Angry Badger

At the end of my run I was greeted with this; the beginnings of a sea of Wisco Badger fans at Santa Monica Pier.  Now I know how minorities feel -- when every average looking white dude puts on the same red t-shirt they really do all look the same.  Tough to make out, sorry, but enough to make a guy want to buy a TCU T-shirt.

There is a three story tall inflatable badger down there.  No joke.  Subtle.

Of all days universe, really?  I sure hope there's a point to all of this.  Wish I could e-mail this to Boondock so we could have a laugh.

Turtle Time,

-I Heart Palindromes

It Gonna Rain!

The reports of my death were only moderately exaggerated.  I have returned to the annals (stop laughing The Hammer) of the inter-web to share some incredibly important information:  It is raining in Los Angeles?!?!

Are you scared-to-death?  Flabbergasted?  Bamboozled (yes, Bamboozled, as in the slang term, not the terrible Spike Lee movie)?  No?  You're not?  Well that makes exactly one person in the entire world.  It has been raining, rather literally non-stop, for the past six days.  Houses are falling off of mountains, beaches are empty, roadways are flooded.  The Governator has declared this a State of Emergency, dude.  The only frequently cited upside to these events?  Lots of snow in the mountains (think 12-25 feet, yes, that much).  That's so LA of you Los Angeles; you're rewarding yourself for surviving such a perilous bout with moderately inconvenient weather with a ski trip to Tahoe.  You go right ahead LA, it's the holidays and you deserve it, don't forget to leave the Prius at home and take the Escalade -- the roads are flooded after all.

Now, I want everyone here to keep in mind that when people in Southern California freak out about rain, it isn't the kind of rain that you think of when you think about freaking out about rain.  The evening news dedicated five minutes yesterday to attempting to define a "thunderstorm", meaning what makes it different than a "rain shower".  No joke.  These people have never even seen a thunderstorm this side of a Marky Mark film.  The best part?  The weatherman implored people to stay inside if there was thunder and lightning lest they tempt fate and be struck by it.  I. Can't. Make. That. Up.  Clearly he's wrapping up his Ph.D. in math at USC with a thesis on conditional probabilities of things that will absolutely never happen to you!

Deep Breaths.  In good news, this set of events has allowed me to learn all new things about the city in which I live:

1) Despite a massive budget deficit and untold billions of dollars of Federal funding for make-work infrastructure projects, only seventeen dollars and twenty-eight cents were spent on engineers.  That's right, there are almost zero drainage spouts on any of the major expressways here.  Even if there were, unlike every major city outside of sub-Saharan Africa, the six-lane roadways here aren't even graded in order to run water off the roadway.  Instead, they opted for the "put in bowl-shaped low spots that create lakes" method of concrete'ing.  Hydroplaning is tremendous, especially at 75 miles an hour in a city where you know damn well that the car you hit/the one that hits you is not going to have insurance.  Golden.

2) Operating an umbrella is evidently not an innate skill for some adults.  I have seen people hit other people in the face as they pass by on the sidewalk.

3) It doesn't stop at umbrellas, women here don't seem to understand the concept of rain-appropriate shoes.  Six inch heels probably aren't the best.  Though you're dramatic fall was very entertaining, I should probably cut you some slack.  Oh no, don't cry, please?

In any event, the weather is supposed to revert to normal today and through the weekend (i.e. 72.138 degrees and sunny).  We'll have to go back to having the weatherman talk about Lindsay Lohan then.  Or Lindsay's mom, who gets a surprising amount of press attention for someone who has never done anything that is even remotely interesting.  At least I'll be in Chicago by then, now where did I put those gloves that I moved out here with?  Word.

Ducktales Woohoo (h.t. Boondock)

-I Heart Palindromes

On a scale from One to Awesome...

... That was totally Tony Danza.  If you have to ask me which extremis of the scale that Mr. Danza falls at, we are no longer inter-web acquaintances.

We all know that all Californians have a number of inalienable loves:

1)  Running or riding their bike along the ocean
2)  Being mellow, especially in situations that call for excessive amounts of alarm
3)  Inexplicable sources and aggregate amounts of income
4)  T-shirts

Well, you can add another thing to that list:  "shopping malls" near the ocean.

You may have noticed that I placed the shopping malls in mocking air quotations.  This is because I grew up in the real world (Chicago) where the concept of a mall was inseparable from teen angst, bad perfume, overweight mall cops, and food courts that made you question if OSHA really had any power or oversight.  Not out here in Santa Monica, the above article references a monstrosity that currently resides approximately twenty-five feet away from my toaster (yes, note that the immovable quarter-of-a-billion-dollar structure resides in reference to me and my belongings... I was here first dammit).

In any event, malls out here evidently include views of the ocean, valet parking, five star restaurants and... a billion people.  For the past two days the police have blocked off the alley that serves as the only entrance to my parking garage in an effort to stop... well... me from every actually arriving at home, as far as I can tell.  What was that?  Someone from southern CA complaining about traffic?  Unpossible.  In all seriousness though, every intersection within a mile radius of my apartment resembles that to the right.  I thought I had escaped this madness when I moved off of Michigan Ave.  Evidently I was just trading in white-tennis-shoes for flip-flops and converse.

Word.

Los Angeles:  5,381 -- I Heart Palindromes:  0

Kirs Kross Gonna' Make Ya' Make Ya'

-I Heart Palindromes

My Apartment Building Is Not To Be Upstaged By My Office Building

A quick update; I received the following from my apartment building manager today:

Dear LuXe Residents

Unfortunately we have been made aware by the Santa Monica Police Department that there is a professional bike theft ring working the residential buildings in this area.

We recommend at this time you either double or triple lock your bicycles or store them inside your apartments. We will allow them to be transported inside the elevator until further notice.

