Colin's Blog

Been Too Long

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 16:50:00 +0000

Man, I haven't posted here in a LONG TIME. Don't worry, I'll get around to it soon enough :)

Blognigger's Common Sense with Cops

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 01:49:00 +0000

What White People Say Behind Blacks' Backs may become a regular feature of this blog. If you haven't already, check out My Race Essay.

Blognigger has written an excellent piece on the Henry Louis Gates story and how to handle police, here.

His common sense advice:

ALWAYS SUCK THE POLICE’S BALLS AS HARD AS YOU CAN.

Use yes sir, no sir, thank you sir because the police can do whatever they want at all times.

This approach has served me well in a number of different run-ins with the police – whether I was writing graffiti which was illegal, or Driving While Black which wasn’t.

This is so simple it's ridiculous that he has to say it, and it's even worse that there's a huge debate in his commentage.

One night I was driving my friend Tez home after playing basketball. Tez is black and lived in an all-black part of St. Louis. We got pulled over for what I call Driving While White (DWW).

While Driving While Black (DWB) is illegal in more parts of the country and a more serious offense in most cops' eyes, DWW is also a crime in some parts of the country - black cities. I'll explain. Driving While White Male may be a better term because police often give white girls a pass if they assume the girl has a boyfriend in the neighborhood. But if police see a white guy driving through an all-black part of town, they'll often pull him over on the assumption he's there to buy drugs. Or to tell him to get out of there. I've lived in lower-middle-class black neighborhoods where DWW wasn't a crime, but it's a crime in most bad black neighborhoods.

Tez lived in a bad neighborhood and we got pulled over. After I slipped a few 'sirs' into the conversation, I politely asked why we were pulled over. The officer answered that the car wasn't registered to an address in the neighborhood. I nodded in complete understanding.

Now, this wasn't the first time I'd been cornered with a black person by police, and it certainly wasn't the first time I'd seen some black ghetto attitude, but it was the first time I saw the two meet. Tez started arguing that driving in a different neighborhood wasn't a crime and this wasn't necessary. He kept telling the cops to do "only what's necessary." That word "necessary" over and over again.

I thought the only thing necessary was for Tez to SHUT THE FUCK UP! These are COPS you dumb-ass! Tez took the hint, or maybe dropped the battle because he had absolutely no backup from me.

We were wearing basketball clothes and stankin'. It wasn't too late at night and, besides my tattoo, I didn't have any douchebaggy red flags like a pencil-line beard or a big, heavy chain. After searching my car, the cops let us go. But I still believe that if I hadn't been in Blognigger's common-sense camp, Tez (and maybe me too) would have gone to jail.

My excellent "ball-sucking" saved the day by appeasing the cops and discouraging Tez.

I've been locked up for no reason (in fascist South Carolina). I know just as well as the next guy that some cops are insufferable assholes. But I've also had a lot of cop friends and most of them are relatively normal.

There's one thing that cops are not: pensive, open-minded liberals. You're not going to win an argument with one and you sure as shit aren't going to intimidate one or shout him down. If you try, you may get your ass kicked or locked up, or both.

We have Blognigger's testimony that sucking balls works. I've heard my good buddy Carlos' testimony as well. Carlos is an exchange student from Jamaica. Now, you dumb-asses thinking of weed and rastas should know that the majority of Jamaicans don't smoke weed or have long hair. Carlos is clean-cut and he barely drinks.

We talked about DWB once and he admitted that he gets pulled over a lot. But he added that almost as soon as the cop hears him talk, they let him go. He's been in St. Louis six years and he's never been to jail! Carlos is a good-natured guy with an ear-to-ear grin. And having grown up in Kingston, he has none of the black ghetto attitude common in Americans.

I am no apologist for racism in America, and I don't deny it. I don't deny the racism deep inside me. I know racism and I know racists. But still, when confronted with a guy like Carlos, even the biggest asshole of cops will let him go. I can see 'em thinking, "This is just a good kid; I'd be a monster to take him in."

Black people, white people, all people: that is the effect you want to induce in cops.

I agree with Obama's original statement that the cop in the Gates case "acted stupidly." However, I also identify with the sentiment of most white people according to opinion polls.

Black readers, this is what white people thought about the case: Well, what did Gates do? What did he say? Oh, he was yelling and calling the cop racist? Well, that's stupid.

We white people aren't thinking about the societal injustice context of every news story. We think about what sensible people should do in the situation. OK, so a neighbor saw a couple guys forcing their way in the back door of the house. The neighbor called the police, as most white people feel they should have. To the contrary of rampant speculation, the neighbor did not mention race in the 911 call.

We white people think of the officer on duty responding to the call as merely doing his job. We feel sorry for him that he got yelled at and insulted while merely doing his job. Couldn't Gates be reasonable and understand that the police had been called for a burglary to his address? Couldn't he just show his ID without the big production?

Now, I think the officer acted stupidly but many white people don't go that far because of how stupidly Gates acted. If you have two assholes being assholes to each other, the one with more power is going to win. Plain and simple.

It's really not surprising that a Harvard professor should need a lesson in common sense. Thanks, Blognigger!

Let's break down some stupid comments from BN's readers.

The first is from "Learn Your Rights (or be a lazy ball-sucker)":

If you are NOT breaking any laws, sucking dick is only giving the cops and their horrible system positive reinforcement. You should stop being so lazy and learn YOUR RIGHTS so that you can handle police officers tactfully and legally. You don’t have to become a lawyer to avoid sucking cop dick. They want to keep their jobs and not look like an idiot to their boss when they bring you in for nothing (even though they can and still might). There are simple scripts to follow that will get you out of most encounters. The last thing that cop wants to do is show up in front of a judge when you take them to court!!!

You people just want to take the easy way out because it takes work and sacrifice to fight the system. FUCK YOU! If you pay taxes, cops are your employees. You’re making it worse for everyone by being lazy and uneducated cock-suckers. People died for your rights, now “We gotta take the power back!”

Here are 3 obvious assumptions about this dumb-ass:

He is white
He has never been to jail
He is from a low-crime city

If those three assumptions don't apply to you, don't take his advice. I heard this line of shit once and tried it when I was about 18. I tried to tell a cop he couldn't search my car. Then I was handcuffed for "acting suspicious" while he searched my car. If I hadn't tried that shit, he probably wouldn't have given me the minor-in-possession ticket for the bottle of gin I had under the driver's seat.

Here's "Ty":

Good for him for NOT BEING A FUCKING PUSSY anymore. He didn’t do shit wrong and everybody knows it else charges would not have been dropped. Period ... Fuck it. I’m going to be Skip Gates. I’m already ready for the beating ... “Why do you need to see my ID, officer? In fact, what brings YOU to MY neighborhood? May I please have your name and badge number?”

OK, this isn't assumption. This is fact: Ty will spend time in jail again. If he is black and if he acts like that, he will spend a night in jail in the future. You just can't beat those odds. If he were white and acted like that he'd see the inside of a cell, but being black simply increases the number of opportunities / run-ins with police he'll have. Can't beat those odds.

I don't know what Ty does for a living or how much his time is worth to him. But apparently it isn't worth more than "NOT BEING A FUCKING PUSSY" to cops. Real smart.

We white people don't want open-minded liberals for cops. They wouldn't work out. The job is inherently violent. We white people have a deep respect for cops, which isn't reciprocated in the black community.

Are you going to change the system or make a difference on your own? No. But you can make a difference whether you go to jail or not. Don't be stupid. Suck balls.

American Pastoral: Disobedience and the 60s

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 23:34:00 +0000

American Pastoral by Philip Roth is an all-American tale.

Seymour Levov grew up in a Jewish section of 1940s Newark, New Jersey. Nicknamed “The Swede” for his blond hair and huge stature, The Swede was the star of his baseball, basketball, and football teams, often leading the school to city and state finals. The Swede was the envy of his high school and a legend throughout greater Newark.

The context of The Swede's fame is important to the story. In Roth's own words:

“Let's remember the energy. Americans were governing not only themselves but some two hundred million people in Italy, Austria, Germany, and Japan … Atomic power was ours alone … And playing Sunday morning softball on the Chancellor Avenue field and pickup basketball on the asphalt courts behind the school were all the boys who had come back alive, neighbors, cousins, older brothers, their pockets full of separation pay, the GI Bill inviting them to break out in ways they could not have imagined possible before the war. Our class started high school six months after the unconditional surrender of the Japanese, during the greatest moment of collective inebriation in American history. And the upsurge of energy was contagious … Sacrifice and constraint were over. The Depression had disappeared. Everything was in motion ...”

Tom Wolfe described America's golden days in Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test:

“cruising in the neon glories of the new American night … with all this Straight-8 and V-8 power underneath and all this neon glamour overhead, which somehow tied in with the technological superheroics of the jet, TV, atomic subs, ultrasonics--Postwar American suburbs--glorious world! … ”

Kick-ass Detroit cars, Hollywood movies, huge houses in the burbs with yards and fences. The American Dream. Happy days. Granted, the Soviet Union was a superpower as well, but we had Chevrolets and John Wayne and blue jeans and cheeseburgers and rock-n-roll. We were the center of the universe. We beat the Nazis and the Japs at the same time. We won that war. It's our world, bitches.

Also important to the context is The Swede's all-Jewish neighborhood of Newark. He's the grandson of immigrants. The third-generation often identifies more with the new country. This was not only true with The Swede, but his classmates and the entire neighborhood. His community was on the verge of assimilation and wanted in on this American glory, their own place in the American Dream.

The Swede embodied their dreams and aspirations. He was big and blond and dominating all these American sports – a Jew beating the natives at baseball, basketball, and football. Fittingly, The Swede's best sport was baseball, America's past-time. Jewish South Newark was melting into the pot and The Swede was leading the way.

The Swede was a humble man. A conformist, he wanted to do the right thing, to play by the rules, to get ahead through hard work and perserverance. He wanted everybody to be happy. He approached life with a win-win mentality. The American way.

The Swede got an offer to play ball with a farm team for the Giants, but his father wanted him to take over the family business. The Swede obliged. The one time The Swede stood up to his father was in marrying an Irish Catholic girl – Dawn Dwyer from Elizabeth, New Jersey – who was the 1949 Miss New Jersey. Could there be a more all-American union? The all-state athlete / US Marine / 3rd generation Jew married Miss New Jersey / 3rd generation Irish girl. God bless America!

According to The Swede's unsympathetic brother Jerry:

“He was very stoical. He was a very nice, simple, stoical guy … Just a sweetheart … In one way he could be conceived as completely banal and conventional. An absence of negative values and nothing more. Bred to be dumb, built for convention, and so on. That ordinary decent life that they all want to live, and that's it.”

The Swede's family is an inspiring, upwardly-mobile immigrant story. His grandfather, a working man, came to the States and worked in a leather tannery making gloves. Lou Levov, The Swede's father, dropped out of school at 13 to work in the tanneries as well. Lou Levov, a tough old man, built a respectable glove business called Newark Maid. The Swede took over the business and ran with it, growing ever more and ascending into the bona fide upper-middle class.

For their American Dream, Seymour “The Swede” Levov and 1949 Miss New Jersey Dawn Dwyer Levov moved out to Old Rimrock, New Jersey, a fictional town in rural, Republican New Jersey. In portraying its American-ness, Roth places Old Rimrock near Morristown, New Jersey, which was General George Washington's choice of a strategic camp during the Revolutionary War. The Swede's favorite American hero was Johnny Appleseed, and imagined himself as Johnny Appleseed conquering the countryside.

The happy couple had a daughter named Merry – a daughter not as beautiful as her Miss New Jersey mother or all-state athlete father, but they managed to love her anyway. Merry had a stutter that they tried like hell to remedy. Then she got fat. Then, during the turbulent 60s and Vietnam War, Merry adopted a radical ideology known at the time as the New Left. Fervently anti-war, anti-capitalism, anti-bourgeois, anti-Johnson, and every other kind of anti- those people are. Then “she went out one day and blew up the post office, destroying right along with it Dr. Fred Conlon and the village's general store …”

16 year-old Merry detonated a bomb in the town's general store that killed a well-regarded local. She went into hiding forever. The Swede's American Dream was shattered. His daugher was a murderer. He and Dawn were known as the parents of the hometown murderer. The rest of the novel details The Swede's trainwreck life, and how it all stems from his terrorist daughter.

1949 Miss New Jersey Dawn Levov went into depression. She was in a mental hospital for a short time. When she got out, The Swede bought her a facelift. Then she started having an affair with Bill Orcutt, Old Rimrock's super-WASP all-American of Ivy League heritage going back to the Revolutionary War. We learn there was a divorce. In a second marriage, The Swede had three athletic sons, all assumed not to be terrorists.

“Pastoral, as an adjective, refers to the lifestyle of shepherds and pastoralists, moving livestock around larger areas of land according to seasons and availability of water and food. 'Pastoral' also describes literature, art and music which depicts the life of shepherds, often in a highly idealised manner.” -- Wikipedia definition

The Swede, the shepherd / sheep, was a nice guy who got shit on. This book does not depict his shepherd life in a 'highly idealised manner'.

This review interprets the book as being about: “a very good man who perhaps must be destroyed because he is not a very good Jew. 'By virtue of his isomorphism to the Wasp world,' Seymour 'Swede' Levov escapes the pain and self-consciousness of being a Jew in America; he passes for a WASP, and he apparently cannot be allowed to get away with that. In the end, the Swede's charmed escape from Jewishness – his simple possession of his own DNA – seems to be American Pastoral's essential subject and the explanation for the terrible punishment …”

This argument could be supported by various passages from the book. Here's the unsympathetic brother Jerry:

“You wanted Miss America? Well, you've got her, with a vengeance – she's your daughter! You wanted to be a real American jock, a real American marine, a real American hotshot with a beautiful Gentile babe on your arm? You longed to belong like everybody else in the United States of America? … The reality of this place is right up in your kisser now. With the help of your daughter you're as deep in the shit as a man can get, the real American crazy shit. America amok!”

The Swede's father may be the main assimilation character in the book, and he's stabbed in the eye with a fork by the 'Gentile' wife of Bill Orcutt, the Gentile neighbor who is banging The Swede's wife.

However, Roth doesn't talk much about Jewishness in the book. Who would be the Jewish ideal to follow? The brother Jerry? The guy becomes a leading heart surgeon in Miami, taking a half dozen wives and having a dozen or so kids. And nobody likes him much.

Plus, Roth's denunciation of the Newark race riots (through The Swede's old man) seems much too sincere to be arguing against the good old American way. If assimilation were the point of the book, Roth would have created more contrast between Jewishness and American-ness.

No, this book isn't a rebuke of assimilation or a warning to those not keepin' it real. Rather, it's a rebuke of the American Dream. The American Dream isn't all rosy. The Swede did everything he was supposed to and did it well. And he got shit on. America may shit on you too. That's the message.

The high that America felt in the 40s and 50s – the time when Roth grew up – was an illusion. The wake-up call came in the 60s. The big hangover from the big high – that's the story Roth is telling. It's a clarification of history. Merry wasn't rebelling against Gentilism, she was rebelling against The Swede's Happy Days idea of America.

I think Roth wrote this book to set the record straight on the 60s. I grew up in the 90s, when the book was written and published. It was a time when the 60s were cool again. Grateful Dead was one of the most popular bands and white kids wore those hideous tie-dye t-shirts. Some corporate ass-clowns put on a second Woodstock festival in 1997. The 60s were remembered as peace, love, long hair, good music, drugs, etc. I think Roth saw the 60s being remembered like that and wrote a book to set the record straight. The 60s were not how we Gen-Xers and -Yers imagined them.

I was one of about a dozen people to read Tom Daschle's book, Like No Other Time. I'll never forget a sentence he wrote in explaining the 60s. He said that if you weren't there, you just don't understand how unsure the country was that we'd get through the times. Not sure they'd get through? He's right, I didn't understand.

The country wasn't sure they'd survive people like The Swede's daughter Merry. The Weathermen. The Black Panther Party. The 60s were not all peace and love. “Are you down with the revolution?” wasn't a cheesy pickup line. It was for real.

When it came to light during the 2008 presidential election that Barack Obama had ties to Weathermen founder Bill Ayers, most dumb-asses like you and me thought, “Who the hell are the Weathermen?” The Weather Underground Organization (WUO) was a radical socialist organization that aimed to overthrow the government of the United States. To overthrow the government of the United States. In the words of Weathermen co-founder John Jacobs: “We're against everything that is good and decent in honky America. We will burn and loot and destroy. We are the incubation of your mothers' nightmares.”

Here's a picture of John Jacobs at the 1969 Weathermen-organized Chicago protests / riots, Days of Rage (the slogan for the protest-riot was “Bring the War Home”). Your eyes don't deceive you; he is wearing a football helmet. Others in his crowd are also wearing helmets. This was not peace and love.

The Weathermen carried out bombings across the country. Merry's bombing of the general store wasn't the brainchild of Roth's creative genius – it was from the daily news. Her going into hiding wasn't his imagination either – most of the Weathermen went into hiding in the 70s. Bill Ayers was one of those who re-emerged and got involved in Chicago politics. He is now an esteemed professor at the University of Illinois – Chicago.

Aside from the Vietnam War, race relations were hot. The Civil Rights Act had recently passed, and blacks were realizing how shitty of a hand they had. Race riots broke out in Newark, Detroit, and Los Angeles. The Black Panther party and other black power organizations sprang up.

Ever seen the movie, Dead Presidents? In that movie, black veterans rob a Brinks armored truck. That wasn't creative fiction either. Many leaders of the black power movement went on to rob armored trucks or kill police officers, or both. Briefly mentioned in the book is Angela Davis, an radical activist who was tried and acquitted for the murder of a California judge. She went on to be an esteemed professor at the University of California.

Sidenote: do prestigious universities compete for these ambiguously criminal revolutionaries? Like top high school athletes?

Roth set the record straight on the 60s. It was an ugly time. And much of the American Dream is illusion. You can play by all the rules and do the right thing, like the Swede, and still get shit on by America.

The other story in this book is the parenting angle.

The Swede raised Merry with all the progressive sensibilities of the day. In his unsympathetic brother's words:

“He understood that something was going wrong, but he was no Ho-Chi-Minhite like his darling fat girl. Just a liberal sweetheart of a father. The philosopher-king of ordinary life. Brought her up with all the modern ideas of being rational with your children. Everything permissable, everything forgivable, and she hated it. People don't admit how much they resent other people's children, but this kid made it easy for you. She was miserable, self-righteous – little shit was no good from the time she was born … But it's one thing to let your hair grow long, it's one thing to listen to rock-and-roll music too loud, but it's another to jump the line and throw the bomb. That crime could never be made right. There was no way back for my brother from that bomb. That bomb detonated his life. His perfect life was over. Just what she had in mind.”

Merry enjoyed a happy childhood, and she was always closer to her father. There was always the stutter, and then the fatness. And then she adopted the radical ideology. She became scathingly critical of not just the war. She criticized her parents' American Dream as being bougeois and selfish. Dawn sometimes couldn't be around Merry because of the things she said. Dawn's words:

“'The Democratic Republic of Vietnam' – if I hear that from her one more time, Seymour, I swear, I'll go out of my mind!”

At first The Swede considered it a phase. Merry's ideas would eventually moderate. However, he started to lightly engage her when she posted the Weathermen's motto on her wall (one more time for effect): “We're against everything that is good and decent in honky America. We will burn and loot and destroy. We are the incubation of your mothers' nightmares.”

The Swede emphasized to her that he was also against the war, that everybody in the family was against the war. He argued that the proper course of action is to contact their representatives and express their opinion respectfully. She would rebut his arguments with vile condemnations of the political process, New Jersey, and their bougeois life.

The Swede tried to learn about her mysterious friends in New York. These were the people who gave her the disturbing literature he found in the house. The Swede tried to curb her visits to New York by making deals and reasoning with her in a saga of conversations.

In “Conversation #67 about New York,” The Swede finally restricted his daughter from going to the city. He told her to make a difference at home in Old Rimrock, New Jersey, so she bombed the general store and post office, killing Dr. Fred Conlon.

Some critics believe Roth is condemning The Swede's progressive parenting style – another claim with ample support. The Swede's unsympathetic brother:

“You're the one who always comes off looking good. And look where it's got you. Refusing to give offense. Blaming yourself. Tolerant respect for every position. Sure, it's 'liberal' – I know, a liberal father … And look where the fuck it's got you! … No, you didn't make the war. You made the angriest kid in America. Ever since she was a kid, every word she spoke was a bomb.”

Also:

“Look, are you going to break with appearances and pit your will against your daughter's or aren't you? … for Christ's sake go in there and get her. I'll go in and get her … I'll clear out the office and get on a plane and I'll come. And I'll go in there, and, I assure you, I'll get her off the McCarter Highway, the little shit, the selfish little fucking shit, playing her fucking games with you! She won't play them with me, I assure you … ”

Regardless of Roth's intent on this point, I've known good and bad kids that were raised by both old-school and modern parental methods. I'm not sure it makes a difference. What I took away from this book is that, no matter how much you plan the perfect upbringing, it could go horribly wrong.

I was raised in relatively old-school fashion. Lots of rules. I got spanked, slapped, etc. Nothing too bad, but definitely not a liberal upbringing. And I turned out a mess. The worst thing a son can turn into is a drug-addict or -dealer – and for a while in high school, it seemed probable that I'd be at least one of the two.

What happens when you just can't control your kid? What happens when you do all the right things and the shit still hits the fan? The book hammers home a feeling of no control, of helplessness.

I want to raise my kid in a more progressive fashion (my old man says this will change when I actually have kids). I'll spank and slap him, but I'm going to be honest about things most parents don't talk about. It wasn't until after most of my troubles that I learned my old man was wild in high school too. Drugs, jail, the works. And he never told me. Maybe if I'm honest with my kids, they'll steer clear of all that. I'll tell them how fat and ugly all the smokers and hard-partiers are now. And of course they'll know what jail's like.

