of nowhere and make leaving your house feel like getting in a car thats been left in the sun, cause thats soo fun!!! If I can just get some nice 72 degree days strung together here, I'll be getting weird looks up and down Division because I'll be trying to slap high fives with everyone I meet...provided that they appear to have showered in the last 48 hours...so about 50% of the people I would pass.
I've heard alot about this Chicago band, I Fight Dragons, but I never got around to checking them out. Glad I finally did. They label themselves "NES rock". Before you start pooh-poohing them as some nerdcore band, give them a legit spin. Its electronica-influenced pop-punk with Nintendo video game sounds instead of run of the mill synths. Think HelloGoodbye but more of a rock sound and occasional snips of a sweet jingle from Zelda or the sound you heard when you crushed some stupid looking Goomba. The lead singer kind of sounds like Max Bemis from Say Anything. Heads Up Hearts Down is catchy as hell, and with a little luck, hopefully you won't hear it in f-ing Abercrombie like every HelloGoodbye single. I swear their music makes me subconsciously smell Abercrombie Fierce and I nearly wretch.
"I try to find my strength inside the sound, But I can't fight the darkness all around, I'm bleeding 'til I drown..."
JW
Side note: For being ridiculously trafficked and being the central hub for the biggest and most flashy city in America, La Guardia is really a piece of shit. No offense to anyone who feels it is beloved. Besides the delays, its just an aesthetic abomination. It feels old as hell (probably because its 70 years old). In 1960, La Guardia was voted "the best airport in the world". Well congratu-fucking-lations, cause I feel like its 1962 everytime I'm in it. Each time I land there, I should be wearing a skinny brown tie and smoking 14 cartons of unfiltered cigarettes as I walk to a meeting on Madison Avenue with Don Draper, except way less sweet.
I don't often compare New York and Chicago cause its just not fair to either city cause they are so different in feel and makeup. Its like comparing ex girlfriends. Sure Girl A had a tremendous rack but she was a complete bitch. Girl B wasn't well endowed, but she had a great personality and cute dimples. Comparing the 2 will just devalue the positives of both and leave you thinking both are lacking. They really don't have anything in common except that you used to romp between the sheets with them, just like Chicago and New York are dissimilar except for the fact that they both are large cities. However, there are a few things New York has going for it that I wish could be injected into Chi-city.
Primarily, the corner stores. They are like the convenience store/deli hybrids that are all over Manhattan. I mean, if you go outside the central hub of Chicago into some of the more urban neighborhood-like places, I'm sure they exist. However, these strongholds of culinary greatness are nowhere to be found in either my general area or closer to downtown Chicago. I blame a lack of Middle Eastern influence. When I'm in New York, I go to these things at least once a day for Falafel, or Schwarma, or lest I forget the best thing ever, the chopped salad bar. 6 bucks for a salad and like 5 toppings? And I can get an H&H bagel with it for another 50c? Are you kidding me? Dear reader, I would punch each and every one of you in the eye if one of these took over the pet supply store that currently stands on the corner of Wells and Division near my house. Your anger would be well worth it for a limitless supply of reasonably priced Middle Eastern food and tossed salads made to order. That stuff is far harder to acquire in Chicago than friendship.
The other thing? There is just a much more striking diversity of people. I mean, yeah, I meet more unique and different people from varying backgrounds in Chicago than I would back in Milwaukee, but by and large they are all from the Midwest. So despite their differences, there is a homogeneous feel to it all. Now New York, thats a horse of a different color. Friday night I met a girl who was very distinctly Cajun who had transferred to NYU when Tulane got overrun by Katrina and then Saturday, I met a couple of Puerto Ricans from San Juan and Ponce (more about that later). Meeting either of those people would have been a standout, semi-rare occasion here (where everyone, for better or for worse, seems to have went to a Big Ten school and is either an accountant, consultant, or in grad school), but it was just another night in New York. The other thing is the unique racial makeup of Manhattan. I grew up in Milwaukee which is one of the most segregated cities in the country. Chicago is not as severe, but its similar. When you go out in the areas I've lived or grown up, you're around mainly white people with a decent dose of Asians, and then some other races tossed in here or there. You go to the South Side of Milwaukee or the Southwest side of Chicago and you see a more distinct Latin flavor, and so on and so forth. Its just how it is. Whereas Manhattan, its like goddamn racial potpourri. I think thats what makes the nightlife and just social scene so interesting. Naturally, New York has its pockets as well, but it seems like there is alot more random juxtaposition of backgrounds on the island. For example, running into my new Puerto Rican friends at the bar we were at.