We also recommend you register your bicycle National Bike Registry (www.nationalbikeregistry.com).
 
A few thoughts:
 
1)  I had no idea that there was such a thing as a "professional" vs. "armature" bike-theft ring.
2)  I am glad that the SMPD can put a notice like this out with a straight face.
3)  I am perplexed by the fact that the professionals can cut through one lock but my building manager think they will roundly give up if there is more than one lock.
4)  I can't believe that there is a national bike registry.
5)  In my head, this professional gang wears plaid and steals for the irony of the theft as opposed to chop the bike for parts.
 
Los Angeles: 5,380 -- I Heart Palindromes: 0
 
I'm wearing you down...
 
-I Heart Palindromes

There's No Silverware in Baseball

When you grow up in Chicago as a Cubs fan the experience of attending a baseball game equates to something very specific in your head and in your heart.  For me, it always meant a sip of dad's Old Style at Murphy's Bleachers, the smell of fresh-cut grass, the heavy Chicago summer air, and generally basking in life with the other 42,000 ridiculously happy white people around you.

That above vingette is what puts my first Dodgers game into such relief.  While I have been to plenty of other ballparks (including Angels Stadium, where I was offered sushi that would be brought to me in my seat and that I could pay for with my credit card) no experience was quite as out-of-baseball-character as my night at Dodger Stadium.

My Uncle #3 of 5 (yeah, that's just my dad's side of the family... what can I say... I'm Irish) asked me if I wanted to go see the Cubs play (read: lose to) the Dodgers.  Knowing that there is only one acceptable answer to an invitation to a Cubs game I accepted (you never know what game will be the game you will desperately regret missing, though with the Cubs, this is a more difficult discipline to uphold).  I made my way over to meet Uncle #3 of 5 for a drink and wait for his friends (who we will call I Make More Money Than You & I'm Bill Murray's Brother (seriously)).  Once we headed over to the stadium I was greeted by metal detectors and a pat-down by an elderly man.  Do I look like a Latin King?  Don't answer that.

The next thing I know, I am being whisked down a hallway and having my hand stamped by a girl in a pencil skirt and five inch heels (indication #1 that I was not attending a baseball game).  I was then taken down an elevator to a subteranian, all-you-can-eat restaurant.  Now, I know what you are all thinking, and I am sure most of you have had a corporate box experience at a sporting event where there is a miniature buffet in your suite.  This was not that.  This was a full-blown, 300 person capacity restaurant (complete with dimly lit lounge/bar) that had stations with every meat/pasta/sushi roll imaginable, ready to be sliced off the bone and placed delicately on your plate.  The kicker:  everything (including my numerous Stellas) was free (indication #2 that I was not attending a baseball game).  Can we all back-track for a brief moment and revisit the fact that I was served a beer in a glass bottle, no more than fifty feet from the field of play of a major league baseball game?  These people clearly did not go to state school (indication #3 that I am not attending a baseball game).  Yes ladies and gentlemen, that is a zucchini on my plate.  Yes my father just rolled over in his grave.  Yes I am blaming his younger brother and taking no responsibility.  I am sorry, but actual silverware and going to a baseball game have been, without exception, mutually exclusive events in my life.  Until Los Angeles had to go and take that from me.  Los Angeles: 5,378 -- I Heart Palindromes: 0.  I wish I had been at the game with a girl, armed with access to a purse I would have palmed the silverware just out of principle.  Home Alone style.

Eventually we actually managed to extract ourselves from the full-service restaurant in order to investigate whether or not we were actually near a major league baseball field or just on the set of CSI Tacoma.  Thanks to Uncle #3 of 5 this was the view that I was greeted with.  What can I say, some people blood-related to me are substantially more successful than I am and because my father was their hero (as he was mine), they treat me better than I deserve to be treated.  I am not above that.  Especially when it involves being this close to an American baseball game (indication #1 that I am attending a baseball game). 

I got to meet Jennifer Aniston, who showed up in the fourth inning and left in the 7th.  I hear this is a common event in Los Angeles.  I was also informed that some attractive woman from E-news was sitting behind me who was there for less than two innings.  I don't forgive that girl, but frankly, Jennifer Aniston could show up in the bottom of the ninth and talk on her cell phone for the final out while asking me why a ball that fell on one side of the foul-line was a strike and I am fairly sure that I would still be impressed with her as a person and humanitarian.  Life is fair like that.  I also got to meet a famous Jewish guy.  I have no idea what his name was or what he does for a living.  But given the fact that he had a large pinkie ring, a "girlfriend" thirty-nine years his junior, and a line of 20-something Jewish guys lined up to pay respects to him during mid-innings, I am going to assume that he is in "the business" and staggeringly successful.  Sorry Darwin.

Just as I was feeling as though I was actually witnessing America's greatest past-time ten feet in front of my face, I was handed the following.  Yes, that is the "in-seat" menu.  Because I clearly wasn't fed enough in the restaurant/lounge/brothel.  I apologize for the photo quality, I must have still been shaking in anger.  If you can make out the "Ultra Premium Selections" you will note that I was given the option of ordering a 12-year-old scotch at a baseball game (indication #4 that I am not attending a baseball game).  This is unassailable proof that the whole can occasionally be less than the sum of the parts.  Los Angeles has again taken two things that I love (baseball and scotch) and, by combining them, absolutely ruined both of them for me.  Los Angeles: 5,379 -- I Heart Palindromes: 0.

I also need to stop and address an endemic issue here in Los Angeles.  This "city" loves to attach needless and redundant modifiers to otherwise straight-forward phrases.  So I suppose if I only have a first mortgage (at 95% loan-to-value) out on my house I can only afford the "Deluxe" liquors but if I have a HELOC and an additional unsecured second-lien, I can afford the "Ultra Premium" liquor.  Thank god it isn't just premium, people might not know how important I was if not for the ultra.