But what if your plan doesn't work? The kid still goes rotten. Does the plan even matter? I was bad from the beginning. I was always the worst kid in all my classes – starting with pre-school and kindergarten. My old man tells his friends something like this: 'You know how they tell you about peer pressure? They tell you to keep your kid away from bad influences? One day I realized, there's no bad kid that's going to corrupt my kid. Because my kid is that bad kid! It's my kid! They don't tell you what to do when it's your kid.'

By that point, there wasn't anything anybody could have said to me. I wasn't listening. Any plan would / parental strategy would have been futile.

This book scared me a little regarding children. I think it's a good idea to aim for quantity, because quality is a long shot.

American Pastoral by Philip Roth won the Pulitzer Prize in 1998 and was listed by TIME Magazine as one of the 100 greatest novels of all time.

Some studio is supposed to be making a film of American Pastoral, here it is(n't) on IMBD.

A documentary on the Weather Underground (a puff piece in my opinion), here.

Jimi Hendrix playing the national anthem at Woodstock:

Weightlifting: What I've Learned

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 07:21:00 +0000

Intro

“Fitness is a journey, not a destination.”

I started working out in 1998. I've experimented with almost every workout ever conceived. Whole body workouts, push-pull, 1 body part / day, plyometrics for speed and vertical jump, BFS, HST, negative reps, forced reps, and even weird stuff like isometric holds.

I want to share what I've learned with beginners, interested parties, and anyone looking to get started. The following principles are the best practices I've learned in the last ten years.

Disclaimer: These principles are for people of a beginning or average experience level in weightlifting. If you'd consider yourself at an advanced level (many years' experience, competitive bodybuilders, collegiate and professional athletes, etc.), you may learn something but I doubt my recommendations will take you to the next level.

Functionality in Fitness

“Modern fitness is defined by appearance rather than actual horsepower.” - Gym Jones

Everything I advocate doing is biased toward performance – not muscle size or having a good-looking body. I'm more motivated in achieving power / strength, speed / explosiveness, and stamina / endurance. I'm motivated to be stronger, faster, and longer-lasting than others. I like to show up to any sport – even one I don't know how to play – and be one of the better players from sheer athleticism.

If you achieve above-average performance in strength / speed / stamina, you'll have an attractive physique. But not necessarily a physique for the magazines.

Your priorities will determine how you exercise. Muscle size is an indicator, but does not equate muscle strength. Competitive strongmen and powerlifters don't do bodybuilding shows. And professional bodybuilders only pose.

At the beginning to average levels, your muscles will grow as you get stronger. The difference between muscle size and strength isn't an issue until you must prioritize between muscular symmetry and continuing strength gains (it seems like a good problem to have, and at which point you'll be at an advanced level).

Body Types

Finally, my recommendations are for the vast majority of people who aren't built of a mesomorph body type. Mesomorphs are the people who were naturally buff all their lives. They easily pack on muscle. Their biggest challenge is the inherent laziness that comes with always having been stronger than other boys. Most of this type are overweight, but sturdy as a brick house.

This type – which comprises a very select few among the population – play by different rules given their genetics.

Compound Movements

“Keep it simple, stupid.” - KISS Principle

I only do the bread-and-butter weightlifting exercises. Compound means that the movement recruits muscle fibers in more than one body part. For example, the squat uses quadriceps, glutes, hamstrings, back, and core muscles. Bench press recruits chest, triceps, and shoulders.

The opposite of compound movements would be isolation exercises, which I don't do anymore. Isolation movements include arm exercises, flyes, shrugs, anything with the word 'curl' in it, etc.

Compound movements are more conducive to my functional fitness philosophy. These exercises train the body for strength you'll actually use. I've described each compound movement's function below. Conversely, isolation exercises train for strength that will rarely if ever be used.

I don't do arm exercises. I've found that the bicep and tricep muscles are sufficiently worked during compound movements. If you hold 250+ pounds in your hands for four sets of deadlifts, your biceps will get strong. And if you follow those deadlifts with four sets of rows and two sets of pullups, your biceps won't need any further work.

In principle, I believe isolation exercises have little or no use when considering functional fitness. And that's why football players don't do them.

Below is a list of my compound movements in order of importance.

Squats – the most important exercise. Using your legs to move something.

Bench – the most important upper-body exercise. Pushing something. (I prefer barbell, but dumbbells are good.)

Deadlifts – picking something up from the ground.

Rows – pulling something toward you. (I prefer barbell, but dumbbells are good.)

Dips – pushing yourself up from a surface. Body weight.

Pull-ups – pulling yourself up to a surface. Body weight.

That's it. That's all you need! Do these exercises hard and heavy for strength and big muscles.

Honorable mention:

Military / Shoulder Press – definitely a compound, functional exercise. I was born with broad, strong shoulders, so bench press and dips are enough work for my shoulder muscles.

Upright Rows - another shoulder workout, pulling instead of pushing.

Power Cleans – only a strength workout – they don't do much for size. But I think they're bad-ass.

Free Weights

I only use free weights – bars, dumbbells, and my body weight. I don't do anything with the word “cable” in it, or anything on a machine. There is certainly a benefit in those exercises, but less bang for the buck. I spend all my energy doing only the most profitable exercises.

I've heard that free-weight squats and the bench press recruit stabilizing muscle fibers – fibers that aren't used in exercises like leg press or Nautilus bench press. However, I've also heard an expert weightlifter testify that the machines nowadays are so well-designed that they force you to complete the repetitions with perfect form.

I'm not sure which argument has more merit, but I do know that free weights are more conducive to my philosophy of functional fitness. Free weights are already more convenient than any situation life will present. The bars fit nicely in your hands, and the plates allow for even loading on each side. It's already easy enough. There's no need for machines, cables, etc.

Heavy Weight

“Everybody wanna be a bodybuilder but don't nobody wanna lift this HEAVY-ASS WEIGHT!” - Ronnie Coleman

I've found that when lifting weights, the weights are supposed to be heavy. Very heavy. I aim for a weight I can only lift five times (5 reps). Nothing's wrong with sets of 6 – 8 reps. But I think that once you can do 10, you're not training for strength so much as endurance (unless you're on steroids). You can train for muscular endurance with calisthenics at home.

I think heavy weight is mandatory for muscle growth in body types like mine – the ectomorph. I must be lifting very heavy weight or I quickly slim down. Mesomorphs probably take greatest issue with this principle of mine.

I often hear women protest against the heavy weight principle. They say they don't want to get buff. Ladies, you should lift heavy weight too. You're not going to get buff. It's not in your biology. I suggest you try to get big and buff – it won't happen. Men spend blood, sweat, and tears to get buff – and some still don't. It's not something that's going to happen accidentally or inadvertently.

Lift heavy weight.

Whole-Body Workouts

This is another principle more specific to my ectomorph genes. However, I've read that whole-body workouts “elicit the maximal hormonal response” (credit Tim Ferriss).

I feel that, in the extreme example of 1 body-part / day workouts, my muscles shrink in the 4 – 6 days in between workouts. I prefer to hit all my muscles often – every other day. (Obviously, put at least 48 hours between whole-body workouts)

Note: this principle will not apply to guys using anabolic steroids. If you're using steroids, you don't need a maximal hormonal response because you're hormones are at a super-human level already.

Keep Workouts Less Than 1 Hour

The body goes into a catabolic state after about an hour of resistance training. That is, the body starts burning muscle to fuel those extra sets. I wish I'd have known this for the first several years of my fitness career. Like most people would, I thought harder work led to better results. My good buddy Craig and I used to work so hard for so long, thinking that hard work and supplements led to the best results.

To the contrary, I've learned that less is more. Work smart, not hard.

I actually finish my workouts in 30 – 40 minutes. I watch the clock and try to complete my work quickly. I spend about 2 hours a week in the gym. A lot of guys give me funny looks when they see me leaving long before them when I arrived after they did. But are they bigger or stronger than me? Rarely. I spend much more time training for speed and stamina than strength. And I'm pretty strong.

Note: this principle also does not apply to guys on anabolic steroids. I understand that, on steroids, recovery times are improved so they may not revert to a catabolic phase as quickly. By definition, anabolic is the opposite of catabolic.

Muscle Confusion

The muscles get accustomed to regular workouts. After a while, they don't work as hard to complete the workouts. Therefore, they're not breaking down or rebuilding bigger than before. This is why it's important to keep the muscles confused.

When switching to a different workout, you'll feel it the next day. I've noticed a difference when merely doing the same workout at a different gym with different equipment. It doesn't take much to confuse, but it's especially important in workouts like mine where there isn't much variety. Below are a few ways to trick the muscles:

Switch from barbells to dumbbells
Switch angles, grip, etc. – e.g., change bench to incline bench, change pullups (overhand) to chinups (underhand)
Do one week of 20-sets (I know this contradicts my heavy-weight principle, but it's only one week for confusion's sake)
Do one week of isolation exercises (confusion's sake)
Switch exercises – e.g., squat to leg press or lunges, bench to pullovers or weighted dips (again, just for confusion's sake on a short-term basis)

Abs / Core

I've only had very ripped abs once in my life – while boxing. I burned ~1000 calories every workout. I was also hitting weights and dieting – regularly eating laxative in an attempt to get down to 168 lbs. The key to magazine-cover abs is cardio and a super-strict diet. A lot of people insist on low-weight, high-rep crunches or low-rep, weighted situps. I don't have a strong opinion either way.

My favorite ab exercises are dead bugs. I learned about dead bugs from a college football player. Lie on your back with your hands stretched out above your head. Suspend your feet and hands two inches from the ground. This is the starting point. Touch your left toes to your right fingers. Then lower your left foot and right hand to the starting position. Now touch your right toes to your left fingers. This is one rep. Core strength. You'll feel it.

Tools

Gloves – If you care about keeping soft hands, use them. I never had soft hands to begin with so I don't care.

Wrist-wraps – These assist in holding weight that is too heavy for the hands to hold. When I first learned how to use wraps, I thought they were a godsend. Now I view them as a mixed bag. The negative effect of wrist-wraps is that your forearms don't get worked. Holding 250 pounds in your hands or holding your body weight from a pullup bar strengthens the forearms. At the same time, if your deadlift progress is being stunted because your hands can't hold the weight, your glutes and hamstrings will suffer. Those muscles can grow faster than the forearms. My solution to this dilemma is to not wear wraps for my first 2 sets of deadlifts, in which I do the reps in a slow and controlled fashion. I put on the wraps and increase the weight for my last 2, super-heavy sets that I can lift off the ground but can't hold in my hands.

Belt – Wear it for squats and deadlifts. I've thrown my back out a handful of times and it's the worst. One time was so bad I wasn't in the gym for months. Just wear the belt.

Supplements – I've tried creatine, NO2, glutamine, tribulus, fat-burners, and more. Some show results and some don't. My experience is that the ones that do work only work while you're using them. So I don't use any except protein powder, which I always have in the house. I don't even consider whey a supplement so much as food – a convenient way of ingesting protein. But since the benefits of the other supplements eventually vanish, my attitude is 'Why bother?'

Diet

There's a lot of literature on diet that you can read. I'm not going to add anything new. I'm actually a bad example as I'm prone to overeating greasy fatness. I love to eat too much. But these are some common sense bullet-points to take away.

If lifting weights, you need a lot of protein. 1 gram / pound of body weight is the industry standard. However, you can't eat six chicken breasts for breakfast and consider yourself set for the day. The body can only digest 30 – 50 grams of protein in one sitting. So you have to spread the protein infusions throughout the day.
Eat breakfast every day.
Eat fruits and vegetables.
Drink lots of water.
Alcohol is the most overlooked source of excessive calories.

Sample Workout

I'm always mixing my workouts up, but this is what I'm currently doing.

Day 1 - Push

Squat - 4 x 5 x 275 lbs
Bench - 4 x 5 x 185 lbs
Dips - 2 x failure
Rows - 2 x 6 - 8 for technique
Deadbugs - 2 x 10 - 15

Day 2 - Pull

Deadlift - 4 x 5 x 315 lbs
Rows - 4 x 5 x 185 lbs
Pullups - 2 x failure
Bench - 2 x 6 - 8 for technique
Knee Raises - 2 x failure

Note

I'm not interested in arguing about the best way to build strength / mass / power / etc. This is a suggested workout for beginners and busy people who want to be big and strong. Not people competing in Strongman competitions or trying to be the buffest body on the beach.

But nice comments are welcome, of course.

García Márquez and Love in Latin America

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 19:41:00 +0000

Buy Love in the Time of Cholera on Amazon.

Latin culture is the most romantic in the world. Is this good or bad?

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez is set in an unnamed town assumed to be Cartagena, Colombia and spans from the late 19th century – early 20th century. As a teenager, Florentino Ariza falls in love with Fermina Daza the first time he lays eyes on her. He embarks on a letter-writing campaign professing his love. She falls in love with him and they begin to write each other regularly. They plan a marriage and life together, without ever having spoken and behind the back of Fermina's overbearing, ambiguously-criminal father.

Fermina's father learns of the relationship and is infuriated, for Florentino is the illegitimate son of a shopkeeper. The marriage would run contrary to his plans of social-climbing by marrying his daughter off to blue blood. He grabs Fermina one day and takes her on a weeks-long trip through the Colombian countryside in an attempt to break the affair. The lovers keep a secret correspondence with the help of Fermina's cousin and make plans to marry when she finally returns.

When Fermina returns, she meets Florentino and impulsively ends the affair. Florentino is devastated. Fermina marries a promising young doctor who's just returned from a university in Paris. Florentino vows to have her someday despite the fact that she has just married. Dr. Juvenal Urbino and Fermina Daza have two children and lead a compatible life. Fermina's father's dream is fulfilled as the couple ascend to the town's social elite through the good doctor's public service and Fermina's beautiful grace.

The book begins with Urbino's death at an old age and proceeds to recount the characters' histories. While they led their perfect marriage of convenience, Florentino Ariza embarked on 622 affairs in hopes to distract the love burning in his heart – all the while waiting patiently for the good doctor to die so he could reclaim his precious Fermina. On the night of the good doctor's funeral, after all the mourners leave, the now 70-something Florentino says to Fermina: “I have waited for this opportunity for more than half a century, to repeat to you once again my vow of eternal fidelity and everlasting love.” On the night of her husband's funeral. It was 51 years, 9 months, and 4 days after first professing his love to her as a teen. He knew the exact number because “not a day passed that something did not happen to remind him of her.” After some resistance, Fermina succumbs to Florentino and they live happily ever after sailing the Magdalena River.

Aside from the surrealism seen in all of Garcia Marquez' work and other Latino writers, the theme of love is unrealistically portrayed with a passion absent in other cultures.

Continue reading ...

Going Back to AA

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Mon, 25 May 2009 17:09:00 +0000

I'm going back to AA. Jesus. Kill me.

My problem with AA is that the degree of degenerates and losers that these people were before joining AA makes me feel like I'm not an alcoholic. If you've never been, an AA meeting is basically a round-table discussion where people talk about how much better their lives are now that they're sober and they couldn't do it without AA. They tell horror stories from their drinking / using days.

All their stories go something like this: some guy had just gotten his seventh DUI, his wife and kids left him, he had ten dollars to his name and so he bought a bottle of cheap vodka. I'm not exaggerating at all. I heard that story. You hear a few stories like that and you think, “I'm not one of these people.” What do I have to say? What are my problems? I get bad hangovers. I get depressed. And sometimes I have sex with girls that I wouldn't if I weren't drunk. Big fucking deal, right? Join the club.

I am a functional drunk. I can get completely wasted at home alone. The next day I'll go to work, get things done, and come off just as professional and effective as anyone else. When I was bartending, I would sometimes show up to work drunk (on St. Patrick's Day or other holidays) and perform my job just as always. Nobody would notice. I (usually) stay out of trouble, I'm nice to people, and I always make it home safely. No problems. However, given my current situation, I want to spend some time sober and I don't think I can do it alone. I need AA.

In 1997 I was convicted of '2nd degree burglary' and 'Stealing over $150' – two felonies in the state of Missouri. In 1998 I was sentenced to 3 years in prison on a 'suspended imposition of sentence' (SIS), which means the sentence only takes effect if I violate probation. So, in effect, I got 5 years' probation. My best friend George, who didn't calm down from our wild ways in between our arrests and our sentencing, didn't get probation. He ended up serving over a year in prison. His first night in prison was the true story from the ending of Lock & Sock: Based on a True Story.

In the days after the sentencing, I remember thinking: “How the hell am I going to go 5 years with no police trouble?” At that point in my life, it was inconceivable. I was involved in nonsense trying to be a thug on the streets of South St. Louis. Police trouble was a given. My dad had kicked me out and I was living with a girl who worked at a strip club and her 3-year old daughter. I was selling weed out of the apartment.

One night the police had me cornered on the street, drilling me with questions. They thought I was selling heroin. If they had entered the apartment, they would have found enough marijuana to charge me with a felony. My prison sentence would have become a reality. The next day I was throwing an acid party when my mom called. High on LSD, I realized my lifestyle wasn't sustainable. My mom invited me to live with her in Arizona. I agreed. I didn't tell anybody my decision. I just disappeared from the apartment one morning. The 3-year old girl watched me go.

I spent over a year sober in Arizona, working and earning credits at community college. Life was work and school. And a few AA meetings, but I didn't bother with the steps. I started weightlifting (honestly, weightlifting and boxing were positive byproducts from my fear of going to prison and getting punked by buff niggaz). On the whole, Arizona was an uneventful time and I had no friends, but it was crucial to my personal development, specifically in how to lead a normal life free of crime. That was 1999. It's been ten years. I need another period of sobriety in the interest of personal development.

Unlike in Arizona, my current situation is different. I'm not faced with the possibility of battling prison niggaz for respect. I've learned to live within the confines of the law. I've learned how to get very drunk on a regular basis while adhering to societal interests. I've graduated from being an anti-social drunk to a productive drunk. But I want more. I need a boost in productivity.

After Arizona, I returned to St. Louis and enrolled at UMSL. I also returned to drinking, but (almost) no drugs. I joined a fraternity in an attempt to become a normal, middle-class white guy. It worked for a while. I got involved. I went to Washington DC in August 2001 for a fraternity convention. On my first night, I got so drunk that I broke my leg in a bar – the fibula bone just above my ankle. By sheer coincidence, I was helped through the Dulles airport by a woman in AA and I decided to go sober again.

I lasted about four months while becoming active in the fraternity and climbing the leadership ranks. I credit my sobriety in this period to my successful election as president of the fraternity in 2002 (I also credit the classic Dale Carnegie book, How to Win Friends and Influence People).

I returned to drinking just before being elected and continued through graduation and the beginning of my career. I had a 3-year relationship with a wonderful girl named Anne-Marie, who I wrote about in An Open Letter To My Ex-Girlfriend. After she left me, I drank more. About a year after she left me, I got depressed. I went to an AA meeting with a friend from school. At that first meeting, I went to the bathroom after a speech and cried for a few minutes.

To this day, I have no idea why I was crying. I didn't relate to the speaker's story, I don't even remember it. And I generally don't cry. I never cry since my dad used to scream at me before I went through puberty and was simply too weak to endure it. But now, in this AA meeting with no imminent danger, I had to go to the bathroom and cry for a minute. WTF?

I went about a month in March 2007 without a drink, attending AA meetings and focusing on gaining mass. I packed on 10 lbs of muscle that month. I booked a flight to San Francisco for a few days during my Spring Break (I was a student). I read The Rum Diary by Hunter S. Thompson on the flight. And I got drunk in San Francisco. And off the wagon.

I finished school and moved to Peru in 2008. Around October 2008, I stumbled upon Henry Rollins' life story. Henry Rollins was the front-man of hardcore punk band, Black Flag. Henry Rollins has always been sober. An interesting quote of his: “Keep the blood clean, the body lean, and the mind sharp.” I was inspired to quit drinking again. (Read Rollins' classic essay on weightlifting, Iron)

I went six weeks sober (without AA). I was busy writing and pursuing various interests outside of drinking, like seeing historic monasteries and climbing mountains. A good friend's going-away party was scheduled in that period and I didn't drink. She teased me all night that I was boring.

I was doing well sober. A friend in the States emailed me, saying that her brother would be coming to my town in Peru and I felt pressure to go out drinking for his sake. But to be completely honest, I started drinking again because I needed a woman and didn't know how to find one if I wasn't out drinking. It wasn't long before I met a precious little Lolita. However, I didn't stop drinking just because I had a squeeze.

In summary, I've had four periods of sobriety in my life since childhood:

~1½ years in Arizona rehabilitating in fear of prison
4 months in the fraternity after breaking my leg
1 month as a grad student in AA while depressed
6 weeks in Peru while inspired by Henry Rollins

I want a significant personal development stretch like each one of these was, but on a long-term basis like the Arizona phase when I learned how to get along with society. That time laid the groundwork for how I got through five years' probation (5 YEARS!), seeing a P.O. every month. They look at your paycheck stubs to make sure you're working, examine your school schedule, and of course monitor any trouble with the police. You have to ask for permission to travel more than one county away. Interstate travel must be submitted in writing. Any time you see your P.O, he or she can “drop” you. They require you to take a urine analysis for drugs. I MADE IT 5 YEARS THROUGH THAT SHIT!!! My entire undergraduate career.

In Peru, I had drunken adventures and fucked a lot of girls that I wouldn't have without alcohol. Now I'm in Colombia.

I have no friends. I don't know anyone. I don't have a “real job.” It's easy to pass the nights in my apartment drinking. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to do healthy things that inspired my last sobriety stretch. I want to get jacked up on coffee while working on my writing. Or maybe be a generally intense dude like Henry Rollins. And I need to work on my new business deals.

I'm going back to AA.

When it all comes down to it, I don't want to be like my old man. Don't get me wrong, he's been a great dad, my primary role model in life, and he's always there for me. And I'd be a great man if I achieve what he has. But at the same time, I think that people ought to rise above what they were given in life. And I think that if I'm going to achieve more than my father has, the secret to success lies in not drinking.

