If Life Is Like The Star Wars Saga, I’m Apparently In The Empire Stage
Posted by: chilly17 in Daily Grind on January 3rd, 2012
Fuck midichlorians, my version of the force is more of a three-legged stool of awesomeness.
2011 was not a great time in Chillyville; I’m hoping this is just the critically (lauded and) important second stage of my adulthood where personal crises will eventually lead to victory parades and medals and shit. Like a Jedi-in-training, I find myself in unfamiliar environs dealing with issues (including the loss of extremities) that I’m currently ill-prepared for – I’m probably gonna find myself sleeping in the entrails of a tauntaun soon. The key difference between my situation and Empire is that, when living with an 82 year old lady, average room temperature in the house more closely approximates the surface of the sun than the ice planet Hoth.
Anyway, the only nugget I have gleaned here is: if you ever find yourself living in such a way that you have little to no responsibility, and just get to do whatever the fuck you choose pretty much all the time, don’t put yourself in a position where you suddenly have multiple responsibilities to multiple parties. Because, you will find that responsibility is quite a shock to the system after years of boozing/tv for like six hours a night. Such a shock that even jugs of Yellow Tail might lose much of their morale-boosting power.
Anyway, I feel that the dawn of 2012 is gonna start melting the proverbial carbonite (I have chosen to mix my metaphor). I have some ideas to turn that frown upside down (and maybe start generating some positive cash flow?) and might even detail my progress here for my seven faithful readers (and the thirteen other slutty ones). I have tried to take some time and figure out what I really want to try and accomplish, as to this point my trogging effort has been haphazard and sluggish at best. There’s still about 439 things I think I would be great at, but unfortunately, my only proven expertise remains playing foosball, giving nicknames, and getting large groups of people to walk pretty far for lunch (all difficult to monetize). (One positive note: two buddies and I totally had the idea for a Netflix-for-ties about a year ago, an idea that Taco recently appropriated on The League (a program that has grown on me). So there’s that – but kudos to Taco for calling it Neckflix, nice touch.)
Advances in Hospital Technology (Probably an ISRG product)
One thing that I did not know until recently – now, at select hospitals, when you go to the surgery waiting room they give you one of those vibrating polygonal light things like you get at fine restaurants like Olive Garden or Red Lobster. I think our Pavlovian response to these buzzers is probably pretty positive since the buzzing/flashing light is usually followed by the consumption of 14 cheese biscuits. The ones for surgeries are a little more sophisticated, of course – they have two lines of LCD text like an old school blackberry, and give updates like “surgery has started” and “surgery completed, patient did well and is in recovery room.” Seems like there would be some drawbacks to this device, though, if shit is going downhill – does it just say “patient died” if somebody expires on the table? Spares the doctor a trip to the waiting room? Maybe they should let some third party narrate the events XBox 360 style? ”Homeboy bleedin out!”? In five years they’ll probably just text you, so you’ll be free to hang out wherever you want while sweating out the surgery.
Later – much more coming soon, including a new entry in the Cars I’ve Owned: A Visual History series,
Chilly17
The Case Against: Songs Where People Just Talk About Their Day
Posted by: chilly17 in The Case Against: on December 1st, 2011
Little known fact: Suzanne Vega auditioned for the role of Elaine
(Editor’s Note: I started writing this six weeks ago, before my face had been splashed all over everywhere as one of “The 1%.” I got the email that my face was on The View and I prepared for my future life as a pundit, as surely they would want to hear from one of the folks they specifically requested explain their “actions” – to the extent that going to a fucking party is an “action” worthy of explanation. Of course, no one at The View responded to me, so here I am, still toiling as an unpaid internet hack. I guess punditry wasn’t in the cards – I could’ve fucking been taping I Love The 00s right now, but nooooo, I’m finishing this column.