There is so much else from the evening that I would like to relay (like the fact that Uncle #3 of 5 met and spoke with Ernie Banks at length, who was in town for the All Star game.  The worst part is that he had worse seats than us, which is un-American.  I should be shining Ernie Banks shoes if not for the fact that they magically never get scuffed.) but I am truly worn out just from having to re-live the above.  I hope that you will forgive me.  The only two people I really wanted to tell the fully-indignant story to already know it anyway.  Sorry inter-web, we just aren't BFFs yet.

Doug Dascenzo

-I Heart Palindromes

No But Seriously... This Happens Every Day

Re: Commercial Shoot with Full Street Closure

Parking and loading dock egress and ingress will be possible via Olive Street during the posted filming hours stated above.

Please advise your employees, vendors and guests of this filming, and to plan for accordingly for possible traffic delays in our area.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Please be aware an ESPN commercial shoot is scheduled in and around our immediate area on Sunday, July 18, 2010, beginning at 6:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. A full street closure of 4th Street from Beaudry Street eastbound to Olive Street was approved by the City of Los Angeles for the duration of the shoot.

Bo Knows H'wood,

-I Heart Palindromes

FW: Potential for Civil Disorder **Please read**

New band name, "Potential for Civil Disorder".  I am not sure if I have heard a more vaguely ominous phrase recently.  These are the types of things that Los Angeles sends you via Outlook Exchange, you know, just to brighten your day with the rush of the potential for physical harm.  Those asterisks alone could keep me awake for days.

excerpt from the e-mail:

 "Please be advised that the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) has issued an alert of the possibility of civil disorder resulting from the verdict of the Mehserle case scheduled to be announced before 4:30 pm today. LAPD has a contingency plan in place for the City in the event of any civil disorder.

Should we feel any potential danger to the occupants of the building exists, the Security staff will be on heightened alert, which includes locking all building entrance doors, the parking garage and the loading dock. In addition, no one will be allowed to enter the building."

Great, the LAPD has a "contingency plan" in case the racial tension that one of their officers provoked turns into a riot.  I hope it isn't beating more strung-out minorities to death, that doesn't seem to have been an effective deterrent yet.

I also feel much safer knowing that my building's reaction to this will be to go into Stage 5 lock-down.  I appreciate that they make a point of delineating between locking every single orifice of the building and my permission to exit and enter as well.  Did you have to insult my basic reasoning skills as well as needlessly panic me?

All a day-in-the-life of someone who works in "downtown" Los Angeles (I put this in air-quotes when speaking as well, as not to offend real downtown areas).  If the earthquakes don't get you, the riots will.  If the riots don't get you, the jaded hipsters will.

Los Angeles: 5,377 -- I Heart Palindromes: 0

"If you learn to love then you might love life" -Beastie Boys

-I Heart Palindromes

Just Take Your Damn Shoes Off Sir

I hate flying on holiday weekends.  The airport develops a serious case of armature hour-itis that strains something I usually enjoy a great deal (travelling).  No, I don't just mean going places with palm trees and beaches, I actually enjoy the experience of physically travelling.  I like the motion.  It probably has some connection to all of the travelling I did with my family when I was a kid but I feel genuinely at home on an airplane (being raised thinking a nine hour flight was fairly standard... you can get from a lot of places to a lot of places in nine hours).

This means that I find it taxing to stand in a security line with people who are scared absolutely shitless or confused to a point of hysteria.  This morning at LAX I was subjected to a little too much America for my taste this fine Independence Day weekend.  Don't ask me why I am in a security line that is six people long and you are in one that is sixty people long.  Life isn't fair.  Isn't that always the answer to your questions sir?

Perhaps I am being too harsh.  To be fair, I have only ever had two travel partners that I have actually enjoyed in my life:  my father (The Legend) and Boondock.  My mom (The Sky is Falling) and my sister could easily be placed in the previous "hysterical" category when travelling.  My father used to play this game with them where as soon as they began to board he would immediately think of something that he needed to get from the concourse (a newspaper, a magazine... a beer).  This would, without a single exception, throw my mother and sister (The Dancing Orange) into an absolute panic.  I would take this moment to note that it is not as though a plane ever left without all of us on it.  That never seemed to calm them.

Anyhow, that is probably where I get it.  Why I am so relaxed through a process that seems to be desperately stressful for so many.  I do know one thing, being a good travel partner is in the top ten of qualities I would need in a significant other.  No one likes a divorce on a jet-bridge.

As timing would have it, my flight just started boarding.  Onward and upward.

Charles in Charge,

-I Heart Palindromes 

MTV, Google & Facebook Oh My

These are my neighbors in Santa Monica.  When I stop at Ralphs (an awfully awkward name for a grocery store) on my way home from work, these are the people that I am buying bread next to (for those that aren't carb-phobic of course).

I am going to make a confession:

It is actually somewhat fun to be the fish out of water.  I can remember coming out of college when no one knew what a hedge fund was.  Except, of course, every desperate 28 year old "former model" at a bar in Manhattan.  I can mentally map-out the process by which that all changed, when I could no longer feign being in the lawn care business.  My profession has now become like tort law, everyone has a very serious (read: negative) opinion of me and what I do (and they can't wait to tell me).

Moving out to Los Angeles was like time-travel back to 2006.  Everyone I meet here is in "the business".  Every woman is/was/is going to be an actress (or a singer, or an agent, or a....).  Every man is a writer (or a producer, or a set designer, or a...).  More importantly, since I don't do what they do, they genuinely don't care what I do.  I secretly love it.  I will actually admit to missing that once I leave.