Plus, I don't want to be like the old man. God bless him, but he hits the bottle almost every day. I don't want to be in my fifties and making 40oz cocktails made with half liquor before it's dark outside. The guy yelled at me like no other when I was a kid. I used to be proud of having a tough old man, and for being emotionally tougher than others my age. But I'm recently realizing that it may have given me lack-of-confidence issues. The man used to scream at me until I cried – when I was just a boy.

Two obstacles to my quitting drinking:

Alcohol is a major part of who I am
I rely on alcohol to meet women

It sounds weird, even pathetic, but alcohol is a big part of my personality. I'm a loud, wild drunk. A clown. I'm the life of the party, the center of attention. It's who I am, it's how I see myself and how others see me. I won't be just quitting drinking for this to succeed. I'll have to fundamentally change my personality, which may be harder than quitting drinking.

Also sounds weird, even pathetic, but I don't talk to women if I'm not drinking. I once heard a guy rationalize his own drinking and smoking marijuana by saying that it dumbed him down to the point where he could find women interesting. Sorry ladies, I know this is terribly offensive, but I almost agree. I love women, but on an affectionate / cute basis. I rarely find myself at all interested in women's ideas or opinions. So I have to drink to meet them, to carry conversations, and to establish affectionate relationships. If I'm going to succeed, I'm going to have to learn how to create substantive relationships with women - without alcohol.

I probably shouldn't have this attitude going in, seen in the first paragraph on this post and in a recent Twitter post: “I'm going back to AA. Somebody please kill me.” It's a tough decision, but I am looking forward to sobriety.

Old-school Black Flag performance of "Rise Above"

My Big Date with Ben Casnocha

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 20:11:00 +0000

I recently met Ben Casnocha for a date at his hotel in Bogotá. Ben Casnocha is an entrepeneur and author, a heavyweight in the blogosphere, and an intellectual. He is a regular guest on NPR's Marketplace and contributes articles for The American. His blog is here. His bio here. His book can be found here. His company here. His Delicious page here. He is only 21!

I found his blog a few months ago and was humbled by how smart, mature, and accomplished he is at such a young age. I follow him on Twitter (here). In March, he tweeted that he would be in Colombia soon. I re-tweeted that I was moving to Bogotá April 3. He replied that he would still be in town and maybe we could meet up. He also mentioned that he looked at my expat blog and noted it was "very entertaining." He asked if I ever worry about STD's (haha). We agreed to meet his last night in the lobby of his hotel.

That night at dinner with Ryan and Fabien (who were both in town), I started writing down questions for the big date . After dinner, I ran to my hotel. I briefly worried that Ben may have sent me a cancellation email. I showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth. I put on my nicest dress shirt, a white Burberry button-down with yellow stripes, along with my cleanest jeans and dress shoes. I grabbed a bottle of Peruvian Maca tablets for a gift and ran out the door. I stepped out of my no-frills, $8 / night hotel in La Candelaria and passed all the junkies and sketchballs on my voyage to Ben's nice hotel by the airport. I stopped by Ryan's and Fabien's hostel to borrow a camera. They joked about how I put on a collared shirt for my big date. I got the camera and left, arriving at Ben's hotel forty-five minutes early. He had an early flight so I assumed he would end our date after an hour. I sat at a table, monitoring every hallway and looking at every person who passed through. After about twenty minutes, I recognized Ben leaving the gym, drenched with sweat. I greeted him. He said he was going to take a shower. While I waited downstairs, I paced back and forth in nervous anticipation. Ben came down and we got a table in the hotel restaurant. He ordered a pasta and I ordered nothing. I told him I already ate, which I had, but the truth was that I didn't even want to look at the menu due to my brokeness and what the prices would look like.

I didn't think Ben would be pretentious based on our email exchange, but I didn't expect him to be so interested in me. I couldn't ask any of my questions for the first half hour because he peppered me with questions first. What do I read? What blogs do I follow? What did I study? How did I decide on this Latin American life? What do I do? What did I do? What am I doing with this writing thing? Etc. As I said, I thought Ben would give me an hour. We talked from 9:30 - 11:30. Besides being smart, Ben Casnocha is nice and down-to-earth, chock full of decency. He asked me great questions. In two hours, I think he has me accurately sized-up. We covered some interesting subjects.

After getting warmed up, Ben's questions got around to the sexual nature of some of my Expat Chronicles posts. He asked what is meant by my tagline, "sexually-frustrated, alcoholic gringo in Latin America." Specifically, sexually-frustrated. The truth: it's a slogan meant to entice people to click through to the blog. He asked if I had read Neil Strauss' The Game. I haven't. He asked if I followed any of the pickup artists' blogs. I don't, and I am not a pickup artist. In fact, I think my game is below average. I'll often go out and not hit on a girl all night.

Ben asked why I aim for many partners. I don't know, maintenance? Maybe it makes me feel like more of a man. He asked if I tell the girls that I'm not faithful. I don't. Ben is very STD-averse. He asked if I'd been tested. I told him I'd go as soon as it burns when I pee. He pointed out that some STD's can be transmitted through condoms and some carriers never show symptoms. 1/4 of American women and 1/3 of New York City women have herpes. I told him I probably have it then. He recommended getting tested just to know where I stand. But, he said, if I test positive for something, then I am in a difficult predicament: would I tell women about it? Good question, Ben! I would like to think I would, but I know I wouldn't at least once. What happened to me? I used to be a decent guy, and I still consider myself to have a decent heart. But something has changed along the way.

One of my first questions for Ben was about reading. The man aims to read 100 books / year! I would consider it a good year if I put down 25. How can the man possibly read so much? I asked how much time he spends reading every day. Blogs, news, books, everything. He estimated an hour and a half plus all the flights he takes. That doesn't seem like enough time, I said. He said he flies a lot. And he reads fast. He doesn't speed-read, but he reads fast. He reads the first and last sentence of each paragraph closest and skims sometimes. I forgot to ask him what he thinks of Tim Ferriss' (author of The 4-Hour Work Week) recommendation of a Low-Information Diet, in effect choosing to not read so much in order to focus on more important things. But I assume that Ben would wholeheartedly disagree.

Because of a few interesting posts and book recommendations, I asked Ben about his religion. From what I've read, I couldn't tell where he stands. He replied, "I'm a non-believer." I probed him to discern if he were closer to agnostic or atheist. He doesn't like the word 'atheist' because of the dogmatic atheists like Christopher Hitchens, American Atheists, and the like. Ben isn't trying to convert anybody, but he believes there is no God. I consider myself more agnostic. I have no idea what God or the point of life is.

Ben wrote a great review of a book that had a profound effect on me: I am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe (Wikipedia entry here). That novel is an accurate slice-of-life work about the American college experience in the 21st century. I credit it with my realization of the superficiality of Greek life as well as the pointlessness of watching sports. Ben's review pointed out an angle I didn't see, how Charlotte was initially strong enough to resist tempation to fit in, or to go with the flow, in her rural hometown. But she succumbed in the face of the prestigious Dupont University (loosely based on Duke).

Ben's review struck a chord with me because, like Charlotte, I was a prodigy student early on. However, I wasn't comfortable being a nerd. I never resisted the tempations. I got into trouble and played down my intelligence to fit in / seem more normal. I asked Ben how he got his confidence to resist conforming. He said being comfortable in your own skin is hard, but it always came natural to him. He was quite athletic / jockish early on, and that helped. I mentioned that maybe my parents' early divorce affected me. While he agreed that can happen, he contended that the biggest influence our parents have on us is at conception. He thinks upbringing is highly overrated. He recommended I read Blank Slate by Steven Pinker, which supports that assertion.

Also overrated (not Ben's words) is higher education in America. I told him that I've come to the conclusion that, especially if you read like Ben does, college may be a waste of time. The guy's company was a success while in high school, so I imagine even finishing his diploma was a pain in the ass. His book published when he was 19. I think if you're going to be an entrepeneur, and you're dedicated to learning informally, you may save the time and money of a formal education. I may have learned just as much from books and newspapers as I have from a classroom setting. Ben completed three semesters at Claremont McKenna, studying political science. He doesn't know if he'll finish. One beef he has with higher learning is the censorship of ideas. Where these institutions purport to support the free reign of thinking, politically incorrect ideas are often shut down by the academia powers-that-be. For example, any discussion of affirmative action (that it might not work) wouldn't be tolerated. Another example was the backlash against former Harvard president Larry Summers for suggesting that there may be a genetic difference between male and female brains which inhibit women from going into engineering and science. Ben thinks it's a shame that these kinds of ideas have to be developed at think-tanks and in the blogosphere. Where does Ben fall politically? He voted for Bob Barr (Libertarian), but he would have voted for Obama if California were in play. I would have voted for Obama if I thought it were worth my time.

Going along with Charlotte Simmons, and the confidence to go your own way and be a nerd, I wondered something about Ben that I couldn't quite phrase. The way I asked it was something like, "Do you think you're missing out on anything by skipping the gutter side of life?" To accomplish what he has, you have to lead a relatively squeaky-clean life. For example, by the time I was his age, I had tried most drugs, committed a slew of various crimes and been in a few different jails, and flirted with danger in other adventures. Ben has never used a recreational drug (not even marijuana!). He said he's obviously missing something in life, but the question is whether that's worth it or not. He said he'd be mildly interested in that side of life. I told him some of my stories, none of which I think are more extreme than what's out there. My First KO in Peru, The Cusco Incident, any of the brothel stories, the time I went to jail high on LSD, or the time I went to jail in South Carolina and almost got in a fight with the biggest, blackest dude in there. Or one of the best days of my life: eating mushrooms and seeing the museums in Amsterdam. In retrospect, I don't think I asked this question to see what he thought about the wild side. I think I asked this to see if he thought that kind of wild side is compatible with the kind of success he has enjoyed. Because my wild side is natural in me, and I wonder if it's incompatible with as stellar of a career as Ben's. I think I'm doomed.

Conclusion

Ben's intelligence is intimidating (I've never felt that from anybody). He asks questions that show how quickly he understands you. As I was riding in the taxi back to my hotel, I felt like I talked twice as much as he did. How the hell did that happen? When reading his blog posts, I would think how much I would love to sit down and pick his brain and learn what I could. And now I just had the chance, and I ended up talking more than listening. What does this mean? When it comes to a thirst for knowledge, or an active mind, nobody is hungrier than Ben Casnocha.

My Race Essay: What Whites Say Behind Blacks' Backs

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 21:32:00 +0000

US Attorney General Eric Holder recently said that Americans are “cowards” in respect to race relations.

“Holder Calls U.S. a ‘Nation of Cowards’ on Racial Discussion”

www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601087&sid=a3AqLScZj7_U&refer=home

Holder's right. But he's not talking about black people being the cowards in talking about race (ever seen Kings of Comedy?). He’s talking about us, confrontation-averse white people. So this is my essay on race. In not being cowardly, I’m not going to subject it to a market test among my black friends. This is going straight to publish.

I am from St. Louis, MO – a city with a significant black population – and I’ve had black friends all my life. I've had black roommates. Growing up, I was often called a "wigger." Somewhere in college, I lost my "wigger" tendencies in speech, mannerisms, and clothes. Still, black people have often told me that I am not "a typical white boy" or that I am "black on the inside" – this always makes white guys feel cool. I share stereotypical black tastes in three areas: women, cars, and music. I participated in two black-dominated sports: basketball and boxing. I guess I say these things in an attempt to establish credibility that I am not racist. I want to tell a few stories concerning race in America and one of its most segregated cities – St. Louis, MO.

The first story goes back to my first day of 2nd grade. My class was in the bathroom after recess. I don't remember the reason, but I was going to fight another student named Marlon Stone, who is black. I had just seen The Karate Kid and I put my hands up with my fingers curled in just like Daniel-san did. I knew nothing about karate and, in hindsight, I had no idea at all what I was doing. Marlon said "Oh, you wanna do karate?" and proceeded to kick me and punch me and beat me up in front of the whole class. When we left the bathroom, he asked me if I wanted to race getting a drink of water. I was a little resentful and not wanting to be friends. After getting water, he asked me if I wanted to race from the water fountains back to the classroom. From that day on, Marlon and I were best friends. We were also the primary troublemakers in our classroom and the entire 2nd grade.

I was always singled out by teachers as being exceptionally smart (before drugs anyway). So it didn't make sense to Mrs. Schlafly that I would be the class clown. It also didn't make sense that I would be best friends with Marlon Stone. This is 1986, an entire generation back in our cultural progress. During some parent-teacher conference, the fact that I was friends with Marlon Stone became a big controversy to my parents, teachers, and others. Marlon was almost the focal point of my behavioral problems. I have no idea what ever happened of Marlon Stone. He might not even remember me today. I only remember his name because of how big of a deal it was that I was friends with Marlon Stone. Time would later tell that I didn't need any help from black people in being a troublemaker. I was very capable of being a despicable piece of shit all by myself. But that story should illustrate to skeptical white people that there is covert racism that exists in the back of our minds. Marlon was expected to be a bad guy. I wasn’t.

In 2nd grade, I could be best friends with someone like Marlon Stone. All the students played and sat together back then. But somewhere along the line, 5th or 6th grade, the white and black students started to segregate themselves. Lunch tables became all-black or all-white. Maybe the years of cultural differences added up and kids seek out similar kids. Or maybe something about puberty changes things. With few exceptions of people like me and the kind who end up hanging out in diverse neighborhoods, this self-segregation trend never reversed.

Back to what Eric Holder said (which is 100% true by the way). Many white people – including myself – are too polite, intimidated, guilty, or indifferent to communicate as strongly as they feel about race. Obama's race speech following the Jeremiah Wright controversy was hailed by media pundits, but it did not gain him any ground among rank and file white people, especially working class whites. One such uncle of mine noted that the speech was “bullshit” and America is generally an "equal opportunity country." I wouldn’t go that far, but this is how most white people feel and I think the truth is somewhere in the middle.

In my school, there was no systematic exclusion of the black students from excelling in academics. Most of the black students excluded themselves. Whether they chose to make beats on the table, roll dice and play pencil-break, draw pictures of the perfect box (popular haircut of the early 90s), claim gangs and act tough, or whatever, studying hard was not a widespread activity. Two white friends of mine attended Hazelwood East, which was 90% black. However, their senior calculus class didn't have one black student in it. Also hailing from St. Louis is the R&B singer Fantasia, who revealed to the world that she was illiterate despite having graduated high school.

This is how white people and myself see Fantasia’s situation: her school probably sucked but her illiteracy is not the system's fault. If you can't read, that is your problem. You must be trying not to learn. She must have gone out of her way for years to avoid learning this basic skill. Blame her or her parents, but don't blame society for a lack of common sense and responsibility. As a slave in the 19th century, Frederick Douglass learned to read despite it being illegal for him to learn or for anyone to teach him. We’re supposed to feel sorry for Fantasia? She didn’t even try! Obama stated in his 2004 DNC keynote address that black youth need to stop thinking that reading and studying is "acting white." Getting good jobs and access to upper society doesn’t come without hard work and study. I would love to be working at a top tier consulting firm in New York or Boston, but I did drugs in high school instead of studying hard. I don’t complain about the lack of opportunity. I fucked it up myself.

I have a theory to explain why blacks often suffer discriminatory treatment in society. From my experience in the restaurant service industry, servers and bartenders will tell you that black people don’t tip. This is bullshit. I used to argue that the average gratuity percentage of all black customers, while certainly lower, is not much lower than the average percentage from all white customers. The difference is negligible given low gratuities from rural white people and elderly white people. But those ghetto white people aren’t such a pain in the ass. They’re in and out. Servers don’t remember them. Nor do servers remember the nice black family that was easy to take care of and left 20%. They remember the ghetto black table that sent back their food for trivial reasons, asked for free samples, complained to a manager, or were a major pain in the ass in some other way while not leaving a tip. The treatment I have gotten from ghetto black tables is simply unconscionable. You don’t get that from any other kind of people. Only black ghetto. Even black servers don’t want to wait on black tables. I was the guy that used to argue that waiting on blacks is not as bad as people make it out to be. And even I would get a feeling in my stomach when I saw a black table sit down in my section. Just the chance that this black table could be a black ghetto table could completely ruin my night. That feeling is uncontrollable. You can’t teach someone not to feel what has been conditioned into their system through experience, like a dog getting its face rubbed in shit after pooping in the house.

Whether it’s different treatment in restaurant service, car rental offices, hiring practices, or most notably by the police, my theory attempts to explain this phenomenon. A significant percentage of black people are ghetto. “Ghetto” is the term I will use, but I want to use “triflin’.” When I say “ghetto,” I don’t mean poor. I mean triflin’. This significant percentage is actually a minority (I estimate about one third), but significant enough and triflin’ enough to fuck it up for all black people. My theory is that discriminatory treatment stems from those practitioners trying to thwart or discourage the triflin’ behavior of the ghetto segment. Imagine how police officers, whose exposure to black ghetto must be much higher, could come to treat all black people. Unfortunately, non-ghetto black people are often subject to the backlash against ghetto black people when they are not to blame. They are being treated unfairly. In my view, one third of the black population is fucking it up for everybody.

I can’t think of how normal, mainstream black people can disassociate themselves with the ghetto segment in order to receive normal treatment. The black ghetto segment is so triflin’ that the mere presence of a black person can cause worry in worrisome types. The black ghetto segment simply has to change if race relations are ever going to normalize. Mainstream black people have to cut off and discourage this ghetto segment. I know this goes against what seems right, siding with “the man” against their people. It was a cultural necessity for all black people to be united to fight for civil rights or they never would have won. However, that time has past. The gains sought aren’t hard, tangible, political gains anymore. They are soft gains. The time for unity has past because the whole of black people no longer wants to be treated like ghetto black people. Unconditional unity is why the ghetto segment is allowed to be so triflin’. And that triflin’ behavior is why non-ghetto black people suffer discrimination. Remember when Jesse Jackson said “I want to cut [Obama’s] nuts off” for “talking down to black people,” referring to Obama’s speech urging black men to be better fathers? Jesse Jackson = part of the problem. Obama = part of the solution. Al Sharpton = part of the problem. Bill Cosby = part of the solution.

Any discussion of race relations in the US would not be complete without mentioning the physical differences between blacks and whites. On average, black people are stronger and more athletic than white people. That is not to say that there aren't exceptionally athletic white people and exceptionally un-athletic black people. It's just to say the average. Some white racism is definitely attributable to the average difference in power, speed, strength, height, vertical jump, penis size, etc. However, this is not a lasting dynamic or insurmountable obstacle to improving race relations.

One night I was wasted in Delmar Lounge and started dancing with a hot black girl. We were doing more grinding than dancing. Despite her black friends trying to get her away from me, she kept coming back to me for virtual sex on the dance floor. Two of the guys stood on either side of us and just stared at us humping each other. One of them said to me, “You love that black pussy, don’t you? Get that shit, black man.” I think when those roles can be reversed – when a couple white guys can watch a black guy and white girl and say, “Get that shit, white man” – when that happens and nobody gets mad, race relations will be normalized. That is where we need to be. There is still a long way to go.

Cheers to Eric Holder!

Gringo Business Culture for Latinos

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 04:56:00 +0000

This is an essay I wrote for an assignment to get certified to teach English. This open-ended assignment allows me to analyze any subject from the textbook. I chose a subject (culture) not related to language because it's less boring. Essay below:

In this essay, I want to address what I view as the part of the Business English text that is most relevant to doing business in America. American professionals will overlook minor errors in written or spoken English from an international. However, cultural missteps can damage relationships or otherwise communicate unintended messages. These cultural factors are those that present the greatest discrepancies between US and Latin American business cultures.

Time – American culture follows a monochronic time orientation, as opposed to the polychronic orientation in Latin American countries. Americans say things like “time is money” and “don’t waste time.” This particularly applies to deadlines. In America, deadlines are literally how they sound. Think about what “dead” and “line” mean. Those words don’t suggest that an agreed-upon time or date is adjustable with changing circumstances. If a project or payment isn’t made by the deadline, Americans will expect an explanation why it’s late. Deadlines are much more important in monochronic cultures. Keep in mind when conducting business in monochronic cultures, Americans value time and are not as tolerant of delays.

Punctuality – Punctuality goes along with time-orientation. Look at meeting times as deadlines. Don’t be late. If you are late to a meeting, Americans expect an apology.

Status – Thomas Jefferson wrote in the Declaration of Independence that “all men are created equal.” This is a cornerstone of the American psyche – that no citizens are inherently better or of higher standing than others. In the English language, there is no translation for the word “usted.” It was difficult for me at first, in my Spanish-speaking company, to address certain superiors as “usted” (instead of “tu”) with the agreeing verb form. In English, there is only “you.” There is no special pronoun for people of higher status. Executives and other ranking professionals need not be offended in America if they are not treated with extra respect. Cab drivers or restaurant servers will treat professionals with the same amount of respect as individuals from lower social classes. And customers will likewise treat servers with respect. Executives from Latin America should keep in mind that they are not being insulted. But rather, all people are generally treated with the same respect in America.

Interpersonal Relationships – Americans don’t place as high a value on relationships. While there is certainly a place for building rapport, remember that they believe “time is money.” American professionals can use blunt and direct language. This is normal. Do not take offense. After acclimating to Peruvian culture, I attended a sales show in the States and was a little surprised at how blunt some buyers were. Some meetings lasted less than two minutes. Saving time and moving on can take precedence over building relationships.

Greetings – Gender roles are different in America. In business, gender roles are even subject to law. Men: do not kiss women when greeting them. Women: do not kiss men when greeting them.

Gratuities – In America, many workers earn their living through gratuities as opposed to wages. Not leaving a sufficient gratuity can be insulting and make a bad impression with business colleages. Most important are restaurant servers / bartenders and taxi drivers. Servers and bartenders earn 15 – 20% of the bill’s total. Taxi drivers earn 15% of the fare.

