Indignation. Consternation. In this nation it is so easy to get lost in our daily lives. It is so easy to be lost in selfish pursuit. How many nations in this world are having problems tantamount to human rights violations? How many nations carry on with tendency towards genocide or overt political corruption? I read every other day about problems that exist in other countries. I read about problems that incense me to no end. I want to get up out of my executive thatched high-back chair, put down my Peet's Cafe Americano, and quit my life of being an American Lemming. I am a 2-dimensional American. I am the building block to continued isolationist behaviors. How easy it is for me to plan out my life and rely on the stability that I take for granted. I am Jack's ranting hypocrisy.
Maybe some day I will look left or right and see that there is more to this 2-dimensional life. But for now, I am going to continue putting money into my 401k and continue forgetting about Burma, Cuba, Libya, North Korea, Somalia, Sudan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Chechnya, Tibet, Belarus, China, Cote d'Ivoire, Equitorial Guinea, Eritrea, Laos, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Zimbabwe, Timor-Leste, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Tanzania, Yemen, Burundi, Afghanistan, Guinea-Bissau, Niger, Liberia, Sierra Leone, Madagascar, Zambia, Burkina Faso, Mali, Mozambique, the Central African Republic, Chad, Angola, Benin, Senegal, Iran, Nepal, Vietnam, Iraq, Uzbekistan, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Maldives, Tunisia, and of course we should not forget Oceania.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
The Economist
In my weekend of delight, I had a lot of interesting experiences. I had pasta with friends, got plastered in the mission, went skydiving at an altitude of between 0 feet to upwards of 15 feet (indoor skydiving), watched 3:10 to Yuma and realized that Westerns really are dead (nobody can compete with Tombstone it seems), went to my company BBQ at Six Flags Discovery Kingdom and won a PS3 in a company raffle, and had a tremendous family-style meal with some friends on Sunday night to top it off. However, those experiences play no large part in this post. Rather, as the title suggests, this post is about economics. WAIT! Before you stop reading this post, let me be frank. This is not about traditional economics.
In walking around on Sunday night, a friend and I were on a mission. A mission of grave importance. We were trying to find the oldest bar in San Francisco. While I was skeptical about whether or not this was the oldest bar in San Francisco, in doing research on the Internet, most people seem to suggest that The Saloon in North Beach is the oldest.
While sipping on my traditional gin and tonic, I realized that there was a ten-dollar bill laying on the floor of the bar. Right above the ten-dollar bill, there sat an old-grizzled man whose pockets seemed to be at the right angle to present the possibility that money could separate itself from his pocket. I debated for a split-second. The greed that I felt ebbed in my blood. The decision was quick. There was only one thing to do.
I picked up the money and tapped the old man on the shoulder. He turned to me and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes hit me like cold fog rolling over San Francisco. I explained to him that I had found this money under his chair and that he should take it. He said something briefly, but it was barely intelligible over the drunken slur that he called speech. You could tell that this man was accustomed to the drink. You could tell that he was a consistent consumer to this bar. After receiving the money, he stumbled out of the bar and he put a dollar bill on the ground. I assumed that this was some kind of tithe that he felt obligated to give. It was exactly 10% of the original gift that he had received. A monument to religious taxation of yore. A small testament to what little luck this man has had in his long life.
At this point he came up to me and made me a bet. He slurred that the dollar would be picked up in a minute and a half. Being the consummate carouser, his bet amounted to a beer. I accepted the wager and the sociological experiment began. I was deeply intrigued by both his actions and the current entertainment that was afoot. As San Francisco is notoriously windy, the dollar would not stay in place. So a member of the crowd outside that I will mention as the outside smokers, attempted to add his own legacy to this game. With gum in hand he stuck the dollar back down to the ground and with a triumphant grin, walked back to the group that was now gathered to watch. We soon realized that a group of people intently watching a dollar bill on the ground provided very little encouragement for a bystander to pick up said dollar. The drunken old man even tried his own brand of encouragement by pointing at the dollar like an accuser of a murderer in a line-up. The church finally came for its tithe in the form of a bum. The flood gates have now opened. It was like a horse race with one horse. Or possibly a governmental executive decision. I laughed to myself deeply and while it had certainly been more than a minute and a half, I bought the leathered drunk his fix and my friend and I left with alcohol in our stomachs and a grin on our faces.
Cheers to the Economist. For he, my friends, is still sitting on that same stool at The Saloon.
In walking around on Sunday night, a friend and I were on a mission. A mission of grave importance. We were trying to find the oldest bar in San Francisco. While I was skeptical about whether or not this was the oldest bar in San Francisco, in doing research on the Internet, most people seem to suggest that The Saloon in North Beach is the oldest.
While sipping on my traditional gin and tonic, I realized that there was a ten-dollar bill laying on the floor of the bar. Right above the ten-dollar bill, there sat an old-grizzled man whose pockets seemed to be at the right angle to present the possibility that money could separate itself from his pocket. I debated for a split-second. The greed that I felt ebbed in my blood. The decision was quick. There was only one thing to do.
I picked up the money and tapped the old man on the shoulder. He turned to me and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes hit me like cold fog rolling over San Francisco. I explained to him that I had found this money under his chair and that he should take it. He said something briefly, but it was barely intelligible over the drunken slur that he called speech. You could tell that this man was accustomed to the drink. You could tell that he was a consistent consumer to this bar. After receiving the money, he stumbled out of the bar and he put a dollar bill on the ground. I assumed that this was some kind of tithe that he felt obligated to give. It was exactly 10% of the original gift that he had received. A monument to religious taxation of yore. A small testament to what little luck this man has had in his long life.