Los Angeles: 5,376 -- I Heart Palindromes: 1? (probably not)

Now back to the gardening...

-I Heart Palindromes

Update (3 July 2010):

What I encountered on Ocean Avenue on my way to Main Street yesterday.  You know, in case you thought I was exaggerating.

-I Heart Palindromes

so I've got that going for me, which is nice.

"The quest for certainty blocks the search for meaning. Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers." -E. Fromm

I am generally not a large supporter of quotations.  This is primarily born out of my preeminent distaste for anything that even intimates triteness.  I also believe that people rarely apply quotes from old white men in the spirit in which they were uttered.  Sometimes, history plays a very perverse game of "telephone" with what dead white men said before they died.  I tend to limit my quotations to PCU or Caddyshack (title-in-point), their meaning seems safer to me somehow.

As a mental exercise, however, let us review my current details:

I live in Los Angeles (Santa Monica if I'm feeling particularly sensitive about my LA-ness at the exact moment that someone asks).  I am in the process of leaving a job, within the first year, that I had signed up for with a ten year plan in mind.  The driving factor behind both of those decisions is (to put it democratically) somewhat less present than I was banking on.  The best laid plans... am I right?  Two years ago all of these things would have been neigh impossible.

In more sanguine news, I am tan, my hair gets more blonde from the sun daily, and I am running every day again.  It is amazing what you can accomplish when 90-hour work weeks are supplanted by apathy-induced 50 hour jaunts through the office.  My dry-cleaning is no longer held hostage for time-periods that test property laws.  I remain taller than average.

For those that know me well, concern will be limited.  I work hard enough that I tend to land on my feet (Irish luck and all).  I am newly twenty-six (ick) which gives me just a little more runway to figure things out... again.  More importantly, in hindsight, I am confident in the priorities I struck and the decisions I made around them.  Presented with the same scenario again, I know that my heart and my head would arrive at the same place.  In fact, I am very much hoping to be presented with the exact same situation again, for the very fact that I did not choose incorrectly.

In silver-lining news; not having my hands on the switches as VIX spikes back to astronomical levels (again) and Mr. Market is surely headed back to re-test some technical level that will inspire very ugly headlines (again), may just add a few years to my life on the back-end.

The most important question is what to invest all this new-found uncertainty in?  Work, running, reading, and Boondock were the answers before.  My mental suggestion box is open.  I am paying attention.

Doogie Howser, M.D.

I mean...

-I Heart Palindromes

The Most Difficult Illusion To Spot

In the late 1950s, psychologist Milton Rokeach, gathered three psychiatric patients, each with the delusion that they were Jesus Christ, to live together for two years in Ypsilanti State Hospital to see if their beliefs would change.  Think of it as a more scientifically interesting Real World (where you put six twenty-somethings who have no career or other prospects in life together and see how long it takes them to either sleep with each other or hit each other).

As you can imagine, the early meetings between the three Jesuses (Jesusi?) were a little stormy.  Interestingly, none of them left those two years any less convinced of their own divinity.  When asked to explain the beliefs of the other two prodigal sons, the chief rationalization was that they were insane.  The point (outside of the production of some amazing interview transcripts) was to demonstrate the biases in peoples' perceptions.  Jesus was always willing to call the other Jesus crazy while insisting that they themselves were... well... Jesus.

My first portfolio manager out of undergrad tried to teach me to never apply my own beliefs to my investment thesis.  The idea that I would act in a certain manner and then extrapolating that to a data-set.  He stressed this by walking backwards from the world population down to me employing a very short list of metrics.  The point was, you and your thought process was the minority.  I will never forget that lesson, which was of course vital in a Graham & Buffett framework of "is this business model dead or alive" kind of world.

The idea of both of these thoughts is that we often mislead ourselves based on a preference for ourselves and the familiarity of our own logic.  

It has been a rough morning in Los Angeles.  It has been a rough few months and a hell of a 2010 to wrap my head around.  The Hammer, The Delorian, The General & English have been tremendous in helping me sort through everything.  While the over-under on me remaining in Los Angeles gets more divergent by the day I do know that I have my head up and I am going into tomorrow with my eyes wide open.  No illusions for me.  I know what is real and what isn't and, god help me, I am going to fight for the former.

Word,

-I Heart Palindromes 

The Only British > American Inequality I Can Ascend

British Editorials > American Editorials

Exhibit A

My favorite excerpt:

Meanwhile, central defender John Terry finally arrived back in England's 18-yard box last night only to find that everyone else had gone home.

He eventually got out of the stadium after climbing over a fence.

Enjoy.

Jon says what's up,

-I Heart Palindromes

Angry Tiger

Life is not intended to always go smoothly, regardless of your advantages, you will eventually find ways to misstep.  Yes, it is usually your fault whether you accept that view of not.  There are occasions, however, where the universe is indeed mocking you openly.  Like when I get a phone call from a head-hunter about a senior hedge fund research position at Russell Investments.  Cute universe, real cute.  It is good to know that you haven't forgotten about me.  Neither here nor there.

The mass of the world and the data within it statistically ensures that odd coincidences will present themselves.  The extent to which you notice them will be some non-linear function of your aptitude and your free time.  I noticed this morning that my favorite place to go in Los Angeles (that isn't closely related with Boondock) is named Neptune's Net, while my favorite restaurant in the city of Boston is named Neptune's Oyster and one of the firms that I turned a job offer down from on my way out of undergrad was named Neptune Capital Management.  Also, that the last decision was because their portfolio manager was based out of London and I was convinced that they would eventually consolidate their New York office.  Forks in the road.