The Legacy of George W. Bush

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 01:47:00 +0000

I want to look back and take stock of George W. Bush’s impact and future legacy. I disclose that I was on the Obama train but I supported Bush in both of his elections. I guess this essay may assert to the majority out there that, historically, Bush wasn’t as bad as it seems now. And to the tiny minority of you who still support the man, I want to demonstrate that he certainly wasn’t all good. As our country is currently engaged in two wars and the worst economic recession since the Great Depression, a liberal Democrat won a landslide victory to lead his party to an even greater majority in the executive and legislative branches for a different direction in leadership.

Drew emailed me this pic to illustrate his joy over the change in governance. He represents the historic 80% approval Obama enjoys upon entering office.

Legacies

George W. Bush’s approval ratings fell to as low as the high 20s before rising to the mid 30s recently – the standard bump a president gets before leaving office. There has been much talk about Bush’s sour legacy. Bush himself has attempted to mediate this image in recent weeks. It would be hard to make the argument that his legacy will be as bad as current public opinion despite the statement from noted historian, Ludacris, that Bush was “the worst of all 43 presidents.” However, the Bush review will not be all-positive despite his wildest ambitions.

Presidential legacies, by nature of being determined by the masses, are subjective and irrational. Many presidents aren’t credited for their substantive effects. JFK’s and LBJ’s legacies illustrate this perfectly. JFK enjoys iconic stature, a liberal champion and inspirational hero. LBJ suffers the blame for the Vietnam War. JFK was the ideological spearhead for civil rights and is remembered as such, but LBJ pushed the Civil Rights Act through Congress and signed it. He took advantageof the political climate after JFK’s assassination and pressured his fellow Southerners into supporting the legislation. LBJ gets little credit for civil rights yet he bears responsibility for the Vietnam War, which ironically was a stage where JFK and his administration planted the seeds and made the early commitments. There were over 10,000 US military personnel in Vietnam before LBJ was ever sworn in. I once saw an episode of Dave Chapelle’s show, another noted historian, where he implied that the blame for Vietnam rest with Richard Nixon, the president who appointed a peace negotiator before actually being inaugurated in 1969 and ultimately ended the war. So we can see that public legacies are not always based on thorough research or objective opinion.

Bush achieved approval ratings as high as the low 90s and as low as the high 20s. Presidents who achieved such high approval as Bush are an elite club, almost as elite as the presidents who achieved such low approval. Harry Truman experienced similar extremes, his highest after ending World War II by using nuclear weapons and his lowest during the Korean War. Over fifty years later, Truman is regarded as having been a good president. Will Bush enjoy the same fate? Only time will tell.

George W. Bush will be remembered for September 11 and the Iraq War, which represent his high and low points in public approval. Everything Bush did in between, his “War on Terror,” will also be a part of his legacy. September 11 was a circumstance of chance and Bush's leadership went over well with the country. He probably enjoyed a rally-round-the-flag effect but, nevertheless, approval that high will not be forgotten. A big part of Jimmy Carter’s legacy was also a circumstance of chance, the Iran Hostage Crisis. The Iraq War was not a result of chance and Bush's ensuing dismal support will not be forgotten either. Parallels to the Vietnam War have been drawn since the outset and are best illustrated by the public perception’s separating the Iraq War from the War on Terror just as the Vietnam War is barely associated with the Cold War.

Bush’s War on Terror and everything it entailed – the Department of Homeland Security, Guantanamo Bay, the Patriot Act, etc. – is how he chose to define himself and that is how he will be remembered. What happens in Iraq determines much of his fate. While violence has calmed since the troop surge, it may spike as soon as US forces leave. If this happens and Iraq descends into sectarian violence and ethnic slaughter, or aligns itself with Iran and other antagonistic Islamic Law countries, Bush will suffer the blame. If Iraq thrives as a beacon of democracy and future ally, Bush will enjoy the credit. The smart money is not on the latter but we'll see.

Historic Impact

Historians will judge Bush based on more than what they remember off the top of their heads. Three main aspects of his presidency will be the focus, all of which played a big role in his War on Terror.

Preemptive Doctrine – The most debated Bush policy will be his doctrine of preemption. Bush Doctrine, as it is sometimes called, asserts that preemptive strikes are justified to prevent future aggression. In other words, the United States can invade and even overthrow foreign governments which had committed no acts of aggression against the US, but are perceived to pose a threat in the future. With the exception of tacit support for hushed coups, this is new ground for America.

The Taliban in Afghanistan had not committed any crimes against the United States but they refused to turn over someone who did: Osama Bin Laden. In the wake of the September 11 attacks, a preemptive war to overthrow this Islamic Law regime was not a difficult sell to the public. It didn’t seem preemptive since America was simply reacting to being attacked. The Taliban wasn’t complying with justice so they had to go. Iraq, however, was a tougher sell. Saddam Hussein’s government had no ties to Islamic terrorism and was on the verge of bankruptcy. The Bush administration made a shaky case that the Iraqi government had “weapons of mass destruction” (WMD) and that a preemptive strike was necessary to ensure the future safety of the United States by creating a democracy in the Middle East. The invasion and occupation of Iraq has proven divisive and increasingly unpopular. Both wars of preemptive doctrine were justified with the intention to prevent problems. Future American attitudes and international law will determine whether this doctrine - war with the intent to prevent - will persevere.

Expansion of Presidential Powers – In what seems to have been priorities of Vice President Dick Cheney and Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, and under the justification of fighting the War on Terror, Bush has expanded the powers of the executive branch beyond their reach in previous administrations. The Patriot Act allowed for warrant-less wiretapping, rendition, and unprecedented executive privilege. Bush has utilized the signing of statements to clarify how he interprets new legislation passed by Congress. Critics assert he uses his signed statements as a way to enforce only what he wants. Members in Congress are calling for this power to be rolled back and a restoration of checks and balances. How Obama handles his transition in that office will have a great influence on the future of the executive branch.

Enemy Combatants Policy – In order to justify an aggressive war against Islamic extremism, Justice Department lawyer John Yoo developed the legal framework for the handling of enemy combatants. This handling has included rendition, lack of due process and detention at Guantanamo Bay, and torture including water-boarding. I am not a legal expert but I believe the cornerstone of that legal opinion is that, because the enemy combatants in Afghanistan, Iraq, and elsewhere who plan war crimes against the US do not represent a recognized state and do not wear uniforms clearly identifying themselves, the Geneva Conventions do not apply to them. This opinion seems to have stood up in the courts to an extent, but only with the help of the previously-mentioned expansion of presidential powers and executive privilege. Obama has already committed to closing Guantanamo Bay and, given his background in law, we can expect he will roll back the secretive and questionable tactics of the Bush administration. Still, those tactics have set a precedent and will be examined and debated for generations to come.

What Bush Won’t Be Remembered For (by the public):

*Feel free to disagree with me in the comments section.

Patriot Act – I almost included this under the impact section, but decided his real impact was the overall theme of expanding presidential power. I don’t think the Patriot Act alone will be memorable in the future because (A) it was renewed in relatively uncontentious fashion and (B) while some provisions have been discarded, most of it has held up in court.

Hurricane Katrina Response – as much outrage as it caused at the time, I don’t see this event earning much space in the history books (if it’s mentioned at all).

Department of Homeland Security – after all, Richard Nixon isn’t remembered for the Environmental Protection Agency.

Administration Scandals (Scooter Libby, Alberto Gonzales) – not sexy enough like Monica-gate and not incriminating enough like Watergate to stand the test of time.

Opposition to Gay Marriage and Stem-Cell Research – these wedge issues can inflame now but nobody will remember who supported which side in fifty years.

Prescription Drug Benefit in Medicare – the largest increase in federal spending in modern times didn’t meet much opposition when it was passed.

AIDS in Africa – AIDS. And Africa. Bush gave a lot. How many people care?

No Child Left Behind – the most controversial education legislation that nobody really cares about enough to see how their own Congressmen voted, much less pressure them to repeal it.

Tax Cuts – capital gains, estate tax, stimulus checks, and refunds. When's my next one?

Other Developments of the Last 8 Years:

Sarbanes-Oxley Act – in the wake of the Enron scandal, Bush signed this legislation which mandates the toughest financial reporting of publicly traded companies in the history of the industrialized world. The cost of compliance has been cited as a major reason corporations are increasingly listing on stock exchanges in other countries.

Do-Not-Call Implementation Act – everybody should remember the do-not-call list you could have opted in for to be off-limits to telemarketers.

Partial-Birth Abortion Ban – “partial-birth abortion” in politics but it’s known as “intact dilation and extraction” in medicine.

CAN-SPAM Act – this disclosure-mandating legislation put out of business one successful spammer that I knew personally. Somehow, not all spam got canned.

Bankruptcy Reform – sounded like a good idea at the time to the kinds of people who don’t declare bankruptcy. It may make weathering the current financial crisis much more difficult for individuals and companies.

Secure Fence Act – this legislation mandated we build a big, long fence between us and our neighbors. Well, one of our neighbors anyway.

Supreme Court Justices John G. Roberts and Samuel Alito – the reason(s) why the religious base elected him.

Feedback

I would love for you to agree or disagree with me in the comments below. I have surely left something out. Please include it. I assume most of the feedback will claim that I am being too generous with Bush. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed my brief recap of the last eight years.

Print Publishing vs. E-Publishing

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 01:12:00 +0000

Many writers and industry analysts are debating if e-publishing will conquer print publishing (various article links below). If is not debatable. When and how are. In other words, think about when print will be conquered and, especially for aspiring writers with no backup plan, how to make money in the future of publishing.

Keep in mind that, simply by being active in this online forum, you are statistically among the earlier adopters of digital technology. History has yet to run its course and digital habits have yet to go fully mainstream (consider the computer literacy of the 2008 Republican presidential candidate).

Historically, the automobile was an economic game-changer (an industry disrupter, if you will) for transportation just as digital technology is for reading. The method is irrelevant to the purpose. Transportation involves going from Point A to Point B. While people had grown up with and were accustomed to the horse fulfilling this need, horses aren't actually critical to the basic need of transportation just as paper is no longer critical to the basic need of reading. Aside from the paper milling industry, there are other unnecessary middlemen operations (lumber, shipping and storage, printing, binding, brick and mortar retailing via Barnes & Noble, Borders, etc.) that make the economics of print publishing unviable in the long-term when competing with e-publishing.

The resistance to abandoning paper is like the resistance to abandoning horses. Arguments to preserve paper – the feel of the book, the durability, less risk of reading in the tub – will seem as ridiculous in 100 years as arguments to preserve horses for transportation seem now. There were surely people who felt horses would never be replaced. After all, the automobile can't go everywhere a horse can go. Not everybody liked cars. Horses were the standard everybody grew up on. They used to call common sense "horse sense." There surely are virtues to printed copies of text just as there surely were virtues to keeping horses. On a different note and more personal level, I hold great affinity for the cassette tape. I still own dozens of mixtapes and can make strong arguments in favor of the cassette over the compact disc (although those don't hold water against digital music). Unfortunately for the tape, economics trump virtue. In other words: money talks, bullshit walks.

While we internet-savvy consumers from industrialized countries are early adopters, we are also fossils historically in that we even have some attachment to printed reading. How strong is that attachment among the youth in South Korea, the country which boasts the best broadband penetration in the world and whose citizenry performs most daily tasks and live their lives on smart-phones? If you're in the US, you may receive printed coupon advertising in the mail. In South Korea, they receive text message offers from restaurants and retailers as they pass the place. Paper is unnecessary.

To better understand where print is going, watch the newspaper industry. 50 years ago, every bumfuck town needed a hard copy paper to publish the same world news and a few local stories. But in the 21^st century and beyond, how many letters of record are needed past the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and niche pubs like The Guardian and The Economist? Do people really need a hard copy of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch? People are already going online for news while the industry scrambles for revenue. Who needs the local classified section when there are superior digital sources like craigslist and eBay? Printed book publishers will eventually run into financial woes as well.

Determining when print will die is difficult. America won't match super-urban South Korea's broadband penetration any time soon because of its geography – suburban Americans live spread out in big houses with yards. This will inhibit the already slow digital adoption rate in America (don't forget about the presidential candidate who doesn't use the Internet). You may live most of your life before the inevitable death of print. In most of the world, the masses living in emerging markets don't yet have the means for digital technology. However, they may be able to leapfrog outdated technology like printing as they leapfrogged landline phones.

Determining how to make money is also difficult. I'm not going to pretend to have an idea how this angle will play out, but I'm confident that capitalism and the profit motive will find a way. I whole-heartedly disagree that the quality of literature will suffer. I imagine that argument was made by musicians complaining about the emergence of the phonograph record in the early 20^th century. If people can buy our music once and listen to it forever, they won't pay to see us perform. How will we make money? All the good musicians will quit making music. Present day musicians revived that fear when downloading technology came in the picture, but society has managed to monetize that as well. While the kinds of art found in museums may need a government subsidy, music and reading have always demanded a high premium. There will always be a market. Does anybody honestly foresee a shortage of writers someday?

Then again, published content will certainly change. I converted from the Times hard copy to the Internet about a year ago and there is a clear difference in what I choose to read. With a hard copy, you are almost compelled to read all the articles. While I thoroughly enjoyed a 3000 word article about the growing exports from Brazil of HPC products featuring exotic ingredients from the Amazon rainforest, I probably wouldn't have clicked on it if I were getting my news online. On the other hand, should the mainstream public be subsidizing that article if nobody cares about it? Or should it be featured in a niche publication? Nicholas Carr in The Atlantic on how reading online may change what we read and how we think: "Is Google Making Us Stupid?"

What's my point? Don't think if. Think when and how.

Marketing guru Seth Godin on the future of publishing

Samir Husni on the power of print

Bob Sacks says "It's a Digital World Now"

Alcohol and Writing: Essays Under the Influence

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 00:59:00 +0000

A new writing exercise to investigate the effects of alcohol on writing, which must have a positive effect. Otherwise, why would all the best writers be raging alcoholics? Hemingway, Thompson, Burroughs, Kerouac, etc.

The exercise: write 3 - 5 essays, each 100 - 500 words. 90 minute limit. Choose essay topics from Chuck Klosterman's 23 Questions in Sex, Drugs & Cocoa Puffs. The first essay must be written before consuming alcohol. The second essay can't be started until alcohol has been consumed. Note how much alcohol (and what alcohol) has been consumed for each essay.
* the 23 questions are so cool that I am going to try to answer all of them in later blogs

We are not looking at general quality, but relative quality. We want to see the effects writing under the influence relative to writing without alcohol.

Love and Music

Started: 5:58pm.
Finished: 7:04pm.
Drinks: 0.

Question:

You meet your soul mate. However, there is a catch: Every three years, someone will break both of your soul mate's collarbones with a Crescent wrench, and there is only one thing you can do to stop this from happening: You must swallow a pill that will make every song you hear--for the rest of your life--sound as if its being performed by the band Alice in Chains. When you hear Creedence Clearwater Revival on the radio, it will sound (to your ears) like it's being played by Alice in Chains. If you see Radiohead live, every one of their tunes will sound like it's being covered by Alice in Chains. When you hear a commercial jingle on TV, it will sound like Alice in Chains; if you sing to yourself in the shower, your voice will sound like deceased Alice vocalist Layne Stanley performing a capella (but it will only sound that way to YOU).

Would you swallow the pill?

Answer:

I would NOT take the pill and my "soulmate" would spend a good amount of her life in a wheelchair. Sorry love. It was a sweet love. But I must be traveling on now because I'm as free as a bird now.

Klosterman is asking which life would be preferred: a life without love or a life without music. However, his premise is flawed because there is no such thing as one "soulmate." I had a girl I loved very much and considered a "soulmate." We lived together and she left me and I almost cried for the bitch. We didn't completely stop seeing each other for almost a year after she moved out. I still love her but she is not my only "soulmate." I would estimate there are a dozen or so "soulmates" for any given person in any given city. The number of soulmates in different cities probably fluctuates among global regions depending on how well your personality fits within a certain culture (e.g. my number plunges in European cities while it spikes in Latin America).

Love is more about maturity than it is about the perfect match. There are several compatible matches out there if each partner is emotionally ready for such a commitment. If both partners are confident (not desperate), if both partners are mature enough (finished fucking different people), and if both partners share a genuine affection and trust, then they're "soulmates." That's all it takes. We humans skew toward the monogamous end of the spectrum. Despite our urges to breed with many, it is in our blood to settle down.

Now that we have established that there is no such thing as a "soulmate," we can focus on the apocalyptic nightmare of only hearing one music group forever. This is a life not worth living. I realize others may not be music fanatics like me but everybody has a little bit of soul. I need male and female singers. Alice in Chains can't pull off all genres. I need all kinds of music. Blues, jazz, reggae, hip hop, reggaeton, cumbia, punk. Even emo sometimes. A particularly sweet "soulmate" may be worth one or two genres, but not all of them.

As it's phrased, Klosterman's question is easy to answer but his idea of a tradeoff is not – monogamy in both love and music, or in neither. As much as I believe there are thousands of women out there suitable to marry, procreate and cohabitate with, not having one of them in my endgame is pretty damn scary. So is a life without music. If I couldn't shoot holes in his question and I had to choose love or music, I would choose love. The thought of getting old without a wife and a shitload of family around scares me more than hearing Alice in Chains cover Nina Simone's "Sinnerman".

P.S. I dig Alice in Chains and if that makes me a redneck then FUCK CHUCK KLOSTERMAN.

Clydesdales and Political Prisoners

Start time: 10:30
End time: 11:39
Drinks: About 3 beers: Arequipeña (Peruvian beer similar to American shit), and one shot: anisado (Peruvian anise-flavored spirit, 45% alcohol).

Question:

Let us assume a fully grown, completely healthy Clydesdale horse has his hooves shackled to the ground while his head is held in place with thick rope. He is conscious and standing upright, but completely immobile. And let us assume that--for some reason--every political prisoner on earth (as cited by Amnesty International) will be released from captivity if you can kick this horse to death in less than twenty minutes. You are allowed to wear steel-toed boots.

Would you attempt to do this?

Answer:

Disclosure: I worked for Anheuser-Busch for two years. Budweiser is my favorite American macrobrew.

I would gladly kill the horse. Why only twenty minutes? To scare off the weak of heart? A quick killing seems more humane. Plus, the athletic challenge is inspiring. My hamstrings don't have great flexibility so I can't kick that high, especially wearing steel-toe boots. I hope a tall stepladder would be available so I could football-punt the horse's brain from above. Otherwise, my strategy would be to break its front legs before stomping its skull into bloody hair and bone fragments.

I won't discuss the animal rights angle with too many words. I eat chicken, beef, duck, fish and more. Like most humans, I support slaughter of animals in my behavior and in principle. Killing a horse is no more immoral than eating turkey at Thanksgiving. I'd pay for the opportunity to kill the horse and free the world's political prisoners. This person could potentially affect change on a scale unseen in my lifetime.

The only reservation I'd have pertains to the net effect of releasing all the world's political prisoners. Amnesty International doesn't have a comprehensive list but would probably designate some undesirables as political prisoners. Specifically, detainees in Guantanamo Bay. Cases have surfaced in which innocents were held for years. History will probably judge the Bush administration harshly in this respect. However, many of the detainees are Islamic fundamentalists who don't need to be freed. Would they be considered political prisoners?

At most, there are a few hundred detainees being held in Guantanamo (I'm not researching now). The total number of terrorists held around the world pales in comparison to the number of political reformists held in repressive states like North Korea, Cuba, Myanmar, Saudi Arabia, Zimbabwe, Sudan, China, and the Republic of Equatorial Guinea. If every one of them were released into their home countries at the same time, a human rights revolution for the history books would be underway overnight. Those prisoners have balls unseen in the US since George Washington and company but their governments retain more control than 18^th century England did. These people's resistance would create a synergy to truly change the world as did the American Revolution.

I am biased toward democracy. The "state capitalism" models of China and Russia may eventually prove to triumph over traditional liberal governments like the US, UK and Japan. Unlike China and Russia, most repressive states holding political prisoners not only fail to create thriving economies, they fail to effectively feed their people. Some of the most unfortunate people in the world are those who were born into the countries listed. The altruistic decision in this scenario is to kill the fucking horse. Anybody who cares more about the Clydesdale than those countries' reformers should have their current passport revoked and deported. Let them be PETA members in those countries.

Attractive Magicians

Start time: 12:57am
End time: 1:52am
Drinks: 4 – 5 shots anisado, 6 - 8 beers (I'm drunk)

Question:

You meet a wizard in downtown Chicago. The wizard tells you he can make you more attractive if you pay him money. When you ask how this process works, the wizard points to a random person on the street. You look at this random stranger. The wizard says, "I will now make them a dollar more attractive." He waves his magic wand. Ostensibly, this person does not change at all; as far as you can tell, nothing is different. But--somehow--this person is suddenly a little more appealing. The tangible difference is invisible to the naked eye, but you can't deny that this person is vaguely sexier. This wizard has a weird rule, though--you can only pay him once. You can't keep giving him money until he's satisfied. You can only pay him one lump sum upfront.

How much cash do you give the wizard?

Answer:

How much cash would I give the wizard to make me more attractive? Everything in my pockets. Maybe if I were actually in this situation – if it weren't hypothetical – then maybe I would go to an ATM or break out the plastic in another way. But my first impression in this hypothetical exercise is to pay the magician everything in my pockets and not a penny more.

I am an attractive guy. But I have no game. I have no idea about the seduction process. My sex life survives almost solely on my physical attractiveness. The only way I get laid is if women throw it at me or if a girl wants me for a boyfriend so badly that she ignores the unromantic and idiotic shit I say. I would surely do better, with better-looking women, if I were more attractive.

There are many men more attractive than me. There are even more with better game. Everybody wants to be the sexiest person in the room. I do too. I want to be better than those guys. I would pay for it. Everything in my pockets.