Additional backstory (whether you like it or not): Chillyvile has undergone significant personal upheaval in recent weeks. I re-inherited my beloved dog (from an XSO’s Dad, don’t ask), which required me to fly to Milwaukee, drive to Memphis, get her used to me again, then drive to NYC. After a month in NYC, the aforementioned significant personal upheaval led me to rent yet another car and drive back to Arkansas, beloved dog in tow. I am now a man without a country, hanging out with my dad in the nursing home as much as possible to reduce some of the strain on my mom (not completely altruistic, also want her not to freak the fuck out about the fact there’s another dog in the house) and to enjoy the good days he has. So the happy-go-lucky days are somewhat a distant memory, but I’m gonna get back on top of shit. Right now I guess I’m gonna finish this, to the extent that I don’t boil in my own skin while drinking some Stump Jump. Friendly tip: do not drink red wine if the thermostat is controlled by an 82 year old.)
The original title of this post was going to be “I’ve Had Just About Enough of Bruno Mars” until I learned that he doesn’t sing the song that inspires homicidal vitriol in my heart. I’m in Memphis at the moment, via an early flight yesterday into Milwaukee to reclaim The Greatest Dog Ever (TGDE) followed by a drive through various and sundry midwestern states including Wisconsin (my least favorite accent in the U.S. and second only to Cockney for worst ever), Illinois (very polite with the construction signs – “there will be some barrels on the road in 4 miles” followed by “two miles to barrels” then “danger: approaching a couple orange barrels” and then, sure enough, two barrels, followed by “Thanks for not fucking speeding in this construction zone”), Missouri (pretty sure I caught some secondhand meth smoke as I crossed that Winter’s Bone bridge), Arkansas (where the damn day started) and then T-T-T-Tennessee. I’m pretty sure this isn’t proper paragraph construction as none of the follow-on sentences had anything to do with the opening.
(So I’ll go to the parenthetical – not just to talk about my heartland travel day, but because typing “parenthetical” gives me kind of a self-satisfied rush. Anyway, one recurring theme whenever I had to talk to someone today was that person’s fascination with what brought me to their fine state. It’s kind of an invasive question; I prefer to reveal stuff to strangers only in the murky anonymity of the internet. Explaining that you flew to get a dog and then were renting a series of one-way cars to decide where that dog would ultimately reside was a little too much for me to give the car rental lady. I did learn, however, that car rental ladies in Wisconsin don’t have a great capacity for processing obviously absurd answers like “came here to help a friend bury a dead hooker.” Lesson learned. I just went with “here to visit my uncle” for the next series of gas station attendants, toll booth operators, etc who were mystified by the presence of such an exotic foreigner in their midst.)
So I’ve been listening to a fair amount of regular old FM radio, which has loosened up somewhat from last year’s rigid “we play Katy, Gaga, Ke$ha and Rihanna, then somebody else, then start back over with more K,G,K and R” playlist. Now they play a whole range of stuff including Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Ke$ha, Katy Perry, Rihanna, Pitbull, Jason Derulo* and Lil Wayne (who I think is now just soliciting random strangers at the mall as guest rappers – call me, Lil!). But the one f*cking trend that I cannot stand is the song where people just talk about their day – and I mean just talk. I get that it’s a little hypocritical since I tend to like rap music – “Today Was A Good Day” is a classic – but it’s clear up front that rapping is basically just talking about one’s day in some kind of rhyming manner. But I cannot tolerate that Taylor Swift sh*t where she is talking about how the other chick wears short skirts and she wears jeans or whatever – not just for the idiotic lyrics, but Taylor Swift is supposed to be this amazing vocal talent and I don’t get it.