Neptune hat-trick aside, my attention diverts to the weekend.  I want to play golf, eat at Martha's in Hermosa, and revamp my iPod.  Tonight is scotch night with my newly Los Angeles-based friend St. Louis.  I should note that him and I once consumed all of the McCallan 18 at an establishment that had enough scotch to have a separate scotch list.  At a future date I would be given a complimentary lunch with my friend English because the waitress had evidently found it remarkable enough to remember despite my nearly year-long absence from Chicago.  That was all before St. Louis almost died.  Not in a "I can't believe we didn't die this weekend" kind of way but actually in a "at the age of 26 I spent nine months in the hospital and now I take a massive amount of pain medication in order to function" kind of way.  So what do we do to commemorate that tectonic shift?  We drink scotch, naturally.

This is why I am reading three books on the dynamics of networks right now.  It is a wonder anyone has ever dated me.

These are all mental diversions from what is really occupying 98% of the fraction of my brain that I actually use (that any of us actually use, I would note).  As is, of course, my foray into putting words on the inter-web.  Sometimes diversions are good, I am remembering how much I enjoy writing, for one.

My usual reaction to stresses is to close ranks.  I'm going to try the surrounded by people thing this weekend instead.  Old dog.  New trick.

Family Matters:
Boy loves girl next door.
Girl ignores boys advances.
Boy builds time machine.

Kriss Kross is gonna make ya make ya,

-I Heart Palindromes

Two Hours of Sleep + Emotional Distress + Haiku = ?

Wait a minute, wait a minute, I remember this one from the level three exam.  It has something to do with the non-parametric estimate of volatility, right?  The one that ignores any econometric convention?  Carry the emotional distress and divide by two?

For the past two months, just about every thought that has made its way through the synapses of my brain has been painfully serious.  I've spent weeks trying to solve problems bigger than any individual's problem-solving capacity (perhaps not George Washington... but definitely in excess of Barack Obama's and BP's combined).

I have been faced with decisions to be made about my immediate, intermediate and "I'm just happy to still be above ground" future.  I have prioritized and re-prioritized only to find the top slot to be filled by the same thing, something as static as it is seemingly intractable.  What does one do when faced with the highest risk being attached to the only reward that matters.  Hold on for dear life?  Check.  Not working yet?  Thanks for nothing William Forsyth Sharpe, despite having the whitest name of anyone born outside of Westminster post 1609 AD, you have failed to be of any use.  I can't seem to find anything else that has the same hold -- fate is not subtle when she is actually present.  Like an Ohio State fan in a super-market when Hang On Sloopy musak plays, she is hardly delicate.

My solution, as I run on an unexaggerated 120 minutes of sleep, is naturally to write Haiku about my favorite 1980's & 1990's television shows.  There is some quasi-exponential logic embedded in there, but I promise it makes sense.  Really, I just don't want to lose my ability to laugh at myself (or Mr. Belvedere for that matter).  For the first time in my life, the past 24 hours have made me realize that such a vital thing might actually be perishable.  Now that's a come-to-Jesus moment that only Touch-Down Jesus could rival.

note:  it upsets me that "Jesus" is corrected to be capitalized by spellcheck but "Mr. Belvedere" isn't. 

Supermarket Sweep:

an explosion of
matching white sneakers and bangs.
don't forget the hams.

Who's The Boss:

was tony danza
really fit for childcare? when
he did so much coke.

GUTS:

but one agro-crag.
early on-set puberty.
why was Mo British?

A-Team

I pity the fool.
Singular earing not gay?
the mohawk says all.

Alf

best writing around
is based on puppet that eats
cats? Sorry Darwin.

The Cosby Show

J-E-L-L-O.
Non-threatening black family?
Whitest show ever.

I could, and may do this all day.  I'm finding it terribly useful.

Go go gadget,

-I Heart Palindromes

Touchdown Jesus

Usually I try to add something by way of commentary.  But this, shall stand alone.

http://news.cincinnati.com/article/20100615/NEWS01/306150004/Jesus-statue-destroyed-by-act-of-God

Enjoy,

I Heart Palindromes

Credit Where Credit is Due

As I am more than well aware, I complain about living in Southern California to an annoying extent.  I stand steadfast in my overall assertion that net-net, the soul-crushing amount of plaid alone is enough to support this viewpoint.  I will, however, admit when California has gotten the best of me.

My day today consisted of getting to work at the "Ohio State" crack of dawn.  New York hours, you have yet to get the best of me.  The difference for today, is that I left the office thirty minutes after the market closed (1:30 PST).  I proceeded to LA Country Club where I squeezed in eighteen holes of golf with Uncle Awesome.  I made my way home for a run along the beach in 85 degree weather, in which my path is framed by the Pacific to one side, the Santa Monica cliffs to the other, Malibu in the distance and Santa Monica Pier in the background.  Not to diminish that my evening is going be capped with a kickball game on Venice Beach in which I have been sternly instructed to bring "champagne, or PBR... or both".  Just in case you were curious, the length of said kickball game is governered by the rule that "the game will be played until the sun touches the horizon of the Pacific."  This is my new favorite way to measure time.

To make matters more enjoyable I was stopped at the tail-end of my run by two Irishmen who wanted to know if I knew of a good bar to watch the four AM World Cup starts.  I was told by them that I looked like a reasonable drinker (flattery will get you everywhere).  Thanks to Uncle Awesome, I happen to know of a bar in Venice that is the colorful haunt of a number of Irish ex-pats specifcally during World Cup viewing.  I know that when those two walk into a bar tomorrow, before the sun comes up, to find it packed with thirty of their domesticated brethren, that karma will be on my side for the day.