At this point he came up to me and made me a bet. He slurred that the dollar would be picked up in a minute and a half. Being the consummate carouser, his bet amounted to a beer. I accepted the wager and the sociological experiment began. I was deeply intrigued by both his actions and the current entertainment that was afoot. As San Francisco is notoriously windy, the dollar would not stay in place. So a member of the crowd outside that I will mention as the outside smokers, attempted to add his own legacy to this game. With gum in hand he stuck the dollar back down to the ground and with a triumphant grin, walked back to the group that was now gathered to watch. We soon realized that a group of people intently watching a dollar bill on the ground provided very little encouragement for a bystander to pick up said dollar. The drunken old man even tried his own brand of encouragement by pointing at the dollar like an accuser of a murderer in a line-up. The church finally came for its tithe in the form of a bum. The flood gates have now opened. It was like a horse race with one horse. Or possibly a governmental executive decision. I laughed to myself deeply and while it had certainly been more than a minute and a half, I bought the leathered drunk his fix and my friend and I left with alcohol in our stomachs and a grin on our faces.
Cheers to the Economist. For he, my friends, is still sitting on that same stool at The Saloon.
Monday, September 17, 2007
What is the delta in your life?
When did change suddenly become a prerequisite for happiness? Is life really that boring? I say absolutely not. Life is merely what you make of it. Have you ever seen a small child find the greatest amusement in the simplest thing?
For that same reason:
Shouldn't I be happy that I can open and close my hand?
Shouldn't I be happy that I can afford to feed myself?
Shouldn't I be happy that I have friends and family that love me?
Why shouldn't these things make me satisfied and appreciative of my life? Everyone doesn't have these "gifts" in life. And yet I take these things for granted constantly.
I get depressed because every girl doesn't think I am attractive.
I get unpatient and unhappy when things don't fall into place exactly as I hoped they would.
To get back the title of this blog, I need to learn to be able to be happy in the small deltas that occur in my life. I need to open my eyes to the perspective of a child and realize that going to get an ice cream cone truly is an exceptional and amazing thing. I should take pride in where I am in life and learn to see the bigger picture when it comes to my happiness.
For that same reason:
Shouldn't I be happy that I can open and close my hand?
Shouldn't I be happy that I can afford to feed myself?
Shouldn't I be happy that I have friends and family that love me?
Why shouldn't these things make me satisfied and appreciative of my life? Everyone doesn't have these "gifts" in life. And yet I take these things for granted constantly.
I get depressed because every girl doesn't think I am attractive.
I get unpatient and unhappy when things don't fall into place exactly as I hoped they would.
To get back the title of this blog, I need to learn to be able to be happy in the small deltas that occur in my life. I need to open my eyes to the perspective of a child and realize that going to get an ice cream cone truly is an exceptional and amazing thing. I should take pride in where I am in life and learn to see the bigger picture when it comes to my happiness.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Jon expressing his thoughts is like Ann Coulter and Al Franken having a sword battle in the nude.
I feel like there has been an absence in my life ever since I moved to San Francisco a month ago. Of course that can be explained by the fact that I am starting over with friends again, but it still feels very strange. In that I know other friends are blogging and that I have no real outlet for some of my more abstract and/or deeper thoughts, I think that a blog would be a great thing for me to start.
One of my biggest problems here is not finding things to do, it is having a friend that I know I can consistently count on. Between the people I know in the city and my roommates, I have been able to keep a busy schedule. There is still an occasional table for one, but I feel that I am past the point of not having something to do or someone to hang out with. I think that a huge part of that comes from the large amount of things going on in the bay area. Having friends that I can count on is an obstacle that has proven to be a little bit more difficult. I know that truly great friends don't grow in trees, but my truly great friends should know that my impatience helps in prodding myself into feeling this unease. It can probably be summed up by the feeling as if I am an outsider looking into my own life.
That thought is not to say that I am unhappy. I think I can be more happy in San Francisco than I ever could in Las Vegas. What that does say is that leaving Las Vegas was one of the best things for me to do. However, leaving my friends is one of the worst things I could have done. In Las Vegas, I was at a loss for thread, but it now becomes clear that my friends were the fabric of my life. You just can't make a warm quilt without fabric.
One of my biggest problems here is not finding things to do, it is having a friend that I know I can consistently count on. Between the people I know in the city and my roommates, I have been able to keep a busy schedule. There is still an occasional table for one, but I feel that I am past the point of not having something to do or someone to hang out with. I think that a huge part of that comes from the large amount of things going on in the bay area. Having friends that I can count on is an obstacle that has proven to be a little bit more difficult. I know that truly great friends don't grow in trees, but my truly great friends should know that my impatience helps in prodding myself into feeling this unease. It can probably be summed up by the feeling as if I am an outsider looking into my own life.
That thought is not to say that I am unhappy. I think I can be more happy in San Francisco than I ever could in Las Vegas. What that does say is that leaving Las Vegas was one of the best things for me to do. However, leaving my friends is one of the worst things I could have done. In Las Vegas, I was at a loss for thread, but it now becomes clear that my friends were the fabric of my life. You just can't make a warm quilt without fabric.
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