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

Los Angeles: 5,374 -- I Heart Palindromes: 0

After being in NYC for work this week, I made the decision to stick around the city for Friday night and see a few friends. As anyone who knows me can tell you; I will generally jump at any excuse to spend time in a real city (read: not LA). On my JFK-LAX return today, I was caught in a moment of reflection about how much I had enjoyed my three nights in New York. The sensation of being back in the middle of a breathing and thriving city again had given me my fix. I did, however, start to wonder if I was missing something by spending so much time away from Los Angeles and sunny Santa Monica. Perhaps one day, I would come to actually regret not spending more time playing beach volleyball, running in slow motion along the beach in the sun, and generally being ignorant of any and all current events that do not have at least a slight relationship to Lindsay Lohan. Perhaps I should be less judgemental of LA? I was a plaid shirt away from assimilation.


That moment of misguided introspection lasted exactly 9 minutes: at which point I was confronted by the below scene, exactly two blocks away from the LAX parking garage.

For those of you playing at home, that is a person in a convertible 4S with a... terrified... German Sheppard in the rear "seat". I know what all of my male patrons are thinking right now and I hate to have to be the one to break this to you, but there was a 40 year old man driving this three ring circus of douche-baggery. I should note that am willing to forgive a host of logical inconsistencies when it comes to women, especially when it comes to car related issues (i.e. driving a convertible version of a car that was specifically designed to be driven at 160 mph). I don't expect every girl to want an Aston Martin and a Bernese Mountain dog. But I am sorry Hans (yes I just made him the same nationality as his dog), that Y chromosome of yours negates any mitigating circumstances, like that your wife has already taken the Prius to Malibu for the day. I refuse to give you any deference, I don't care how good your newly highlighted hair looks on the open road or how badly you really wanted to take fluffy to the beach and work on your tan. This is unacceptable.

The above scene is an exhibit of that occasional lapse of the summation theory of mathematics. Much like when I make an effort to turn multiple edible things into a "dish", instead of just eating them separately: you have actually managed to take two things that have a strong value proposition to me (needlessly fast automobiles and... puppies) and combined them to create something horrifically unenjoyable. How dare you Hans?


What this still image fails to capture was the agony of having to watch fluffy frantically try to stay on her feet while Der Douchebag fumbled through gears off each and every stoplight we encountered for the next two miles. Do you know how embarrassed that poor pup would have been if one of the drug sniffing dogs from LAX happened to spot her. There is no way anyone would want to sniff her at awkward times in public if they knew that they would be marrying into a family being provided for by this guy.

You have a decision to make sir. You may keep the dog and buy a fucking Range Rover or you can keep the car and get a breed more similar to the one featured herein.


Does it disturb anyone else how easy it was to find this image via a Google image search?
I digress. A long story abbreviated: Fuck you Los Angeles. That is the last time I second-guess myself about you and your motives.

Now I'm off to my Yoga class. Does anyone need me to grab them any vitamins at Whole Foods on my bike-ride back?

-I Heart Palindromes