I should also mention that my week in sports has included a Blackhawk's Stanley Cup, a US World Cup split with England, and a performance by Ted Lily to close the weekend that left him two outs from a No-No against the White Stockings (the only team in baseball to ever be banned from... baseball).  Let us also not forget the incredible run by the UCLA women's softball team on ESPN-the-Ocho.  Right.

I even came home to the below in my mailbox courtesy of my friend AIG.

In summation; I am happy.  I might even miss this is place once I leave.  Wait?  I Heart Palindromes miss Southern California?!  You're right, let's not get carried away...

...But I thought, nah forget it, yo holmes to Bel Air,...

-I Heart Palindromes

Thank You for the Hardware Lord Stanely

Yes, even in the distant land of Beverly Hills, Patrick Kane's physics defying goal captivated.  There was also the soul crushing defeat for Philadelphia Flyers fans (oh the consonance) who were once again confronted with the intractable reality that they do, indeed, live in Philadelphia.

This post's length will be limited by a confluence of the amount of scotch that was consumed by our party post 'Hawks victory, paired with the fact that I am on New York hours (Goooood morning Mr. Market) but live in Los Angeles. I will revisit the balance of the evening another time. The only thing missing from the victory last night was... well... Boondock. That or actually capturing a picture of Coach Q smiling, though I think that might threaten the whole space-time continuum thing.

Enjoy yourself Chicago.  Hoist it!

Da na na na na....

-I Heart Palindromes

"At His Peak, Manny Ramirez Accounted For 27% of Boston's GDP"

Part I:

I spent twenty minutes at a bar in The Fenway during the Celtics v Lakers game protesting the above point with strangers.  I am fairly certain that, by the end of the night, I had acquired fairly robust support for this view.

... and thus was the motif of the few days spent running around the smaller of the two corrupt US Irish/Italian Catholic cities.  I should note that the bulk of my time was spent with a friend that we will refer to as junior investment banker (which is probably the least anonymous handle I could give him for anyone who knows my group of friends).  This statement will serve as instant and exhaustive proof as to how my trip included (but was not limited to): playing golf in a thunderstorm, drinking champagne in a bar above a fried-dough shop in coastal New Hampshire... at ten in the morning, having to endure extensive Lady GaGa (I'm not really positive on the capitalization convention there) in the backseat of junior investment banker's dub-complete HSE, as well as the usual junior investment banker bar performance ("...oddly enough I was on my way to yoga as well... what are the odds?).

Net-net it was a good weekend (as most outside of Los Angeles prove to be).  I will expand on the above at a later date with mercifully minimal photographic evidence.  I promise.

I do, however, have a photo for your Los Angeles data-point of the day.  To the left you will find the car that, as of my return from Boston, resides in the neighboring parking spot in my building.  I will note that this spot belongs to my neighbor and his girlfriend; a struggling musician and graduate student, respectively.  There is nothing terribly shocking about finding a $119,000 MSRP car parked in my parking garage.  Alas, despite being solidly in the top 1% of income earners in the wealthiest country in the history of, well... history -- I am unequivocally the poorest white person to ever live in Los Angeles.  The real surprise comes when you consider that, up until yesterday and today, they drove a red Honda Civic that they were incapable of parking appropriately between the two white lines.  I know what a lot of you are thinking:  there must be some plausible explanation that doesn't involve them suddenly trading in the Civic for a super-charged Mercedes.  I am going to do the leg-work to clarify that concern, but I would beg of you to note that I do live in Los Angeles... where that exact scenario is actually the most probable reality.

Los Angeles: 5,376 -- I Heart Palindromes: 0

Finally, I briefly draw your attention to the result of what I can only imagine is the single least accurate mailing list ever executed:

Speechless.  "Friend!"

That is, unfortunately, where the fun ends in this one folks.  Prepare for some self-reflection (now would be a good time to instead direct your attention to the awe-inspiring genius of http://brosicingbros.com/)

Part II

"To be always fortunate, and to pass through life with a soul that has never known sorrow, is to be ignorant of one half of nature." -Seneca 45 AD

While the trip to Boston could be roundly described as a success.  The last twenty-four hours or so could, perhaps, be best correlated to a Kanye West song with a stolen beat and retro-refrain (largely predictable but none-the-less disappointing and distinctly painful).  While it would appear that my willingness to share things with Mr. Interweb has grown exponentially from "nothing" to "my sarcastic remarks about people that are different than me" I don't think we are good enough friends yet for me to be anything other than obscure for the moment.

The thoughts that I do want to write down, in an effort to not allow time and hindsight to marginalize them, are the following:

1) I love my family and will miss them dearly when they are no longer here
2) I would do anything for my three best friends (The Hammer, The Delorian, and The General)
3) Boondock has been and will likely always be one of the most influential people that has ever come and gone in my life
4) At times, all of the loyalty and commitment in the world will not be rewarded by fate
5) There is a certain power in embracing an uncertain future
6) I would not trade the last two years of my life for anything for the sake of how they have changed me for the better
7) It is possible to both disagree with a decision and yet still respect it

All of these things, I am more aware of than I was yesterday, and for that I am grateful.

I believe that exceeds my self-imposed melodrama limit for the year.  That is good news for all parties involved.

Looking forward to the 'Hawks game this evening (GO HAWKS!) and some time in the non-Los Angeles-parts-of-California with friends this weekend.

I'm Spent,

-I Heart Palindromes

Thank You Captain Obvious

I have a whole host of things to post from my nearly-week-long jaunt back to a certain Midwest town, that begins with a C, ends with an O, and in the middle spells "hicag".  If you catch my drift.

Unfortunately, being sans Bloomberg terminal for that long, means I am currently drowning in back-logged news, research, and Gary Coleman death jokes from heartless traders.  As an example:  please find below "Gary Coleman's Casket".  Too soon?