Beauty is worth a premium without a Chi-town magician. Breast implants, nose jobs, lip implants, butt implants, liposuction, braces. Many men and women spend countless hours in the gym solely for cosmetic reasons.

There is a fine line between striving for self-improvement and being vain. There is a point where the pursuit of beauty sacrifices self-esteem. I am conscious enough to realize that I was dealt a good hand. I'm quite satisfied with what I was given in the DNA lottery. I don't need to run up my credit cards to look like a model. It's not that important. I'm good where I'm at.

I can understand people who would pay more than I would. I wasn't always fine. I was fat as a kid. Then I was scrawny and baby-faced in high school. I was ignored by girls for most of my life. I remember the mentality of someone who isn't attractive. It sucks. If I was still on that level, I would probably pay the magician more than what I had on me and then some. And I wouldn't judge anybody who would do that now. But I would caution them to not cross that line into self-loathing. Extreme beauty with no confidence or self-esteem isn't hot.

Lock & Sock: Based on a True Story

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 00:44:00 +0000

In my creative writing group, I completed a "flash fiction" exercise meant to hone word efficiency skills. The exercise is to write a story in 500 words. As opposed to a vignette, flash fiction is an entire story. There is a conflict, a climax, and resolution. Something changes. You first write the story and then cut it to 500 words. The exercise teaches you to aggressively cut unnecessary parts and keep only what is important. Mine came in at exactly 500.

Lock & Sock

Ian sunk his head in despair. He was supposed to get probation, but the judge handed him a two-year prison sentence. He almost shook with fear on the ride home. His dad said nothing.

Ian was terrified of prison. He didn't want to be a punk. He started doing pushups that night. He boxed in his teens, until he discovered drugs. He wasn't in shape like he was back then. He vowed to improve in the two months before he began his sentence.

Ian quit drinking and doing drugs. He started to lift weights and train at his old boxing gym. Coach warmly welcomed him back. Ian went right to work shadowboxing, hitting the bag, jumping rope, etc.

After a week, Ian asked to spar.

"You been here a week," Coach argued. "You not in shape."

Ian persisted. Coach agreed to two rounds. Ian did well exchanging jabs during the first minute. He slowed down in the second minute. By the third minute, he could barely keep his hands up. His partner knocked him dizzy with a right hand on the chin. Ian wobbled and almost lost his legs. Coach stopped them, refusing a second round.

Ian was frustrated. He needed to improve quicker. The next day at the gym, he asked to spar again.

"What are you trying to prove?" Coach asked.

"I just want to jump back in fast," Ian lied. Ian tried to spar every single day the gym was open, even if the only potential partners were heavyweights. He improved. Coach could not understand what had gotten into Ian. Then one day he never saw him again.

After turning himself in, Ian was being transferred to a medium-security facility in an orange jumpsuit and leg irons. Did the jumpsuit make him look skinny? On the bus, a fat redneck named Frank started a conversation. Ian didn't want to make friends and stared out the window in nervous anticipation. After a few hours, the bus entered his new home inside a hundred-foot fence topped with three layers of razor wire.

Ian and Frank were led to a gymnasium-sized dorm room that housed over seventy inmates. They slept in iron bunks spaced ten feet from each other. Sizing up the proximity of the inmates and the vibe of the crowd, Ian realized this may be more violent than he anticipated. Ian and Frank were shown their bunk; Ian took the bottom.

In the middle of the first night, Ian was unpleasantly woken up by four visitors swinging socks filled with combination locks on Frank. As soon as he heard the violence, Ian jumped out of his bed, ready to fight. The attackers barely glanced at Ian and continued. They were smiling. Almost as soon as it had started, it finished as each member of the war party slipped back into their bunks. Frank received mostly body shots and there was no visible blood.

Ian went back to bed. Ian thought to himself, smiling, "I'm going to be fine."

Fuck Detroit

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 00:48:00 +0000

Earlier this month, General Motors startled financial analysts by admitting that it was burning through $2 billion per month. It has lost $70 billion since 2004 while consistently losing market share for decades. GM, Ford, and Chrysler are currently launching an effort to gain access to the $700 billion TARP fund to prop up their companies in the midst of the historic financial crisis the world is in.

The companies were recently approved for $25 billion to retool factories in order to produce more fuel-efficient vehicles – a measure taken when oil was in the $160 / barrel range. Now the companies say that they will need more after a collapse in vehicle sales and credit markets. I am predicting that they, and specifically the most beleaguered GM, will not receive the bailout funds they are seeking as currently proposed.

There are many different takes on how the American automakers have come to their current situation. Popular culprits include union labor costs, poor management, and the current economic crisis. All of these play a part.

Denying the negative effect of the UAW on the American auto industry is ignoring the obvious. In researching a case study I did in 2007, I found there was a $30 / hour average difference in labor costs between American manufacturers and Japanese manufacturers.

Average cost of labor, Detroit Big Three = $75 / hour
Average cost of labor, Japanese Big Three = $45 / hour

The $75 figure for Detroit includes retiree pension and health benefits. It doesn't take an MBA to understand that you can't compete with variable costs 67% higher than the competition's and market a similar product (the word "similar" is arguable given perception towards American auto quality). It's plain to see that labor costs are a major contributing factor to American auto manufacturers' lack of competitiveness and financial woes. If labor costs didn't play a part, then why are all of the American companies in trouble while none of the foreign companies need help? *the 2008 Newsweek article below puts the figures at $71 and $47

The American companies reportedly gained sweeping concessions from the UAW negotiations in 2007, but savings aren't expected to be realized until 2010. Plus, those concessions still don't come close to bringing them in line with the competition.

The greatest failure in these companies' management was that they bet too heavily on light trucks and SUVs since the late nineties. Because the American companies made the best trucks and SUVs, they were able to command high prices and reap big profits. Their truck business subsidized the rest of the companies' operations. And since each American company had relatively the same deal from the UAW (from pattern bargaining), there was no competition between each other in labor costs. There was no competition from foreign companies in this category because Toyota trucks weren't in demand like the F-150, the Dodge Caravan, the Chevy Blazer, the Ford Explorer, and so on. In a particularly despicable chapter of business working with politics, the companies lobbied heavily and defeated legislation to increase fuel-efficiency standards so they could continue to sell these vehicles. Before the Japanese could develop better trucks at lower prices, the price of oil soared and the bottom dropped out on the truck market. This wiped out the little profitability the American firms had.

The price of oil has since plunged as the credit crisis gripped the world. While expensive gas will not prevent consumers from buying trucks in the near future, the inability to borrow will. As all the banks are tightening their belts due to their own mismanagement, millions of ordinary consumers who might have bought cars can't get the financing they would need in order to buy them.

That is the very short story of how GM and Detroit went from, as little as six months ago, touting their turnaround strategies as making progress to currently begging for billions from the federal government to stay alive. Would their turnaround strategies have worked if the economy hadn't tanked? Who knows?

The argument for the bailout is made in the name of preventing economic catastrophe. Not only does GM employ hundreds of thousands, but parts suppliers also employ hundreds of thousands. These companies are dependent on the manufacturers and they could also go under if GM did. In addition, there are over 10,000 dealerships around the country which depend on the Big Three for their livelihoods as well. Between the dealerships, the suppliers, and the manufacturers themselves, the Center for Automotive Research estimates that up to 3 million jobs could be lost (it should be noted that the Center for Automotive Research is heavily funded by the Big Three and that this figure is disputed). The argument's idea is that a government loan will keep GM and the others liquid for enough time to fully realize their turnaround strategies, therefore saving millions of jobs and preserving the primary component of the American manufacturing sector.

The argument against the bailout is winning. I first noticed yesterday that a vast majority of the users in newspaper comment forums opposed a deal. I can find articles detailing the arguments for and against a bailout, and I can find editorials against (especially in business and economics publications), but I could hardly find a strong editorial in favor of the bailout. To give an illusion of balance below, I had to go to the Detroit Free Press to cite an editorial in favor. There is a Newsweek article that is mildly in favor. Of all places, I found two of the more convincing arguments against a bailout from the New York Times.

Besides being a generally center-right country committed to free-market principles, most people just don't think the money will save the companies. It seems the more the public researches the industry and the companies, the more it believes that the bailout wouldn't solve their problems. The money would be burnt up and the companies would be in the exact same situation as before. Thirty years ago, the federal government bailed out Chrysler. What was it worth? Below is a link to an article detailing the British government's bailout of British Leyland, a case study with striking similarities to General Motors.

Bailout opponents contend that only under Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection will General Motors be able to make the drastic changes needed to become a viable company. GM would be able to rewrite union contracts. Laws throughout the country that protect redundant dealerships (preventing GM from shedding brands) would be voided. These changes won't happen with a simple cash infusion. Free-market champions contend that, even if General Motors were to suffer Chapter 7 liquidation - the worst-case scenario - other manufacturers would buy the factories, employ the experienced workers, buy parts from suppliers, and open more dealerships. After all, Americans will still buy cars.

It is probably obvious that I oppose any government aid to the Big Three that does not include Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. But moving past the arguments for and against, these are the reasons why I deem the bailout (as is) as 'not-gonna-happen':

As stated before, there is considerable opposition to a bailout among the public.
There is considerable opposition on the editorial pages of all the major newspapers (except the Detroit Free Press).
In the face of demands to overhaul executive management, General Motors CEO Richard Wagoner has stated that he doesn't feel the company would need a change in leadership if it were to receive government money. Current management would stay in place.
Under mounting criticism of the labor unions' role, UAW President Ron Gettelfinger has said that his workers would not make any more concessions past the 2007 negotiations. They have given up enough.
As the Big Three mounted their offensive on Washington, a coalition of parts suppliers was formed and joined the beggars' party. They feel they are also entitled to TARP funds.
While the Democrats - who mostly favor a bailout deal - just won a landslide victory in November, Obama and the new Congress don't take office until late January. General Motors probably can't last that long. The Bush administration opposes using TARP funds for the auto companies and the current Senate probably does not have the votes to pass the legislation in the face of stiff opposition. And by the time the Democrats take office with their larger majority, the public will have had two more months to look into the matter. And, as I stated earlier, the more people learn about the companies and the industry, the more they realize that a bailout is futile.
Democrat Representative Barney Frank is drafting the bailout legislation with stipulations for the companies receiving aid. His bill includes pointless symbolism like a no-golden-parachutes clause and also a clause that would, in my opinion, completely tie the companies' hands in making sweeping change. There would be a government oversight on company operations (an auto czar, if you will) with veto power of any ventures(!).

"A Bridge Loan? U.S. Should Guide G.M. in a Chapter 11" (New York Times)

"A British Lesson on Auto Bailouts" (New York Times)

"How to Bail Out General Motors" (Newsweek)

"Saving Detroit" (The Economist)

"Time runs short to save an industry" (Detroit Free Press)

"Why Bankruptcy is the Best Option for G.M." (Wall Street Journal)

Don’t Vote: Just in Time for November

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 23:27:00 +0000

Most of this material was developed for a presentation in my Managerial Communications course last winter. The assignment was to deliver a presentation asking the audience to take some kind of action. I promised the audience and I promise you that, if you do as I say, you will save time, save money, and enrich your life. In fact, taking my advice is easier than not taking it because the action I am asking you to take is actually inaction. I am asking you to not vote.

Because it was a speech as opposed to an essay, I had attention-grabbing fun stuff to start the show. I told them a famous Boss Tweed quote: "The people can elect whoever they like as long as I get to choose the candidates." (Boss Tweed was the infamous boss of the 19th century political machine in New York). Then I showed them a bumper sticker which reads, "Don't Vote – it only encourages them". I wrapped up the fun stuff with a classic economists' joke.

Two economists run into each other at the polls.
Economist A: "What are you doing here?"
Economist B: "My wife made me come. What are you doing here?"
Economist A: "My wife made me come."

This joke tied in nicely with my two-pronged argument against voting and illustrates how economists, the world's experts in maximizing benefit and utility with limited resources, regard it silly to waste one's time voting.

The two-pronged argument against voting: (1) your vote will not affect the outcome of the election and (2) your candidate will not change your quality of life.

The first part of the argument is based on statistics and economics. I explained the economic theory, the Paradox of Voting. This theory states that "for a rational, self-interested voter, the costs of voting will normally exceed the expected benefits. Because the chance of exercising a decisive vote (i.e. the chance of a tied election) is tiny compared to any realistic estimate of the private individual benefits of the different possible outcomes, the expected benefits of voting are less than the costs." en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paradox_of_voting

Economics hinges on rational behavior, and how rational people should behave in order to maximize their utility. According to this theory, voting is not rational behavior.

To further drive this point home, I developed a methodology to calculate one's chances of changing the outcome of an election. The truly random method would be 1 / n where n = total voters. However, elections are never random since we have opinion polls that seem to come out hourly which add predictability. In some states like California or Texas, your chances will actually be much lower because the election will not be close. In small, politically divided states like Iowa, your chances may be higher than with that methodology. So I scrapped that method for one that I arbitrarily made up which isn't accurate at all but is the most generous in yielding the highest probabilities of casting a deciding vote. 1 / n where n = the margin by which the winning candidate won in past elections. This completely ridiculous methodology doesn't even take into account the size of the state, but nobody can fault me for padding the numbers because I am padding them in the voters' favor. Using this methodology, I computed probabilities of changing the result for some recent elections in the St. Louis area.

2006 Missouri Senate (McCaskill by 48,314)
p = .000021

2004 Missouri President (Bush by 196,542)
p = .000005

2004 Illinois Senate (Obama by 2,206,766)
p = .0000005

2004 Illinois President (Kerry by 545,604)
p = .0000018

I emphasized that any Illinois residents were really wasting their time by voting because they don't have a chance in hell of making a difference (chance in hell = 0.00019%). Then I threw out some of the closest elections in history and their p-values.

2000 Florida President (Bush by 541)
p = .0019
* Statistically closest election ever

1876 South Carolina (Hayes by 889)
p = .0011
* 8.4 million votes cast in the whole country
* Women couldn't vote
* p-value inflated past any realistic comparison to present times

1916 California President (Wilson by ~4000)
p = .00025

1976 Ohio President (Carter by 11,116)
p = .00009

2006 Virginia Senate (Webb by ~10,000)
p = .0001

I pointed out that for all of the closest elections in US history, using my ridiculously generous methodology, the voter's chance of changing the outcome, when rounded to the closest percentage point, equals 0%.

Then I started the second prong of my argument against voting. Your candidate will not change your life. Because this is the business school and students are typically laissez-faire, free market conservatives, I picked on the Republicans first. Before I dug in, I emphasized that I was not trying to talk about or debate politics (especially Iraq), but to illustrate how the parties don't necessarily practice what they preach.

I showed statistics that showed how George W. Bush and a Republican Congress have presided over the largest inflation-adjusted federal spending increase since LBJ. Total spending grew by 33%. The federal budget, as a percentage of GDP, grew from 18.5% to 20.3%. Discounting wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the creation of the Department of Homeland Security, Bush non-defense spending grew 4.8%, second to only Richard Nixon (another Republican!). On the other hand, the federal budget as a percentage of GDP shrank the most in recent decades under Bill Clinton and a Democrat Congress. So, as far as your economic politics are concerned, does it really matter who wins?

Then I picked on the Democrats. Just a year before my presentation, a national Congressional election gave the Democrats control of the House and the Senate for the first time in fourteen years. Discontent with the war in Iraq was the widely-accepted reason for the change in power. In January 2007, the Democrats took office as a national poll showed that 70% of Americans opposed sending more troops to Iraq. I explained to the international students and the Americans who don't read newspapers that, while Bush can send troops to Iraq, he can't spend money. He can not fight a war if Congress doesn't give him money for "beans and bullets". In March, the newly-elected Democrat Congress passed a spending bill for the war with a timetable for US troop withdrawal. Bush vetoed it. In May, newly-elected Democrat Congress passed a spending bill without timetables. So among all the discontent with the war, and all the Americans who went to the polls to end the war or change how it was being handled, the newly-elected Democrat Congress gave their voters a fully-funded troop surge with no timetables for a withdrawal of our forces. Good job, voters.

In summary, I addressed one of the most common pleas from pro-vote types. "But what if everybody says that?" This argument is insignificant because everybody doesn't say that. We are discussing rational behavior here. Assuming everybody will abstain is irrational because many people vote. 150 million people will vote in November. I told the class that I have never said that their vote won't count. Their vote will count. However, their vote will not matter. And I reminded them that their candidate isn't going to change their lives at all. I left them with a final thought. I appealed to them to enrich their lives as I had promised they could. I told them to see the opportunity for extra time. Take the hours you will spend at the polls and spend that newfound time with your kids. Play ball with them. Or spend some quality time with your spouse. Do something that really enriches your life. Don't waste your time voting.

I am a news junkie and I have strong opinions. I am cheering for Obama to win, but I won't vote because there's not much of a point. I don't see any situation short of a terrorist attack on US soil ending in a McCain victory. I still feel the same and I hope some of my classmates take my advice. To be completely fair, there is one argument for voting that may bear credit with me. This would be an emotional appeal based on American soldiers who have fought and died for our country and to preserve our democracy. However, I think they also fought for my freedom to not vote. Compulsory voting scares me almost as much as compulsory military service. Plus, this is an emotional appeal and I, on the other hand, am a rational person.

No Conclusion on the EU

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 23:31:00 +0000

Ten leading European economists wrote an open letter to European leaders urging a coordinated rescue plan for the world financial crisis, specifically as it implicates European banks. (As ten economists drafted the letter, over 300 more have since signed it as of this writing, see this article).

The letter made the argument that the “piecemeal” actions being taken in Europe will never amount to a solution for the crisis. “The current approach of rescuing one institution after another with national funds will lead to Balkanization of the European banking sector.” The letter went on to say that the US has already learned that bailing out a few giants did virtually nothing to stop the bleeding. Due to the credit-default swap industry, or banks insuring each other’s bad debt, the banks are all tied together as if with rope while trying to stay afloat in deep waters. When one or two go under, they will take others with them.

Those economists are not alone in their assessment. According to a recent Bloomberg article about Europe’s challenges, European Commission President Jose Barroso called on Europe to remove the “mismatch between a continental-scale market and national systems of supervision,” (see this article). The European Union, while comprising 27 different nations with 27 national governments, acts as one financial market with one currency (one currency for 15 member states, anyway). Banks across national borders are deeply intertwined with each other and their relationships affect smaller countries where neither bank is located. So a “systemic crisis demands a systemic response.” Coming up with an aid package that successfully navigates all the multinational bureaucratic red tape involved will prove extremely difficult if not impossible.

Adding to what seems like a perfect storm in Europe is the extreme diversity within the continent. Besides having 27 different governments, 27 different heads of state, and 27 different constituencies to independently please, there are extreme cultural issues to overcome. There are 23 official languages within the EU. Whether generalizing Europe in terms of East vs. West, North vs. South, or Christian vs. Muslim, there is really nothing in common among all states besides soccer. Imagine the possibilities for disagreement over a solution between the Greeks and the Swedes, or the Spanish and the Polish. One doesn’t even have to cross the continent to find such contrasts. England and France, neighbors, are well-known rivals who loathe each other, and my Swiss roommate often has less than kind words to say about the Austrians. Besides the fact that Switzerland has been involved in fewer wars, how many people can detail the cultural differences between those two? I can’t. As the Bloomberg article notes in its lead sentence, “It took the European Union almost three decades to agree on what could legitimately be called chocolate.”

While America is the most diverse country in the world, she has centuries’ experience of dealing with its ethnic, geographic, and economic diversity. America also has the benefit of only one federal government in control. So the US is at an advantage over the EU in executing its comprehensive public bailout of the financial services industry. The House of Representatives voted against the first bailout plan and showed how difficult drafting such a plan will be even in the States. I just can’t grasp how pain-staking of a process it will be for Europe.

In my International Banking class of my graduate program, the professor explained how the European Union was relatively young historically, and that there was no real conclusion on how it will turn out. It has yet to pass the test of time to call it a success. This directly contradicts what almost came to be considered common sense in the media – the US dollar was in the toilet and it would never come out. Some day the Euro would be the reserve currency of choice. I also heard this incessantly from my European friends.

While never arguing with my friends native to the other side of the big pond, I always viewed the fall of the dollar as a normalization of what was long overdue. I thought that the dollar was probably overvalued for the generations that Europe was economically splintered (what I wouldn’t give to be an American in the 80s vacationing in Europe!). Europe finally united and quickly grew its buying power. Imagine how much waste was saved by creating a common financial groundwork and establishing an ease of crossing borders. Imagine the waste, before the economic unity, of all the financial professionals dedicating their time, labor and resources to currency arbitrage alone. The EU became a much more productive, cohesive continent despite its inherent diversity and government fiefdoms.

The EU normalized economic standards and collectively grew faster than ever. The Euro increased in value to somewhere around $1.50. However, most of the economic reforms were planned in 1993 and executed in 1999. Being so young, the EU has yet to pass a significant test such as the global financial crisis we are in today. This is a historic time, especially for the EU. How quickly it can produce a continent-wide solution, and how effective that solution is, will help determine its historical success. As the Bloomberg article explains, the unanimity requirement for changes makes decision-making terribly slow. In trying to solve this problem, it has tried to change rules in favor of a stronger governing body twice. The French and Dutch rejected a constitution in 2004 and the Irish rejected the 2007 Lisbon Treaty (which the Polish were expected to do if the Irish hadn’t). As the crisis deepens and pressure mounts, the financial bloc may hastily push through a plan that satisfies everybody but is ineffective or not ideal.

As the US dollar was artificially over-valued while Europe was an economic mosaic similar to America in the 18th century under the Articles of Confederation, the Euro may prove to be overvalued after it overshadowed the dollar, never having proved itself in the absence of the EU’s ever seeing a crisis. The dollar has already started to gain on the Euro (currently $1.34 / 1 Euro). Only time will tell what will happen. Being one who earns US dollars, I am cheering for a 1:1 ratio someday. But if the EU can successfully come together and take swift, effective action, it will bind the countries even more. This may set the stage for, and I will be dead long before this happens, the conversion from 27 nations in alliance to 27 states in one country: The United States of Europe. In 150 – 200 years, who knows? It could happen.