So we enter this bar in Midtown Manhattan behind a group of 3 extremely attractive women and a (im not ashamed to admit it) good looking dude. And when I say attractive, they turned around and my buddy without thinking muttered "Dear God..." And strangely enough, the rest of the bar was similarly populated. An easy 65-35 ratio of girls to guys, with the majority being aesthetically pleasing to say the least. It looked like a damn beer commercial. I was tempted to chuck some paint on the wall to see if a train would come rushing out. Maybe go order a fucking Disaronno on the rocks to see if the bottle would spin open in slow motion and some sultry Eastern European dime would lock eyes with me from across the bar cause I ordered some crappy almond flavored liqueur. But anyways, after a few minutes, said companion of mine (who is in a wonderful 2+ year relationship with serious potential, so he could care less about being humiliated by the Latin Mean Girls) saunters up and strikes up conversation. So soon enough, I'm drawn in and we converse. I don't remember much of the conversation verbatim but I pretty much recall... "We are laughing and we are very good friends. Good buddies sharing a special moment." There was much jealousy rampant throughout the striped shirt douche-pocalypse leering at us around the bar. Its pretty hard to carry on an engaging conversation with an interesting young lady when you are winking and making shooting motions at each assclown who attempts to shoot you an icy glare. The best part was the fact that all of these vixens and their male companion were intelligent, well spoken, and with baller careers. One was a top fashion designer back in San Juan, the gentleman was a surgery resident in Manhattan, one of the other girls was a lawyer, and the girl my buddy and I talked to the most was a personal stylist for Caroline f-ing Kennedy among others. I was gleefully clapping and prodding her to name drop more, but unfortunately her class and professional courtesy prevented it. What a Puerto Rican Buzz Killington. Either way, it was just another one of those cool "only in New York" moments. That being said, I think thats part of the fun and excitement when I go there. I've been there 10+ times, lived there for 3 months, so its not like I'm a tourist when I go back *cough* everybody look at how cool I am! *cough*, but at the same time, its still such a dramatic change of pace. It also makes Chicago seem a bit more intimate and personal, which I can totally dig.
At CVS today, my checkout girl was named Mignon. Yep, you read that right. Like Filet Mignon. I wanted to ask if her sister was named Bisque.
Finally, this weather better stop fucking around. Pardon my French, but fuck me 55 degrees. In New York, it was 85 and I was melting like I was in a Zima commercial. And I get back to Chicago, and I need to put long sleeves back on? I was ready to start going to work wearing a t-shirt because F this, I'm overheated. But nope, back to sweaters till June when most likely 85 degrees will appear out of nowhere and make leaving your house feel like getting in a car thats been left in the sun, cause thats soo fun!!! If I can just get some nice 72 degree days strung together here, I'll be getting weird looks up and down Division because I'll be trying to slap high fives with everyone I meet...provided that they appear to have showered in the last 48 hours...so about 50% of the people I would pass.
I've heard alot about this Chicago band, I Fight Dragons, but I never got around to checking them out. Glad I finally did. They label themselves "NES rock". Before you start pooh-poohing them as some nerdcore band, give them a legit spin. Its electronica-influenced pop-punk with Nintendo video game sounds instead of run of the mill synths. Think HelloGoodbye but more of a rock sound and occasional snips of a sweet jingle from Zelda or the sound you heard when you crushed some stupid looking Goomba. The lead singer kind of sounds like Max Bemis from Say Anything. Heads Up Hearts Down is catchy as hell, and with a little luck, hopefully you won't hear it in f-ing Abercrombie like every HelloGoodbye single. I swear their music makes me subconsciously smell Abercrombie Fierce and I nearly wretch.
"I try to find my strength inside the sound, But I can't fight the darkness all around, I'm bleeding 'til I drown..."
JW
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