I did, however, want to share one piece of LA-ness, that I was greeted with while reading the LA Times during my shoe-shine this afternoon.  This was the scene on the lower portion of the front page of the paper.

Just to be entirely clear (in case you're having trouble making this out).  The first line of this beautiful piece of journalism reads "Former Marine-Turned Rastafarian Joseph Dillberti" let us pause.  Please, everyone, say that phrase out-loud.  Seriously, just once.  What is "a phrase that could only be published in a newspaper in California for $1,000 Alex"?  Then comes the true pinnacle of this hard hitting human-interest piece.  The line continues ", left".  Yes, the LA Times just identified which man in this photo is the "Marine-Turned Rastafarian".  Thank you for that clarification, I would have been befuddled otherwise.  Could you also identify the officer of the peace in this scene?  I see the uniform but I am just not positive. 

Los Angeles: 5,375 -- I Heart Palindromes: 0.

Thank you for letting me get that out there inter-web.  Without my partner in judgement (we'll call her Boondock from here on out) you will have to do.

Too Legit, To Legit To Quit,

-I Heart Palindromes 

Enjoy Your Long Weekend... Oh... And Your Freedom

"All the armies of Europe, Asia and Africa combined...could not by force, take a drink from the Ohio, or make a track on the Blue Ridge, in a trial of a thousand years. At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide." Abraham Lincoln

 

-I Heart Palindromes

South... Africa?

What appears below actually came across the trading desk via a chap from a macro hedge fund in London.  I have never been more proud of you WGN.  Being geographically illiterate is an American birth-right but landing on the correct side of the prime meridian would seem to be a reasonable baseline expectation.

So let us get a running tally:

1)  South Africa is a continent as opposed to a country.
2)  South Africa is in South America?
3)  There is a great deal on pay day loans in the lower left.

What an apt American vignette.

-I Heart Palindromes

Glitter is the Herpes of Craft Supplies

When I think of glitter (which we all know happens with alarming frequency) I primarily think of two things:

1)  The exact moment at which Mariah Carey's career peaked (sorry The Hammer).

2)  The glitter-ridden center piece of the most amazing Nickelodeon creation of my youth... The Aggro Crag

For those of you that had the misfortune of attending undergrad with me, you are likely no stranger to my preoccupation with the latter.  You are also likely familiar with The Hammer's preoccupation with the former but we will leave that minefield for another post.  There is something uniquely epic (see Encyclopedia Britannica entry: George Washington) about a giant plastic mountain being built on a TV show set in southern California, specifically designed to hurl foam, spew fog, and dispense glitter with a ferocity that can only be rivaled by certain establishments on North Halsted in Chicago.

The compelling dynamic of this show was absolutely undeniable.  For starters, there were almost always two boy contestants and one girl contestant.  The powers that be at Nickelodeon made sure that they would select two twelve-year-old boys and one almost thirteen-year-old girl.  This would, of course, ensure that the girl would have at least a seven inch height advantage.  While there were other distractions on the show that involved a frankly disturbing amount of astro-turf and rope, the Aggro Crag was the only real attraction.  It was where the men were seperated from the unfairly-late-in-their-development girls.  The sheer elation or obvious dejection of the contestant upon reaching or failing to reach the summit is likely the pinnacle of any television drama not involving Sam Waterston.

As an aside:  I believe that I just became the first person in the history of the interweb to successfully reference Mariah Carey, The Aggro Crag, and Jack McCoy in a logical progression.  Word.

Returning to my incredibly salient point:  the Aggro Crag was incredible.  The death-defying (glitter and foam is the third leading cause of death among twelve year old's while on a TV show set, on a Wednesday, in 1997... while the moon is in retro-grade) effort of the prevailing contestant would be justly rewarded with an actual glowing piece of the mountain itself.  People who aren't making the obvious allusion to the propensity of US soldiers to take souvenirs from the Axis soldiers that they killed in World War II clearly don't understand the sophisticated depth of GUTS. 

In college I dragged my then girlfriend into a search for a willing seller of this preeminent trophy.  At the beginning of each GUTS episode they would introduce the contestants by first and last name.  This gave us the ability to Google and facebook stalk the heck out of them (when I say us, I really mean my then girlfriend, whose stalking skills were rather developed... this would later prove detrimental to our relationship).  I actually had her send one of the people we tracked down a facebook message. My logic was that a subtle hello from an attractive 19-year-old girl would be preferable to a threatening e-mail from me.

Clearly the search proved futile, or this blog would consist solely of pictures of me and my piece of the Aggro Crag travelling the globe.

On that note, I am going to get back to trading hundreds of millions of dollars in US options and futures as Mr. Market has been open a little over an hour.  I am sure our clients would understand that this was simply more pressing.

-I Heart Palindromes 

What, No Orenthal James Joke?

As you have likely deduced, the unambiguous goal of my effort to occasionally write things down on the inter-web is to a) try to make my friends laugh and b) to make needless Tony Danza and GUTS references.


I will apologize in advance for the lack of accomplishing either goal in this but promise to return to both a and b in my next missive, which I am fairly sure is going to to be about Halloween costumes that I plan to embarrass my significant other with over the course of my life.


For now though, I will digress into a numbered list. Bookdock once told me that when I get worked up and stressed out over the demands "not sucking at life" is placing on me I should stop and name five things that I am thankful for. So here goes:


1) That it would appear that I am capable of keeping my sense of humor about me regardless of life's often difficult circumstances and trials. After all, with a face like mine, I better have something else to offer this world.


2) That I am genuinely challenged in my work. I had dinner with a friend on Friday in New York who is an accountant and absolutely hates her job. I don't know what I would do without my career.