The Unsolicited InBev Bid For Anheuser-Busch

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 20:09:00 +0000

Last week, InBev offered $65 / share to acquire Anheuser-Busch. The combination would make the largest beer company by sales revenue in the world. Anheuser-Busch used to hold the title, until Interbrew of Belgium merged with AmBev of Brazil, creating InBev. And then South African Breweries' acquisition of Miller Brewing and other companies dethroned InBev and currently holds the spot. InBev is primarily interested in Anheuser-Busch to gain a foothold in the US market (AB keeps about a 50-share compared to InBev's 2%), but also to add the "iconic" Budweiser brand to its world market-penetrating portfolio.

Before the offer went public, Anheuser-Busch CEO (and fifth-generation family member at the helm) August Busch IV was quoted as saying that the company "won't be sold on my watch." Being from St. Louis and having worked for Anheuser-Busch for two years, I knew he wouldn't be the only one staunchly opposed to the sale. There is a mentality ingrained in the company culture and the city of St. Louis - a strong culture that I never really fit into. Recent news of regional politicians taking preventive actions against a sale also validates the widespread opinion that Budweiser, the world's best-selling beer, should remain American-owned in St. Louis, MO. Missouri governor Matt Blunt has asked the Federal Trade Commission to review the potential deal for potential anti-trust issues - a desperate and futile move given InBev's 2% market share. Similarly, Republican Congressman Kit Bond and Democrat Senator Claire McCaskill have lobbied the Department of Justice in an attempt to block the deal. Several websites have sprung up with names like "www.savebudweiser.com" and "www.saveab.com" to rally support for the company staying in St. Louis. Who do they plan to petition, I don't know. I had heard hints from St. Louis that "The Fourth" had a nuclear option up his sleeve to thwart a deal. Given that the family owns a tiny minority of shares which do not have super-voting privileges, and given the board of directors is up for election in any given year, what could that nuclear option be? It turned out the nuclear option was to buy the remaining 50% of Mexico City's Grupo Modelo (brewer of Corona) that AB does not already own. Such an acquisition would raise AB's price tag $10 billion or so, which would be difficult for InBev to secure financing for in today's tight credit market. The Mexican families which control Modelo have about as good of a relationship with the Busch family as does the InBev management, so a deal isn't likely.

Unfortunately for Anheuser-Busch upper-management, protectionist politicians, and sentimental consumers, $65 / share is a price difficult to refuse. Due to consumer preferences shifting away from macrobrews toward craft brews and imports, spirits, and wine, AB has seen sluggish growth at best. AB's stock price has hovered around $50 for almost a decade. The main reason $65 is difficult to refuse is that there doesn't seem to be an exciting new strategy for growing the business. The most impactful new product of the last five years was Bud Select, a cannibalizing brand which I can't discern in taste from Bud Light. AB secured distribution rights for Monster energy drinks and, ironically, InBev beers in the US - both moves are hardly on the scale needed to significantly boost growth for the nation's leading brewer in an increasingly competitive global marketplace. AB briefly flirted with Brazil in the nineties, only to pull out and never return. AB does own 27% in China's #2 brewer, but margins in China are razor-thin and that asset won't bear significant financial results for a long time. On the other hand, InBev out-maneuvered Anheuser-Busch by dominating Latin America while consolidating a significant chunk of Europe. Soaring food prices (rice, corn, barley and hops) and a weak US dollar combined to create a perfect storm in which InBev is in the position to acquire AB outright, as opposed to the two companies' merger talks of yester-years.

The only rational reason the deal wouldn't happen lies in the cultural differences between the companies. InBev is known as a hyper-effective cost-cutter. They have closed centuries-old breweries in Europe and become a super-efficient holding company that just happens to sell beer. InBev management has been rumored to believe there is a potential $1.4 billion to cut from Anheuser-Busch operations. To the contrary, Anheuser-Busch is a benevolent employer known for generous employee compensation and spending top dollar on marketing initiatives - a contributing factor to its powerful brands. Brand management is Anheuser-Busch's business, core competence and passion. In my first year of employment in Contemporary Marketing, I had a $300 / week expense account for the bars. After a few months, I learned the $300 was more of a minimum than a maximum. One week I spent $1500 and didn't even receive a phone call about it. And every St. Louisan has heard the stories of AB employment perks including free beer, first-class flights, generous pay, tickets to various entertainment, etc. InBev would certainly find cuts, but would these two cultures blend? A private-equity-firm-esque, holding-company mentality and a tradition-rich, patriotic, proud character? The inevitable culture clash presents the only rational reason the two shouldn't join.

It has been reported this week that the world's richest man Warren Buffet, whose Berkshire Hathaway is AB's second-largest shareholder owning 5% of the company, supports a deal. Other large shareholders - the majority of which do not live in the St. Louis area - have been reported to support a deal as well. Aside from political reasons, there is no compelling financial or strategic reason for the deal to not happen. Anheuser-Busch has been almost exclusively focused on US market share in an age of globalization. In my time with the company, every strategic move seemed to be aimed at Miller, Coors, or boosting sales in the mature US market. Meanwhile, I can't order a Budweiser anywhere in South America. (However, I should be able to as soon as Budweiser is in the InBev portfolio.) Without considering how much imaginary value lies in the temporary economic worries of protectionist Americans or sentimentality for an "American company" (regardless how competitive it would not be in the future), the best value for the Anheuser-Busch shareholders and the best opportunity for the Budweiser brand lies in the deal with InBev.

Insightful article by a St. Louis native and financial analyst in favor of a deal:
Sobering Thought: Anheuser-Busch sale makes sense (by David Weidner)

Anticipation of Expatriation

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 23:22:00 +0000

This was my first entry in my AIESEC-mandated blog (The Expatriate Chronicles) about my job and experiences in Arequipa, Peru. I am not there yet, but I want to detail my motivations, expectations, etc. before actually experiencing "the big experience."

Why do I want to leave home? My home is St. Louis, MO. It is a medium-sized, mostly suburban city in the heart of the midwest. I have moved away before (within the States) but always seem to come back. However, I didn't really want to come back last time so much as my circumstances dictated that I come back. It is no secret to anyone that knows me well that my distaste for St. Louis borders on hatred and that it's a foregone conclusion that I would leave as soon as I finished my MBA.

My life here feels so boring that I seem to have gotten back into the habit of getting in trouble. I know this sounds really corny and clichè, but I feel as if I'll be dead or in jail if I don't get out of here. Let me explain. At the downtown St. Patrick's Day Parade a few weeks ago, I punched three guys consecutively in a crowded bar. My cousin told me he thought one had a broken nose because of how much blood there was. I was so drunk I wouldn't have recognized them if I saw them later that night. Two days later at the Dogtown parade, my primary partner-in-crime, George, shot me with a BB gun. I hit him with a full beer. We almost traded blows. Then his Hennessy-drinking friend and I almost traded blows. Then George beat up his Hennessy-drinking friend while I held back the other Hennessy-drinkers so it would be "fair." And at Delmar Lounge after my going-away party, George punched somebody and my brother kicked him in the head. He and his friends waited for us outside but nothing happened because a cop was parked right there. I am not sharing this to be macho or because I think I'm cool. To the contrary, I hate my pathetic life here. I could think of the other interesting nights but they are the same immature, dickhead kind of stories. One time when talking about why we do what we do, George and I agreed that "at least we weren't bored." I hate waking up hung over virtually every day. Lately, it's a miracle if I can get some exercise in before I start drinking again. I love my friends but I don't see them enough to stay. This town is so average, boring, and conservative. There aren't enough interesting attitudes or ideas here to keep my mind occupied. As they say, "an idle mind is the devil's playground." I have a wild side and St. Louis just doesn't offer enough to fulfill my needs in a positive way. When I started grad school, I assumed that I would get a job in New York, Chicago, or some other big business hub.

Well, plans have changed. In August 2006, I left the country for the first time and got absolutely cracked-out addicted to it. The next summer I took two more international trips. Altogether, I spent five weeks in London, Amsterdam, Lithuania, and Brazil. I went to grad school at UMSL, which was ranked eighth in the nation for International Business (tied with Georgetown). I became very active in the International Business Club and AIESEC. I have friends all over most continents. Given the developments, a market research position in New York doesn't seem like it would take advantage of the international focus of my graduate school education. Furthermore, it wouldn't be as exciting as it would have two years ago. So, I have accepted a job outside the US to (A) fully leverage my education and pursue my interest in other countries and cultures, and (B) satisfy my need for adventure.

But why Peru? First of all, everyone has heard of globalization. The world economy of my lifetime will look much different than it did for generations before me. The traditionally "rich" countries' economies will be rivaled by traditionally third world countries. The fall on the Berlin Wall and the phenomenon of the Internet have allowed for an incredible dynamism in human potential. Three specific regions are projected to (and already do) experience explosive growth: Asia, Eastern Europe, and Latin America. Given the state of the world, I want to ride the wave of this economically historic period in an emerging market. But where? Answer: I speak Spanish.

Living and working in any of those three regions would obviously fulfill my need for excitement and adventure. But I would not be telling the whole story if I implied that my fluency in Spanish was the only reason that I was only looking for work in South America and Mexico. I loved Europe but I fell in love with Brazil. Latin culture felt so right for me. The people, the food, the music, the passion! This is usually where someone makes a comment about the women. Yes, I have a track record of dating Latina women. It didn't hurt the case for South America but I am going for the whole package. The excitement is there! I loved Europe but never got the feeling that I wanted to live there. I did get that feeling in Brazil. I am probably very different from other AIESECers in that I don't intend to come back. I bought a one-way ticket. I don't know if I will be in Peru, but I hope to make a new life in Latin America. I even have a backup plan. In case I can't find work in business and need money, I have been certified to teach English. TESOL-certified English teachers are in high demand in every city of every non-English speaking country in the world.

Moving is hard. I do not underestimate the tough challenges and culture shock which lie ahead. There will be things I miss about America. I can guess what kinds of things they will be, but I don't know for sure. I am not forgetting that I had it pretty easy in Brazil with two Brazilian friends to cart me around. Each one had a car. Each one had a ton of educated, English-speaking friends. I didn't have to learn streets, take public transportation, communicate in Portuguese, make my own friends, find an apartment, or any of the difficulties of moving to a new city. I am not ignoring this. I am not unrealistic. And I am not afraid. I have a dream - an abstract dream of becoming a marketing professional who can facilitate international business in Latin America.

Immigration and Protectionism in America

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 00:07:00 +0000

I haven't delved into political subjects in my blogs because (A) the American political system incorporates checks and balances which complement a huge population of diverse opinions so that progress occurs at the same slow rate it always has, and (B) I don't have any grand illusions that I will change anybody's mind. The national trend of toughening immigration laws has made headlines, but has never affected me until recently. Concerning my most important issue, I am prompted to speak out by the recent deportation of one friend plus another friend's boyfriend of five years.

"It's as if we expect border control agents to do what a century of communism could not: defeat the natural market forces of supply and demand ... and defeat the natural human desire for freedom and opportunity. You might as well as sit in your beach chair and tell the tide not to come in. As long as America remains a nation dedicated to the proposition that 'all men are created equal, endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness,' people from near and far will continue to seek entry into our country." – NYC mayor Michael Bloomberg

I would rather not supply our country's labor needs with illegal labor. I would prefer a policy of bringing in immigrants by the tens of thousands – legally, regulated, and documented. However, given key special interests in the two political parties, nothing has or will be done legislatively to facilitate this so we have gotten along for the last half century with our current system of using illegal labor.

There is, and has been for a long time, a demand for cheap labor in our country. There is a huge supply next door in Mexico. Economics will trump legislation seven days a week. Critics of immigration may say things like "they're taking our jobs" and other such nonsense. The US unemployment rate is 4.9% (January 2008). For those who didn't take economics classes, 4.9% unemployment can be interpreted as full employment. 0% unemployment is not attainable because there are always people temporarily in between jobs for various reasons. Full employment by definition can range from 2 – 7%, depending on the politics of the economist. The highest annual unemployment rate since the Great Depression was 9.7% in 1982 (keep in mind that double-digit unemployment is the norm in many countries). The US does not have an unemployment problem. Considering that many people have two jobs and there are an estimated 13 million aliens who don't figure into those stats, we have a labor shortage.

Critics may also argue that immigration drives down wages. This can be true, but it is exaggerated. A couple years ago, I heard a report on NPR about a study on the illegal labor industry. It focused on 'labor sites' common in Texas and California. In the Los Angeles area, labor sites are Home Depot parking lots. In every Home Depot parking lot out there, you can find a handful or dozen illegal aliens waiting to contract illegal labor. It's a bona fide labor market. Professional contractors, small business owners, or even homeowners who have just bought a bunch of stuff at Home Depot need help with the work. Where else are they going to find manual labor if they don't have sons (like my dad did)? The only labor site I saw in Houston was in the parking lot of an abandoned gas station. Anyway, the study included various findings but what I remember most was that the average wage for this labor was $8 / hour. $8 / hour is over 50% higher than the $5.15 minimum wage at the time of the study! Illegal workers are not competing with Americans on price, undercutting them and driving down quality of life. They are satisfying a need at the equilibrium price set by supply and demand. It just happens that demand for labor is so high that the equilibrium price is higher than the legally mandated price floor of $5.15 – and higher than any of the current proposed minimum wage hikes in Congress.

America has a long history of bringing in cheap labor, starting with indentured servitude as well as, unfortunately, slavery. In the 19th century, boatloads of Irish and German workers arrived at Ellis Island in New York every day. Often, they would be greeted with citizenship immediately – just because they made it here. Someone from Boss Tweed's political machine would give them a bowl of soup and tell them who to vote for. Or an Army recruiter may offer three square meals a day to enlist and fight in the Civil War to preserve the Union – 'give back to your new country!' Italy, Poland, Lithuania, and later Russia supplied much of our cheap laborers in the 20th century. This is how our country has always worked. A passage from 'The New Colossus' (1883) by Emma Lazarus:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Give us your poorest, sorriest, missingest-teeth motherfuckers you got! We want 'em! And they'll work their ass off for a better life. And their kids will bust their ass right into middle class. And those kids' kids will go to college and add to the competitiveness of our country. That is America. In fact, one current, American success story was Russian-born - Sergey Brin, cofounder of Google. I just don't understand how protectionism will help our country.

I can speculate a root cause of anti-immigration. I don't want to accuse anybody of being racist or ethno-centrist. Everyone, including me, has some racial biases. But I have to suspect that a big reason for this anti-immigration is that the current poor-as-shit country sending us labor is sending us brown people. Unfortunately for those who care about what the traditional American should look like, there are no more white countries sending us hundreds of thousands of poor people. Ireland is the economic envy of the EU. They are experiencing staggering immigration! The Soviet Union fell in 1991 and those countries' economies are beginning to develop opportunities. My friend Martynas explained to me that all the Eastern European immigration to the US was over and exemplified this with his own return to Lithuania. If we are to stay on track of being the most dynamic economy in the history of the world, we need to keep infusing the country with hungry, fresh blood. And it's going to come from non-white countries from now on.

"IRISH NEED NOT APPLY." This was a common sign in the 19th century. 'Traditional' Americans did not consider Irish to be white. This is particularly ridiculous. My skin, for example, simply does not tan. 'Traditional' Americans didn't think the Irish would ever assimilate. Many of the complaints about Mexican-American communities are the exact same as the 19th century complaints about the Irish and Italians. Those complaints proved wrong, as those communities have completely assimilated. A majority of white Americans claim some Irish heritage, or at least on St. Patrick's Day. Companies like Pizza Hut and Domino's have made pizza an American endeavor in the world. When I was a kid, nobody knew what a quesadilla was. Now they're on almost every menu in every town. And isn't the margarita basically an American cocktail by now? I realize I may sound corny and overly optimistic about our melting pot and great experiment. But fuck you! This is what I believe and history supports me. The average complexion of America is going to get a little tanner.

I realize that ethnocentrism / xenophobia is not the only reason people are opposed to immigration. Unlike the European countries across the Atlantic Ocean, we are land-locked with Mexico, so the sheer volume is unprecedented. Also, research shows that illegal populations put a drain on certain public resources – schools, hospitals, etc. The new immigration may need a mandate for English proficiency. Realities of terrorism require greater scrutiny than ever before of who is coming in. Regardless, all of these issues can be addressed and resolved. But we have to start with the understanding that, for the good of our country and economy, we need to constantly bring in hundreds of thousands of immigrants.

The US does not only need immigrants at the bottom of the economic totem pole. Last year, consulting firm McKinsey released a report detailing the reasons for a decline in initial public offerings on Wall Street. New York is facing tough competition from other cities with major stock exchanges. Some predict that NYC will lose its place as the world's leading financial center within a decade. McKinsey cited two main reasons for companies' decisions to list IPO's in other countries: the expensive financial reporting needed to comply with Sarbanes-Oxley (post-Enron legislation) and tough immigration policies which restrict companies from bringing in high-skilled professionals. Because we make it so hard to come into our country these days, financial services firms and great companies are going to cities like London, Dubai, and Hong Kong. If we don't make it easier to bring in Chinese, Indian, or other foreign professionals to comprise the strongest banks and financial services, the strongest banks and financial services will be in other countries. I don't care where the best talent is from; I want the biggest banks and best companies with the most money to be in America.

I find it ironic that many of the typical anti-immigration types are the same ones to feel so threatened by China. China has 1.3 billion people. India has 1.1 billion people. The US has 300 million people. If you really feel threatened economically, wouldn't you want to close that gap a little? If not, go sit in your beach chair.

Memoirs of a Frat Boy: Organizational Culture and Personal Growth

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 00:00:00 +0000

An artistic, intellectual-type friend of mine once asked me of my fraternity experience, "Is that really all you do in a fraternity – get drunk and try to sleep with girls?" I replied without hesitation, "Yeah, pretty much." I didn't see it that way when I was in the fraternity, but they say hindsight is 20-20. We use to talk about scholastics or community service or principles. But as more time passed since college, it became more and more obvious that that was all lip service to justify what we really wanted to be doing – getting drunk and trying to sleep with girls. Seriously, is scholastic achievement really a priority of a fraternity that sees only about half of its members graduate? Or do you really think we enjoyed serving the community of Bel-Ridge? Do I do community service now? Do I do anything to help anybody beside myself? Of course not.

So for a long time after college I began to view the Greek life as nothing more than an efficient way for large groups of college-aged men and women to get wasted and hook up. That is probably still the case, but I've recently realized something else about the whole deal. The realization stemmed from a couple nights with the old crowd – a bachelor party and a wedding. I rarely see my fraternity brothers anymore. The guy I've seen the most in the last year is a guy who has just finished six months in Europe. I don't know how it got that way, but it did. I actually didn't even want to go to this bachelor party despite the fact that the groom was my pledge brother and roommate for a year. Another pledge brother who was throwing the party guilt-tripped me into going. To understand why I didn't want to go, imagine that situation where everybody at the party used to be your best friends that you hung out with every day. But now, five years later, you don't have their phone numbers. And at the end of the night they're not going to ask you for yours. There's just something awkward in the air.

And that something was in the air when I first got there. But that something went away and I had a great time. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. I haven't laughed that hard all night long in an even longer time. I don't even remember what was funny. I do remember when Craig passed out and Miller laid his balls on Craig's forehead while everybody took pictures for the Internet. And I only remember that because there are pictures. The night of the wedding was the same. Ponce was catcalling and howling in the church. Jimmy did 'the kick' while escorting his bridesmaid into the reception. Craig and Henderson took it down to wife-beaters on the dance floor (is this '98 or '08?). I used to be a member of the wife-beater-on-the-dance-floor club, but I didn't have one on. I don't even own one anymore. How did those get phased out of my closet? What the hell happened? Did I sell out? I think my ex-girlfriend probably threw them all out some day when I wasn't home. I really wished I had one on at that moment!

At times over the years, this crowd annoyed me with the catcalling, the whistling, the constant joking, and the complete inability to be quiet for any length of time no matter where we were. I did three years in Corporate America after college. I tried to 'grow up', get serious, be an adult, etc. I used to think 'Why were they so immature and obnoxious'? In order to drive home my upcoming point, I'm going to have to illustrate our chapter's culture. If you weren't in a fraternity, you probably think they are all the same, which is probably true from the big picture. But in the micro-details, the cultures are very different. Keep in mind that our fraternity was far from typical, as was our school. Most Greek systems thrive at huge universities in small towns (Mizzou in Columbia) as opposed to commuter schools in relatively big cities (UMSL in St. Louis). Our situation isn't typical of the vast majority of schools. The house down the street was comprised of the laid-back, pretty boys. If you were nerdy or not good-looking, you didn't have a chance of getting in to that house. The average member of that house probably got laid more often and with hotter women than the average member of our house. The house across the street had more introverted guys. While maybe a little socially awkward, they probably put out the most graduates and achieved students who got, on average, better jobs after college. Our house, I may have implied, was the animal house of obnoxious hoosiers ('hoosier' is STL terminology for white trash). If we have any claim to fame, it would be that we won all the sports and threw the biggest parties. If (when) our house wins Greek Week next year – an annual Olympics between frats – it will be the tenth consecutive title. Concerning parties, the other two houses competed for Saturday night while we monopolized Friday night. I always assumed it was established years ago that, if either house tried to compete with us for turnout on Friday, they knew they would suffer more than if they competed with each other. So the rational decision for them was to share Saturday.

We had a diverse house. Nerds got in. But at the same time, someone with natural charisma wasn't guaranteed a leadership spot. One thing probably unique to our house was the relentless joking, clowning, and teasing. If you were fat, if you were a hoosier who wore jean shorts, if you had a speech impediment, if you wore a Figaro chain, if you were pussy-whipped by your girlfriend, if you acted like a hard ass when drunk, if you were caught reading Harry Potter, or whatever your problem was, you would be made fun of as much as possible for it. Any weakness whatsoever was exploited to the max. Every opportunity was taken advantage of to have a laugh at your expense. No one was spared. Not everybody can do that. Some got in the fraternity but later went their own way because they couldn't hang. If you were insecure or took yourself too seriously, life with this crowd was hell.

I think this is why I had so much fun this time around. Now that I'm NOT trying to grow up and get serious. Now that I'm not employed by a name-brand, blue chip company. Now that I'm a broke-ass server / bartender with no health insurance. Now that I haven't been laid in some months and I get dumped a lot. Now that I drive a '89 Pontiac with over 200K miles and I have to keep jumper cables in the trunk. Now that I have moved back into my parents' house and I turn 29 in March. And most importantly, now that I don't give a fuck what you think about it, bitch.

I come around the old guys with this mentality and they're not just funny. They're real fucking funny. I mean who can resist Ponce or Jimmy? Or Miller when he's in dickhead-mode in a conversation with someone he has just met. He has identified the kryptonite in their self-esteem and has gone for the throat with insults. She'll be crying herself to sleep that night. How can you resist Berra doing party-boy? I don't care what you think is funny. You haven't seen funny until you see a really hairy, fat guy in nothing but a jock strap and bow tie doing bodybuilder poses in the middle of Natural Bridge. And you just can't resist Henderson being Henderson – whatever attention-craving stunt it is that night which will end in hilarity. Whether you're laughing with him or at him, you will be laughing.

Do I even have a realization here? I don't know. I made a lot of great friends and had a lot of fun after my days in college and the fraternity. And I'll still make more friends and have more fun. However, I'm starting to wonder whether I'll ever laugh as hard as I did with those guys. It's a dismal realization for sure. I gotta go. I'm headed to Wal-Mart to pick up a pack of A-shirts (AKA, wifebeaters).

Eurotrip 2: East vs. West

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 22:43:00 +0000

Charlie People

In between the summer and fall semesters, I spent another week in Amsterdam and a week in Lithuania. Amsterdam was the same as last year yet there were noticeably fewer Charlie people. I didn't define Charlie people in the first Eurotrip blog, so I will now. Charlie people stand around the Red Light District and Dam Square selling cocaine. They assume we are from England, where cocaine is known as 'Charlie' (as opposed to coke, blow, etc.). There were platoons of Charlie people saturating every block of the tourist areas last year. Their sales tactic is definitely a hard sell, as they don't accept obvious attempts to ignore them or just one 'no.' Anyway, they are still annoying and I have a personal resolution that, if I ever go back to Amsterdam, I will hit a Charlie person. A right hand to the chin for the first one to annoy me. My resolution is documented. I am on record.

Ivan Drago and The Bolsheviks

Anyway, I'm not spending too much time thinking about Amsterdam or I might end up with another flight booked, which is the last thing I need. I want to share my experience in Eastern Europe. I was in the former Soviet Union, our enemy for most of our parents' lives and almost half of mine. I love to characterize the American mentality during the Cold War with the brilliant film, Rocky IV. Remember how the evil Soviet machine produced the blond haired, blue-eyed Ivan Drago (played by Dolph Lundgren), the juiced-up mammoth who killed Apollo Creed in the ring (while Creed wore USA flag trunks). So the Italian Stallion had to come out of retirement despite doctors' warnings of brain injury to face Drago because he wanted to avenge his friend's death and score one for Team America – which he did by KO with his signature left hook in the final round.

Cold War propaganda from Hollywood was great! Remember the Bolsheviks? Not the political faction that ultimately formed the Communist Party in Russia. The Bolsheviks – the WWF tag team wrestlers Nikolai Volkoff and Boris Zukhov. They wore red leotards with the hammer and sickle logo, and Nikolai actually sang the National Anthem of the Soviet Union before each match. Wrestling has changed quite a bit, but back then wrestlers were clearly defined as either good guys or bad guys. And in the 80s, the Bolsheviks were definitely bad guys. Anyway, I first heard of Lithuania when it became the first country to secede from the Soviet Union. Where did I get this news as such a young boy? The WWF wrote it into the plot that Nikolai was Lithuanian. The Bolsheviks broke up because Boris was angry that Nikolai had abandoned the Communist creed while Nikolai resented Boris for the Soviets' brutal oppression of his countrymen. Not only did this break up the team, they had to fight! They fought in St. Louis at the Arena. I was there! Dad took Ryan and me, as we were devoted fans. So Boris entered the Arena first and was booed and jeered. We wanted to beat his pinko ass. Then, on the other side of the ring, a spotlight illuminates Nikolai waving a huge American flag. And the crowd goes wild! My Lithuanian buddies love to hear this story about the Lithuanian hero being cheered while waving the American flag just before he triumphed over Boris in the ring, just as capitalism triumphed over communism. Wow, I've gotten well off point here. I guess I wanted to provide some context in case you forgot who the designated bad guys were before 9/11, Bin Laden, the Taliban, and Iraqi insurgents. Side note: any American male who didn't watch wrestling as a kid is a pussy and should not be trusted.

Lietuva: E Sveikata!

So Chuck and I went to Lithuania to see Martynas, who we knew from college. Martynas spent six years in the states before returning to Lithuania. His country has plenty of opportunity for persons educated in business, as their open economy is flourishing. I knew Eastern Europe was growing, but I had never seen what a fast growing economy looks like. Martynas' tenth floor studio is in a brand new building. From the ground outside his building, I counted fifteen cranes on the horizon. Fifteen! If you see three cranes in downtown Clayton, you have major development. And here I could see fifteen in a town I had never heard of before I booked the flight there. It was ironic that, amid all this development and a brand new strip mall, Martynas' tenth story view was of the biggest, ugliest projects I've ever seen. Soviet-era government housing. Six-story, grimy grey concrete buildings stretching for at least a mile long and three hundred yards back. Old Town Vilnius is beautiful, but I wanted a postcard of this vast view of depression. It was awesome! Why don't they make postcards of that? Then I realized that there is some seriously hideous urban decay in North St. Louis that is interesting to look at. I guess the Arch, Cathedral, and Union Station is the only stuff that sells.

The contrast is remarkable. They have this long history of a Gross National Product equalling jackshit. Ugly evidence of that time lies right next to brand new, shiny, nice things. There are brand new luxury houses throughout the country with crazy modern architecture. One day we drove to a girl's brand new house in a brand new neighborhood that didn't have paved roads yet. They built a ton of big, nice houses and still had dirt roads! I went inside a brand new shopping mall that, although almost empty, was just as nice as South Coast Plaza in Orange County or the Galleria in Houston. All the hotels were booked in Polanga. We ended up renting a room in some local family's home. They sent their hot daughter to stand in the street with a sign to advertise. They are chasing that money. Restaurants had ten-page menus laminated and glossy with pictures of food (rare in Western Europe). Menus had full-page ads for beer brands and liquor companies. There were ads in restrooms for stretch-Hummer limo rentals complete with price schedules. There were video commercial billboards along streets in towns like Kaunas. Motion picture billboards aren't very widespread in America, but here they are in these small Lithuanian towns. In Western Europe, locals would be offended by such unabashed corporate advertising. It would be an appalling eyesore, disturbing to the natural beauty of the city. Not here. One club put the whole bar staff and waitresses in Bacardi uniforms. In Western Europe, this may be degrading or an invasion on the employees' personal style. Not here. I can see the owner with a big check from Bacardi in his hand saying to the employees, "This is what you're wearing, bitches." (In Lithuanian)

One day, Martynas pointed out some Soviet-era statues. Standing thirty feet high, a woman with long hair in a long dress is looking toward a man. The brawny man wears simple clothes, holding a hammer (I swear he was holding his hammer in one hand). He is gesturing forward with his other hand. From her posture, the woman seems skeptical. I asked Martynas what it means. "A better tomorrow or something." A better tomorrow? The better tomorrow is here - today! The better tomorrow is this shameless consumerism in a capitalistic orgy. Nobody had anything for a long time. And now they want everything.

The Eastern European Scowl

You don't really get the pacifist vibe of Western Europe in Lithuania. Guys are more likely to have muscles, wear a Nike sleeveless with a gold chain, and a disapproving scowl to top it off. They look like they are ready to kick some ass if the situation calls for it. I first noticed the scowl on the first bouncer at our first club on our first night. He was a spitting image of the stereotype of a Russian mob henchman. If he were put in a movie, he would be cast to play the role of Russian Thug 2. Martynas told me there were a lot more scowls around when he was younger, especially in his hometown of Kaunas. In fact, he was kind of an outcast because he wasn't a mainstream 'jumpsuit guy.' He described jumpsuit guys, actually mainstream when he was growing up, as guys with shaved heads wearing jumpsuits and gold chains that generally started trouble and got into lots of fights. In fact, he explained, if they're not getting into trouble then they're not having fun. I was actually mistaken for a jumpsuit guy at a club and almost refused entry. You see, I really had to pee so I was walking really fast ahead of my slow-as-shit friends. I bound up a few stairs and approached a crew of bouncers to pay the cover, eager for sweet bladder relief. All three bouncers stood up to block my way, speaking in Lithuanian. Clueless, I shook my head. (No comprendo?) The ringleader asked Martynas, "Jis normalus?" Is he normal? I have no idea what Martynas said. He probably told him that this American, although big, is actually quite a pussy with a glass jaw. He also has a pocket full of Litas to blow in a hopeless attempt to get laid. Whatever he said, it worked. Apparently the clubs don't want jumpsuit guys groping women and picking fights – I assume that's what they do because that is what the Lithuanian UMSL students did at our frat parties. And while I was not wearing a jumpsuit and gold chain (I must have left that uniform back in St. Louis), I do have a big bald head. But no scowl.

The Scowl vs. The Man-Bag

Martynas and I agree that the number of scowls is probably negatively correlated with economic growth. Another driving force in the reduction of scowls may be the man-bag. Like the jumpsuit guys, I had heard about this man-bag at Martynas' going-away party before I went to Lithuania. It's a miracle I remember anything because I was so shit-housed off vodka and Pilsner Urquell that I got into a head butting exchange with Pavel, which I lost. I was so wasted the next morning I missed the agreed-upon time to meet my mom and drive to Michigan. I woke up to her banging on my apartment door and let her in while I was still butt-ass naked. So I was really wasted during a conversation that went something like this:

Me: "I'm going to Lithuania."

Gedas: "E Sveikata!" (We do shots of vodka)

Me: "Martynas told me to stay away from the jumpsuit guys."

Gedas: "You'll be fine, man. The country is changing so much, man. There are so many fucking pussies, man. They wear these fucking bags with a strap. You know what I want to say?"

Me: "Like a man-purse?"

Gedas: "Yes! A fucking purse! They get this shit from France or I don't know. These fucking faggots with this goddamn purse. I want to beat these fucking faggots. They are ruining my country. Somebody should just fucking beat on these faggots. Just beat these faggots with the fucking purse." (Then we probably shoot more vodka and Pavel head-butts me)

Gedas was right. Not about using derogatory, homophobic language. He was right about the prevalence of man-bags in Lithuania. They were everywhere. I distinctly remember the first time I noticed. Two short, skinny guys came in the club wearing Euro-designer clothes. Each had one hand on the man-bag to steady it at the waist while walking. It looked ridiculous. The bags were tiny. They were big enough to hold a wallet and a cell phone. Maybe keys. There is more strap than bag. At least women's purses provide functionality, as women need so much more shit than us. Makeup, tampons, condoms, Midol, morning-after pills, vibrator, etc. But these man-bags were all show. And they will probably be a major reason for the Eastern European scowl becoming an endangered species someday. The man-bags vs. the scowl. This will determine the face of the future Eastern Europe.

Conclusion

To conclude, I prefer Eastern Europe to Western Europe. Why? Because the women look so much better and the business opportunity is so much greater. Overall however, Eurotrip 2 taught me that I don't really like Europe. If you read the Brazil blog, you'll recall my description of people being warm or cold. Europe is the fucking winter. Everybody is too cool for school. Nothing excites them and they don't care to meet you. I am not like that. I like to get excited and be crazy. I love to have fun and embrace people who are cool. I like good music and girls that are honest and upfront. While in Amsterdam, Chuck and I were waiting on a bus. We were going back to the hostel to regroup. Across the street was a hole-in-the-wall bar with no sign -- just the flag of Brazil. And at the entrance, two scantily clad garotas shaking up caipirinhas. Chuck and I beelined it over there to get a few drinks. By the time I left, I had made five or six friends - all Brazilian. I managed to meet like 12 Brazilians in Amsterdam. Eurotrip 2 reminded me that Latin America is where I want to be. Don't worry Martynas. If I do come to Europe, you can bet your ass I'll be within one country from you.

Miscellaneous

The women in Lithuania are amazing - if you like slim, white women. I recall thinking that a full 60% of Lithuanian women, if moved to the US, would be in the top 10% here.
The food is terrible. There is a reason there are no Lithuanian restaurants in America. You'll only see what I mean if you go there. After one meal, I told Martynas and Chuck that it was the best meal we had in Lithuania so far. Martynas was pissed because it was a Greek restaurant.
The beer sucks too.
The cost of partying is great. We got 2.25 Litas per 1 USD. I was buying bottles of champagne in one of the hotter clubs in downtown Vilnius and sharing with the gorgeous women. However, Lithuania will soon change to the Euro, which may hurt Americans' buying power.

Ivan Drago:

Russian Shanson - jumpsuit guys listen to this:

Adventure in Brazil

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Mon, 09 Jul 2007 22:24:00 +0000

It's P-Time in Brazil

In international marketing and management classes, one subject covered is time-orientation: polychronic or monochronic. America is monochronic. Time is money. Don't be late. Don't waste time. The way I always remembered the cultures that were monochronic was if the country was a huge, industrialized economy (US, UK, Australia, etc.). Brazil is polychronic, as is Gabriel. A running joke of ours is, when Gabe is late, he says he is on 'P-time'. P-time: it is okay to be late.

I got my first dose of P-time at the Sao Paulo airport during my transfer flight to Recife. At check-in, I'm told my flight is delayed. Would I like to be bumped to an earlier one which arrives in Recife at 1am (as opposed to 3 am)? Sure! Do I have time to make the flight? Yes, it boards in ten minutes. No big deal. Ten minutes? And I have to go through security again? Being the monochronic American I am, I book to security and then my gate. My gate, which was actually a bus stop incapable of housing a cargo jet, displays a screen which doesn't read 'Recife' nor my flight number. A lady in the TAM Airlines getup tells me "Late fifteen minutes," scratches out the boarding time on my ticket and writes a new time, which I don't look at. No big deal. At least I'm in the right place. Thirty minutes later, I see the time she wrote on my ticket has passed. A long time ago. In fact, I hadn't touched down from my first flight at that time. Then, on the loudspeaker, "Blah Blah Blah, Tres Tres Cinco Zero, Blah Blah Blah, Recife …" I am told that my flight is now boarding upstairs at a different gate. I'm upstairs in a flash. Forty-five minutes later, I board the plane. Initially told I would board in ten minutes and arrive in Recife at 1am, I actually boarded in ninety minutes and landed in Recife at 2am. No big deal. I'm here.

Another brief example of P-time. We're at the mall. I brought no clothes to Brazil in fear of looking as out of place as I did in Amsterdam, where I wore nice, clean clothes among a bunch of druggie, dirtball hippies. After getting Brazilian clothes, Gabe tells me we are meeting his friends to get drunk. What time? 2:30, he says. What time is it now? 3:30. We arrive at the bar at 4:00. Let me get this straight. We agreed to meet at 2:30, and we're just getting here at 4:00? That's P-time. It's okay to be late. My favorite part – his friends aren't there yet! And so P-time goes in Brazil. When in doubt, throw up your hands and say "Fuck it." And to the server: "Amigo, caipirinha, por favor."

Hot and Cold in Brazil vs. America

My first day in Brazil, I met a girl named Deia who lived in the Milwaukee area for a year. She didn't like America because the people are cold. At the time, I didn't fully realize what she meant because it was only my first day in Brazil. By the end of my trip, I knew exactly what she meant. In fact, after having returned, when meeting / greeting a female, I still want to give the air-kisses and hold hands. When meeting a person of the opposite sex (regardless of age) in Brazil, you touch right cheeks together and kiss, then left cheeks together and kiss. You may also hold hands for the first minute or two of conversation. It is a much more touchy-feely culture. I like that. But this is not the extent to how Brazilians are warmer than Americans. It comes down to a basic caring for others.

Gabe's male friends reached out to me as no other group of males have in my life. Consider a situation if a friend of yours has a foreign friend in town for a week here in America. I would be nice to the guy, of course. But, honestly, I don't really give a fuck if he has a good time or not. I don't give a fuck whether he gets laid or gets robbed. I just don't care. Gabe's friends, on the other hand, wanted me to have the best vacation of my life just as much as Gabe did – and they had never met me before. On my second night, we went to a bar where there was a forro (pronounced fo-ho) band. Within five minutes of meeting Jorginho, he was drumming the rhythm of the music on my back. We ended up getting trashed off caipirinhas, shots of cachaca, and Brazilian beer. I'm being taught how to dance forro by a tall, slim, beautiful girl named Sandra. After several songs of dancing, the guys start chanting "Beija, Beija, gringo!" Kiss her, gringo! Then the girls join in this chant. So Sandra and I are making out now, and the guys are going absolutely wild. This is warm vs. cold. Cold: A foreign friend of a friend of mine visits America and hooks up in a bar? Cool, but I don't really give a shit. Warm: I hook up in Brazil and now Gabe and his friends are trashed and sweaty and forming a ring with arms on each others' shoulders repeating some Portuguese chant with the word 'gringo' in it. I honestly think this was the highlight of their night: seeing the gringo hook up and have a great time. They are very oriented towards others. Here in America, we are self-oriented. In America, the highlight of my night is when I hooked up, or when I was having a fabulous time doing whatever.

You may think that the people are only so warm because I am a friend of a friend. I really didn't get that impression. My first night we went to a putaria (which literally translates to 'slut-house') to see an axe band (pronounced ah-shay). Axe is a mutt between samba and salsa with vague hints of reggae influence. I love axe. I am dancing all night long, saturating my clothes with sweat. The lead singer of A La Ursa singles me out. I can't quote him, but I got the impression whatever he said on the mic meant 'the American likes axe'. Later, in English with Portuguese accent, he gets my attention and says "What's going on?" Later, when I am well inebriated, he summons me. A few Brazilian guys push me up to the stage where the lead singer puts the mic in my face. "Viva Brasil!" Nobody in the crowd cares. "Viva Recife!" Nobody in the crowd cares. The lead singer suggests something to me in my ear. "Puta qui pariu!" The crowd goes wild! I am happy, and the singer gets his band back to work making the crowd move. ('Puta qui pariu' literally translates to 'a bitch that gave birth.' It is the equivalent to saying 'what the fuck' in English. I guess a foreigner saying bad words with an accent is always funny.) Anyway, I've strayed from my point a bit. The lead singer of this band, who didn't know me or Gabe or Gabe's friends, took quite a liking to me or felt the need to involve me in the show. This has never happened to me at a concert in America. The guy gave me a big handshake after their set. He really wanted me to love axe and Brazil.

Warm is more social. Communal. Friends play such an important role in life and happiness. When we go to a restaurant, we order a plate of chicken and cheese. The server brings a giant plate of chicken and cheese with side plates. The table shares the food. We all eat the same thing. In America, I order my food. In Brazil, we order our food. In America, I order my beer. In Brazil, we order our beer, which is a 22 oz. bottle with glasses. It is like ordering pitchers, which are present in America but not common. This style of eating and drinking is Brazil. Warm is not just being friendly, it is a genuine concern and affection for others.

Is it Cliché to Fall in Love in Brazil?

So one night I find myself with Gabe, Jorginho, and three Brazilian women in this sleazy, sex motel with hourly rates. I had just heard a lengthy, Portuguese negotiation between Gabe and the one disgusting woman. The other two women are absolutely gorgeous. One looks like Pocahontas, but more sensual. The other looks like Nia Long (actress from Friday) but not so skinny, bigger eyes, bigger lips, and hair down to her shoulders. At this point, anyone who knows me definitely knows which girl I want. However, there had been this lengthy discussion between Gabe and the old, ugly one. Having not been born yesterday, I assume these girls are prostitutes. Why else would such beautiful women be interested in us? And why would they come to this sleazy sex motel within an hour of meeting us?

So I'm on the bed making out with Nia Long, who will be referred to as my moreninha or my little dark princess from now on. Gabe takes Pocahontas in the bathroom and Jorginho is on the couch with the mustached "cousin". (Thanks Jorgi, we owe you one!) My moreninha does not speak English or Spanish so our communication is quite limited. She puts the champagne bottle to my lips and says "Para ti?" I drink and say "Ahora, para ti." And this is the extent of our verbal communication. But trust me: love is all in the nonverbals. We are not just making out. We are having mouth sex. I have never kissed like this in my life. She is examining my teeth, gums, and the roof of my mouth with her tongue. I give her an examination. Tongue-nibbling, lip-nibbling, tongue-sucking, etc. Twice, we each bite each other too hard and the other releases a cry in pain. But we don't stop.

By the way, these girls aren't prostitutes. Gabe was negotiating with the "cousin" to assure her that we were harmless guys and they should come with us to a place where we could play some music and have some drinks (Gabe is great with stuff like that). But not prostitutes. Every time I try to take off my moreninha's pants, she squeals. She literally squeals and says something in Portuguese. So I relax. This is P-time. There is no hurry. I just need to slow down and enjoy my little dark princess. If it happens, it happens. I get so relaxed during our mouth sex and heavy petting that this crazy thought comes into my head. Some people believe in free will and that man chooses what he does and thinks, but some people are more fatalistic and believe in destiny and everything happens for a reason. I don't know which way I am, but this thought came into my mind while I was lying on my back and her big soft lips were gently sucking my lips, which I kept still. I thought this feels so nice and she is so gorgeous. I COULD BRING HER BACK TO AMERICA! I could pluck my little dark princess out of her Brazilian ghetto and take her home with me. Give her a green card and a fabulous life with a tall, successful, handsome American. (Not that there is any success or money in my life right now, per se, but you get the point). I don't care about the circumstances, I could be happy with a girl that kisses like that.