3) That I will never be too old or too cool to get "seven-year-old-boy-on-Christmas-morning" excited about the opening day for the Cubs or the prospect of getting a puppy back in my life relatively soon.


4) That I have resilient relationships that have persisted despite vastly divergent paths. That I am and want to remain committed to the people that matter to me without needing a preface or footnote to that sentiment. Those people deserve my loyalty.


5) That I am growing up -- in painful and enjoyable ways all the same. I can see my life ahead of me and by whatever combination of hard work and reasonable fortune, it looks promising enough that I am excited to live it.


post-script: The Chicago Blackhawks post-season run didn't make this list solely due to my incredible superstitious streak.


Now, back to obscure 1990's references: isn't that right Olmec of Legends of the Hidden Temple?


You did not see that coming...


-I Heart Palindromes

"Celebrity" Encounters of the 4th Kind

Common Misconception: if you live in LA, you will run into a lot of notable movie-stars at the local starbucks.


Actuality: if you live in LA, you will run into a lot of people who look mildly familiar and then spend eleven minutes google'ing random combinations of movie titles and ethnicities in an effort to figure out who they were (i.e. black man in that movie who wasn't Denzel Washington).


Today became my personal antithesis to the proof statement above.


I made my way to a biker bar named Neptune's Net to watching the Chicago Blackhawks utterly humiliate the San Jose Flippers (Sharks? not-so-much) in the NHL Western Conference Finals. I will pause and note that the phrase "I made my way to a biker bar" is now an absolutely plausible event in my day... California does odd things to people.


I should note that I have been to this bar for Blackhawks games before with a freind we will call "my only white-sox-fan friend". So, MOWSFF and I made our way up the PCH to secure seats at the bar and leave enough time for the requisite ten minute argument with the bartender about turning the sound for the hockey game on.


There is a realted point to this background; Neptune's Net is a famous brunch destination for Jay "I am not funny" Leno. I have seen Jay Leno at Neptune's before. He is generally ignored by all of the bikers and fawned over by the few tourists that have the guts to park their rented turquoise PT cruiser in the parking lot and enter an establishment that has at least 75 Harley's lined-up in front of it.


In my mind, Jay Leno is not a celebrity. In fact, the first time I ever saw Jay Leno, instead of being excited to see a television personality and asking for an autograph, I spent the next twenty minutes having MOWSFF talking me out of going over to his table to tell him that (while I find the physics behind his facial features to be staggeringly inexplicable, if not hilarious) I think he is likely the least funny person to ever tell a joke. Keep in mind that I grew up in Chicago, with an Eastern European mother. Her family could certainly kill a joke like OJ Simpson could kill... well... people he loved. In the end, I realized that Mr. Leno is probably accustomed to hearing this exact refrain from every single humanbeing that he meets who is under the age of 74. Therefore, I doubt my input would lead to any great epiphany.


Today's trip, however, yielded a more notable encounter. Today I met Yvonne Strahovski. Who?! I am sure you are currently asking. No I did not know her name before today. Instead I started what I am sure was a stunningly enlightening conversation for her (I was a few sodas into the 'Hawks game) by asking 'are you the girl from Chuck'. I should have prefaced this by saying that I watch almost no television that does not involve overweight men talking about Mr. Market. I do, however, watch the TV show Chuck. Hence, I was able to awkwardly converse with an actress about what she does for a living. I'm positive that I was desperately impressive. With all sincereity, I will say that I did elicit a laugh when I blatantly ignored something she said in favor of screaming at a San Jose Dolphins's non-call and proceeded to tell her that The Blackhawks > Celebrity Sighting (I used a hand symbol to demonstrate the inequality). Of course I did. Wow, that hurts a little to see it in text.


Anyhow, that got me thinking that I should begin to record my "celebrity sightings" for the benefit of those of you that live in what we like to call the "fly over states". God I'm so NYC/LA.

Thank goodness my time here is finite.


Without additional delay (in reverse order of "epicness") to-date celebrity sightings:

1) Yvonne Strahovski (aka girl from Chuck) - uneventful and unexciting. It isn't like I met Alf.



2) Ryan Stiles (of who's line is it anyway fame) - I saw him on his way to Vegas via LAX. He had a stand up show in Vegas that weekend. He was incredibly friendly to the numerous people who approached him (he is approximately 7 feet tall so I guess he has become accustomed to not being able to blend in)

3) Bill Connolly - he lives a block away from me on the beach in Santa Monica. I saw him while I was running early on a Saturday. His dog was relieving itself under a sign that said "no dogs allowed on the beach" across from his beach-front home. He smiled and nodded at me. I like that guy.


 
4) Patti Stanger (Millionaire Matchmaker, a show on Bravo) - I would not have known who she was if not for Bookdock but she was filming part of her show at a place in Hermosa Beach where I like to get brunch. She was gracious, though terribly loud. Gay men across the world appear to love this woman, which is ironic when you think about it. I digress.


 
5) Wesley Snipes... I mean Eddie Griffin (Undercover Brother) - I was at LAX heading to ORD with Boondock (I heart abbreviations) and I encountered Mr. Griffin in the United Red Carpet Club. Boondock is the one who had to break it to me that I was not, indeed, seeing Wesley Snipes. I could have lived with that illusion forever, tragic. Mr. Griffin (as his friends call him) was having a gin and tonic at 10AM while wearing a velour track-suit, a beret, and sunglasses. Corey Hart, eat your "Hart" out.



I just made a Corey Hart pun, I should probably stop.


I will keep you posted if I happen to meet anyone truly notable (i.e. Alf, Tony Danza, Kobe Bryant's 9th girlfriend, etc...)


Current "celebrity" sightings: 5*


-I Heat Palindromes


*yes I omitted Jay Leno intentionally