And our make-out session goes on for like two hours. Making out does not last so long in America. Here, after 20 – 30 minutes, the male may say something to communicate "Look, either we're fucking or I'll see you tomorrow." This night in Brazil, there is no sex for me. No happy ending. It's bright outside when we all leave and I am somewhat frustrated. How did I not get laid? What's wrong with me? We're taking the girls home and my moreninha is sitting on my lap. She is caressing my forearm hair exactly the same way Annie did (you see, love is in the nonverbals). We bid a warm goodbye. With just the guys heading home, I vent my sexual frustration. I learn nobody got a happy ending. I guess that makes me feel better; there's nothing wrong with me. But come on!!! Gabe has wise words for me. He says I didn't get laid, but I probably enjoyed that more than I would enjoy some sex in America. You know what? He's right. I had a partner a week or so before Brazil that I regretted as soon as I woke up. No last names, no phone numbers. Politely shooed her out in the morning. I cringe at the thought of that episode. How degrading for me! But my moreninha? That was wonderful. I love that girl, whoever she is.

Does Every Brazilian Want to be American?

I didn't catch this thought until my second-to-last night in Brazil. We went to a bar / club in Rio de Janeiro. It was the first place in Brazil I went with a considerable line to get in and a cover, which was equivalent to $10. It turned out to be the most expensive bar as well. A live cover band played top 40 American hits from the last ten years. Red Hot Chili Peppers, Blues Traveler, Justin Timberlake, 50 Cent and, of course, a few songs by the Black-Eyed Peas (if you don't have bad taste, this music SUCKS). The bar was decorated with pictures reminiscent of the American Civil War. The entire wall leading to the bathrooms was wallpapered with stars and stripes (red, white, and blue). Behind the band was a poster with a big red star. Above and below the star were the words for 'beer' in several different languages. This is the inscription on a Budweiser. The only point-of-sale in the place was Heineken, which they didn't sell. I assume this is the most American-branded POS they could get their hands on, since Anheuser-Busch isn't in Brazil. This crowded, expensive bar is a shrine to America. It would probably be a little too in-your-face to have actual American flags with portraits of George W. Bush, Bill Clinton, Reagan, JFK on the walls. So they went with their chosen décor.

So I'm trashed and have this thought: Does every Brazilian want to be American? Once I have a thought like this and I'm trashed, I'm done for the night. This thought is my only focus. So I start to think about it. When I bought clothes in Brazil, I was frustrated that I couldn't find any clothes with Portuguese on them. I went into dozens of stores and saw dozens of authentic Brazilian brands. All these brands make clothes with English words. I can't think of any American brand that makes clothes in Portuguese. Why do all the Brazilian brands make clothes with English words on them? I only saw one shirt in all of BRAZIL with Portuguese on it – a soccer shirt that read 'Brasil' (spelled 'Brasil' as opposed to 'Brazil'). Speaking of clothes, there were two brand names I saw everywhere on Brazilians. Shirts with the Coca-Cola logo or the Everlast logo. Coca-Cola is obviously an American icon and symbol of capitalist imperialism. And there is no sports brand more American than Everlast. (given Nike does a lot of foreign advertising / sponsorships). Originating in the Bronx, Everlast is the brand to represent American success in boxing. Tyson, Holyfield, Jones, Mayweather. Don't forget Rocky! Everlast and Coca-Cola. Why so popular in Brazil? Will mainstream Americans ever wear Guarana shirts or anything related to Brazilian soccer players? Don't hold your breath.

My last night, I met this guy who loves hip hop. He doesn't like Brazilian hip hop, only American hip hop. 50 Cent and Lloyd Banks. His dream is to move to America. He wasn't sure he would like it, but he wanted to give it a shot. He was a cool guy. I hope he makes it. What is my point in this subsection? I don't know. I doubt every Brazilian actually wants to be an American, but there is something more to this Americana fetish. I just don't know what it is.

Conclusion

Obviously, I am pretty biased toward taking a wife from Brazil or South America in general. Whenever it is that time in my life, I would like my wife and the mother of my children to be of that warm attitude, and I really like the look too. I don't just want to return to Brazil. I want to live there. Fortunately, there is great opportunity for people in business in Brazil. Goldman Sachs has coined BRIC (Brazil, Russia, India, China) to identify those countries it believes will eclipse the traditionally rich countries of the world. Brazil is a huge, emerging market. If I take a brand big there in the heart of its boom, I would be a ruler of the world. Plus, it was just great being there, and I will use Europe to contrast it. Yes, Europe was fun and eye-opening. But why go somewhere where everything is insanely expensive, the dollar sucks, the people don't care about Americans, and the girls aren't as beautiful or as warm? Or you can go to South America where the cost of living is cheap, they love the gringo-ness, the girls are gorgeous and stare at you in the bars. Easy decision.

But that is the logical approach (cold). There is also the emotional approach. The warm approach. I made so many friends I need to see. I never got to make out with Deia. I never got in a fight and thrown in jail with Cilo. I never went to the putaria with Jorginho. I never tried to hook up with Roberta. I never had a political discussion with Thiago. I never found out if that hip hop guy ever made it to America. I never really got to know Davi, Mario, 'Black Power', Guillermo, Nico and all those other people. And I still have to find my moreninha and marry her. I made so many friends that Gabe set me up on Orkut (Brazilian myspace). I miss my peeps! Got to get back!

Miscellaneous Brazilian Oddities

My first time sitting on a Brazilian toilet, I noticed a ventilated wastebasket next to the toilet. I assumed its purpose, but I couldn't be sure. I was later told that, indeed, used toilet paper is thrown in the wastebasket as opposed to flushed down the toilet. After using the paper, you fold it (using the poop as an adhesive) so it looks like a crumpled piece of paper.
All the servers and bartenders are men. I was told that there are female servers, but I didn't actually see any. And I went to a lot of places.
The nice parts of Recife look like East LA, but less spread out. The nice parts of Rio de Janeiro look like Miami.
Driving rules and custom are similar to the unsaid rules regarding time and punctuality. It's not a big deal. Red lights need not be adhered. Clear, defined lanes of traffic aren't really kept. Blinkers are generally not used. Speed limits are completely optional. Gabe told me driving in the US is boring. He also claimed to have seen a study suggesting that there are fewer accidents per capita in Brazil.
I ate at least a dozen fruits I had never tried before. I had never heard of many of them and many of them have no translation in English.
The Atlantic Ocean in Recife was warm!!! Like a heated pool. Having swam in the Pacific, Atlantic, and Gulf of Mexico (all in the US); I assumed all oceans were cold. But the water in Recife was like the kiddie pool, even in winter.
Soccer is obviously a big deal in Brazil. However, when we went to watch a match, the crowd wasn't really screaming at the tele like American sports fans do. Nor did they go wild when Brazil tied the game. It was a tranquil affair.
It is apparently a common misconception in America that sex is no big deal in Brazil, that casual sex in common. I was told on my first day that it is easier to get laid in America. Brazilian chicks are quick to kiss / hook up, but much more conservative when it comes to 'sexual relations'. I did not get laid in Brazil.
It is true that Brazilian women are more beautiful. (Sorry, American girls). You can't drive down a street in Brazil without seeing some long-haired, golden goddess in skimpy clothes.
Every flight I took from a Brazilian airport was significantly late and left from a different gate than I was first told. Usually 1 – 2 hours and 2 – 3 gate changes.
Instead of Red Bull & Vodka, Brazilians prefer to mix Red Bull & Johnny Walker Red (Scotch).
One night looking from Gabe's balcony, I saw a young man washing his two horses in the ocean.
Christ the Redeemer was the most breathtaking view I have ever seen.
Thongs and Speedos on the beach are common.

Brazilian Funk - MC Marcinho "Glamurosa"

Ala Ursa YouTube video:

An Open Letter to the Panhandler

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Mon, 25 Dec 2006 23:22:00 +0000

I know this is your most profitable season, but NO! How many times do I have to tell you? Probably 4-5 times per week, yet you still ask. Call me crazy, but I don't work so I can give my money away to strangers in the street. I was ingrained with a strong work ethic before puberty, but you wouldn't know anything about that. Furthermore, I have a college education. In Psychology 101, the first concept you learn is Skinner's operant conditioning. Operant conditioning is the use of consequences to modify the occurrence and form of behavior. For example, I will illustrate positive and negative reinforcement briefly using an example of a rat in a cage with a food tube and two buttons. When the rat uses its nose to push one button, cheese comes through the tube for the rat to eat. This positive reinforcement encourages the rat to hit that same button again. When the rat hits the second button, it gets shocked. This is negative reinforcement, a negative consequence of the rat's action. It doesn't take long for the rat to figure out which button to hit when it wants food and which button to never hit.

What's the point? If I ever gave you a dollar (which I won't), that positive reinforcement would encourage you to keep doing what you're doing. I would be paying you to ask people for free handouts, instead of getting a job and providing for yourself. This is why I would rather flush a dollar down the toilet than give it to you. Unfortunately, morons in this world pay you because they are intimidated by you or they actually think that giving you money is helping you out of your situation. Ideally, nobody would give you anything, ever. Then, two possible outcomes would occur: (1) you get a job and provide for yourself or (2) you starve and die. I'm OK with either one. Really, I'm cool with it.

This brings me to another point: the fact that I don't (nor shouldn't) give a fuck about you. In this era of George W. Bush as Americans, we live with compassionate conservatism. Do you know what that means? It means "Fuck you! Pay me!" I'm getting mine, fuck yours. Stranded on Delmar w/ no money for the bus? I DON'T GIVE A FUCK! Slept in an alley last night? I DON'T GIVE A FUCK! Haven't gotten high since yesterday and you're gonna get sick if you don't cop soon? I DON'T GIVE A FUCK! Why would I? Seriously? Do you really think I should care? About you? If I start caring about other people besides myself, I'll start with kids born into third world poverty. Or Africans with AIDS. Or Tsunami victims. Or those suffering genocide in Sudan. But you? You're a fucking miracle. You have to go out of your way to be in your situation in America, the strongest economy in the world. Down on your luck, can't get a job? Bullshit, nobody buys that shit anymore. Latest estimates claim there are 12 million illegal immigrants in America now. Unlike you, just about all of them are uneducated, non-US citizens who don't speak English. If they can find work, you should be able to. But you don't want to. You are the reason I am pro-immigration. As long as there are bums like you as well as work that needs to be done, I say "Bring on the Mexicans!"

Aside from all this, I think you owe me money. Indirectly, you take dollars out of my pocket. The Loop Special Business District understands how you hurt business. By creating an undesirable environment that intimidates suburbanites, you shrink the potential market that would come to Delmar for dining, shopping, etc. Consumers subconsciously choose to go to the Galleria or other markets where they don't have to deal with urban problems like you. A decreased Loop market leads to less business in my restaurant, which leads to less tips for me. So fuck you, asshole. And next time I refuse to pay you and you say "God bless you" or "Have a good day," I want you to know that it's a good day when I don't get asked for money. Today is lost, but maybe there's hope for tomorrow. Merry fucking Christmas.

Eurotrip: The Amsterdam Diaries

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Wed, 20 Sep 2006 22:19:00 +0000

We enjoyed six days in London and two days in Amsterdam. A majority of the trip was spent in London but the amount of subject matter to write about is inversely proportionate because there is not too much to say about London. The culture shock was virtually nonexistent. They drive on the left side of the road, they talk funny, and they use a different currency. They drink better beer and they're very polite. For example, the percentage of girls in pubs who were willing to join us for drinks was much higher than the typical percentage in the States. I don't believe these girls actually wanted to talk to us but were too polite to refuse. One bar in Camden was charging a cover and my friend is trying to haggle the bouncer down. I suggest "How about zero for all three of us?" He replied, "I think you may want to find another bar." He was very polite about it, and this was in Camden! So London isn't much different besides those factors. I could easily live in London. It could serve as a headquarter city while I take little vacations all over Europe.

Amsterdam would not be an easy adjustment. I may come off as critical of the Dutch. I must preface the following with the acknowledgement that I did not see very much of the real Amsterdam. From when we were first dropped off at the Central Train Station, we didn't escape this center of piss, filth, scum, degenerates and Eurotrash until halfway through our second day. In that time, I personally consumed an eighth of mushrooms, a dimebag of Jamaican weed, a shot of very strong absinthe, a dozen or so pints of beer, and three whores. Somewhere during that second day we just started walking away from the sleaze. Away from the Red Light District, the Charlie People, the drugs, the menus in English, the pukes and cheats and thieves and filth and piss. Away from the ever-present feeling of being robbed. We got the fuck out and got lost in the real Amsterdam, where the real Dutch must live. We came upon clean, quiet streets with beautiful still canals and houseboats. More relaxing bars. If more of my time was spent in the real Amsterdam, I may have had a better impression. Now, I've said all that to say this:

The best aspect of Amsterdam is the food. I loved it. Real food in portions sized for humans of normal size. There were no cheeseburgers or fries or ranch dressing or fried food or any overprocessed shit on a plate. Real food is good food. I loved it. However, the service is pathetic. In retrospect, it was pleasantly pathetic because it has made me realize more about myself -- how American I am and how good of a server I am. In Amsterdam, you seat yourself at a dirty table. In five or ten minutes, the server will come over to clean the table and take your order without saying anything. The food is slow. The bill comes slow. You pay slow, and your change is slow. Every lunch takes at least ninety minutes. HURRY THE FUCK UP! I GOT SHIT TO DO! I GOTTA FUCKING GO! And I realized this is one kind of European dynamic. The art of living. Relax. Enjoy the moment. This can be nice I'm sure, but I am simply made of something different. A producer. I am proud that I can work a double running my ass off delivering great service to demanding, fussy, fat Americans. I can throw all the kegs into the cooler fast. And I am proud that after a double I can change clothes and run down to Forest Park to do four sets of stadium steps at the tennis court and four 50 yard sprints on the soccer field before jogging back. I value work. I would have a hard time living among people I consider lazy. I saw a 60 Minutes special once about the French work week. 35 hours / week plus five weeks vacation. That is obscene. An embarrassment. I would lose my optimism, become cynical.

Moving on, I could not get enough water in Amsterdam. I try to drink a gallon of God's nectar every day but these fucking Dutch were playing defense. I ordered tap water everywhere I went, but they wouldn't make it happen. One coffeeshop refused to fill up a bottle I bought there with tap water for me to leave with. This turned out to be a famous coffeeshop one block from the Red Light District (very experienced in abusing and robbing tourists). Looking back, I should have spat on her bar. However, I had just eaten a shitload of magic mushrooms and was in a contemplative mood rather than confrontational. I started to think about this situation and all my international marketing / managment classes and documentaries detailing Europeans' view of Americans. One consistent complaint I remember is that Americans are always asking for the biggest, the best. I had unconsciously been doing this. I asked the bitch at the coffeeshop for the biggest water she sold (which turned out to be a 6 oz. glass bottle for 2 euro). At this bar named Absinth, I ordered three shots of the strongest absinthe on the menu. At the first coffeeshop I bought the most expensive weed they sold, etc. etc. I am an ugly, obnoxious American! Now I want to fit in. So we go for lunch and I order soup (even though it's not on the lunch special) but I want soup so I order what I want without being frugal or seeking value. I also get the same 6 oz. glass bottle of water. The water tastes good and cold from a glass, but I can sweat six ounces on my three block walk to work. But I drink it slow and enjoy it. And I'm wearing Eurostyle clothes I bought in Amsterdam because it's too cold to wear what I brought. And I feel like I'm becoming one of them. (But I'm not.)

Amsterdam is the Vegas of Europe. Their racket is pussy and drugs (drugs instead of gambling). All the Europeans with risk-taking in their blood left for America over the centuries. Hence Vegas = pussy and gambling, Amsterdam = pussy and drugs. Later that day we started walking away from the concentration of tourists. We walk away from this area that embraces filth and found a more civilized Amsterdam which will be where I stay if I ever go back. There are so many other subtleties I noticed and learned from and liked during my Eurotrip, but there's no reason to write these things. They are meant to be brought up in conversation. But I loved going. Next on my agenda are Spain (Barcelona), France (Paris), Italy (Milan and/or Rome).

An Open Letter to My Ex-Girlfriend

noreply@blogger.com (Colin) — Mon, 21 Aug 2006 22:17:00 +0000

"I FUCKING HATE YOU." This was the text message I wanted to send you yesterday, which was three days after you told me you're sleeping with the guy you're seeing. I sent the message to Ryan first. He called me immediately to ask why I sent it so I told him I was going to send it to you. He attempted to dissuade me but I was at work (when am I not?) and hung up quickly. He must have told Emily because she called minutes later. She told me I need to "be the bigger man" (whatever the fuck that means) and this message would just serve as ammunition for your marriage committee girlfriends to murder me with. I don't give a fuck what the committee says about me and I am not trying to get you back. We want such different things in life that we are incompatible, we know this. I didn't send the message because it is not true. I do not hate you. I love you. I will always love you. You are my baby. You were my pure, sweet, precious love for so long.

But goddamn this news has caused me the most goddamn grief in my whole goddamn life. I'm so fucking upset I could kill you. How could you do this? I suppose it is obvious to you, you moved out on me four months ago. You told me you were going to date other men. You broke up with me, but I don't think I really believed it. I told people I was single, and cognitively considered myself single, but I subconsciously acted like we were just taking a break. I still called you often to talk and share things. I invited you to dinner and social functions. You agreed sometimes and we would kiss and do things couples do. It was so nice to be together again. One time Emily asked me, "If Annie were willing to leave this town to wherever your career might take you, would you want her back?" I said yes without hesitation. Anne-Marie is my girl; she'll always be my girl. But not now. Not after this. You fucked another dude, you bitch. We are over and I am both deeply saddened and lividly enraged. Our love was so strong for so long. We had such a good thing. I really only realized how good recently when I was in Europe, but we were so solid. When we held each other in bed, nobody nor no thing mattered in the outside world. We were happy and safe and this must be zen.

I know you very well and you don't like to dwell on these kinds of things. You know me just as well and I can't help but dwell on shit like this. It makes me feel alive to be so sad and pissed off! I embrace it. I want you to tell me your new man has a bigger dick than me and gets it up faster and fucks harder and lasts longer. I catch myself wondering if there was ever a situation where he just fucked you and he is walking to the bathroom with a wet condom on his dick and he sees your phone ringing with my name on the screen. Does he smile and laugh at me? Or have you ever denied my call while he's in the bathroom and you're preparing yourself for sex? Or has your phone ever rang out loud the entire duration until it goes to voicemail while he fucked you? I've been thinking these kinds of things all week.

To be honest, I actually think much more about the great times we shared. I went through the photo album last night. For whatever reason, there are a disproportionate number of photos of us on beaches in Southern California. There is the one in San Diego where I'm on my knees and burying my face in your lap and you're body looks fleshy and meaty and nice. This makes me think of the night in Huntington Beach when I first told you I love you. And there's the picture of you alone with the dozen roses I bought for you the first time I ever bought you flowers. You're sitting on your couch in the Meadows with an ear-to-ear grin and short shorts that make you legs look so lovely. And the pic when I caught you offguard with that face: "Colin, we have to go, why aren't you ready?" There's another from a party with my family and you're hands are on your hips facing Tammy who's holding Jake and looking for who knows what. In another, you caught me surprised while I'm on Sanchez' computer. Half a dozen pics from the San Diego Zoo for your students. Venice Beach, etc, etc. There are even a few from the Mardi Gras the year you made me cry.

Speaking of crying, I haven't cried yet even though I am overwhelmed with grief. I often get the knot in my throat and feel like tears will explode while I'm talking to a coworker or greeting a table. But then I'll get alone and want to get it out of my system and I won't be able to. I'm too goddamn cool. Years of supressing tears to be a man made me incapable until that Mardi Gras 2004 when I was telling you how much of a bitch you were being and you started crying uncontrollably and I started crying because I loved you so much. My first cry since ... the early nineties? I don't know, but I haven't cried since then, yet I assure you I am more sad now than ever in my life. Muy triste, guey. Even one of the cooks spotted it on my face like a black eye or a giant pimple. "No estes triste, guey. Hay muchas mujeres, todas para ti!" This is the advice everybody gives me and I'm sure they're right. I just can't forget that you are fucking another man!

On the night that I consider your breaking point (the same night you swung on my chin in bed), you said "Colin, you are losing the best thing in your entire life. You will never have someone like me again." You are probably right. I doubt I will ever know a woman with your caring heart. You're so sweet and beautiful. I love you so much. And you cried so many tears those last months before you finally left me. It is a difference between men and women but as men we don't really realize what we have until it's gone. What went around has come around. I am just now going through what you went through for a long time. I am so sorry. But it is over. You are banging that punk motherfucker! Do not bring him anywhere on Delmar until I move away from this city. This is my street. I am here every day and it is likely I will run into you two together. If I do I will probably make trouble. Shit, I could use the work.

Moving on, you're obviously over me. I must have been a terrible burden. You'll never have to suffer my indepth analyses of whatever's going on in my life. You will find a man who doesn't drink at his college frat house all day while you're preparing the home for your family's Thanksgiving dinner. You won't have to listen to me ridicule network television programs or the shit you read or the music you listen to. You are so happy to be rid of me yet I don't think anything about you was so unbearable. I didn't like going to bed so early with no music or any light to read by, but I was happy. It was so nice. At the Coachman. At the Forest Park Hotel.

The text message I started this letter with is not true. We built our relationship on sharing and being honest with each other even when it's not easy. This letter is honestly how I feel, and this is my last time sharing. I am signing out. I'll never adore you again. It would be nice to never see you again.