Anyway, there are several examples of this phenomenon that I could cite, but I hate them so much that I just change the station. There is one that stands above all others though – I will not name it since it’s the (supposedly) lyrical equivalent of inciting Beezlebub. The one that starts with “I had a really, really messed up week.” (If you don’t know it, and hear it come on, I suggest somehow muffling the sound for the next four minutes to prevent aneurysm.) I don’t know who sings it (I’m stunned it’s not Bruno Mars though, I hate “The Lazy Song” as well and thought it was the same guy as that piece of sh*t.) There are songs that make you change the station or maybe turn down the volume; this song makes me turn off the radio and pull over in the nearest open area; I have to pace like an expectant parent for a few minutes to get the hatred out of my system. Again, I won’t go into detail about how awful this fucking thing is, but it’s got so many ridiculous “this song is right now” conventions to it – mentions Zach Galifianakis, Twitter**, California Dimes***. Words are not the appropriate medium to express my detestation. Fuck I hate it.
Anyway, there’s only one song that can get away with the whole “I’m a singer, but I’m just gonna talk about what I did today and you can do fuck all about it.” As everyone in the fucking world knows, that song is “Tom’s Diner.” More on that later.
* What the fuck is up with Jason Derulo and that whole “Jjjjjjjjason Derulo” effect in every one of his songs? Does anybody else make their name a sound effect thing like that? It’s like that Playstation noise, except much more annoying. Although, if I ever get a guest rapper gig, I’m definitely getting the “Chchchchchillllyyy Seventeen” effect.
** Okay, the song doesn’t really mention Twitter, it’s “quit her” but it’s close enough for me to hate it even more for not going there when I guarantee the first 875 drafts of the lyrics had “Twitter” in there.
** I’m cool with the objectification of women (or men, for that matter), in general. But the concept of localized rankings is annoying – if there’s a scale, it should be universal. Not “Vegas 10″ just “10.” And “dime” is stupid slang for “10″ – dime is already widely recognized as “assist” so fuck off with that jargon. It isn’t the BCS, there shouldn’t be regional debate. Objectify nationally, volunteer locally.
Later,
Chilly17 aka .01
How I Unwittingly Became The Face of Wall Street Greed and Corruption
Posted by: chilly17 in Pop Culture on October 17th, 2011
Apparently I picked a bad day to stop wearing mesh shorts exclusively
I went to an engagement party.
That’s pretty much it.
I mean, I figured eventually the ladies of The View would be calling me out for something, but thought it would more likely be, for example, when my idea for a craps table with built-in urinals took off. I’m pretty good at leaning on stuff, and I’m really good at drinking, so I thought any televised leaning/drinking exploits would be looked at in a more positive light. Apparently, leaning/drinking and looking downward at a mass of people that have suddenly marched onto the street was an unnecessary flaunting of my privileged, son-of-a-truck-driver-with-poor-financial-acumen social status.
Let me revisit the sequence of events that led to that woman on Whoopi’s left likening this party to one of Marie Antoinette’s legendary soirees. A good friend recently got engaged, and in a shocking and extravagant manner, the newly betrothed couple decided to invite their friends and family to celebrate said engagement at a nice restaurant. (I did not know this practice was only customary for people who work on Wall Street, but judging from the shocked look on the hosts’ faces above – “OMG people in jackets and dresses smiling and drinking during the day!” -it must be.)
Being that 2011 is apparently the year of extreme weather in every season – with fall being no exception – many attendees (which, to my knowledge did not include the heads of any major investment banks or hedge funds) chose to enjoy their cocktails on the balcony. (There were appetizers as well, but given the moral outrage that the mere sight of people drinking on a balcony caused – I am hesitant to reveal any details of the food that was also available on a balcony.) At some point – I’m going to guess I was on drink number four – a bunch of protestors showed up on the street below the restaurant. I know it sounds irrational, but I – and some other “swells” – could not resist walking the three feet to the balcony’s ledge to see what was going on.
At this point, basically no one had heard of Occupy Wall Street. There were some interesting signs and a little bit of the 99% chant, if I recall correctly, as the group coalesced into a semi-organized mass, conveniently right below the restaurant. (I’m not really following the 99% thing, though. Is it supposed to mean that 1% of the people in the country control the economy and you’re pissed that it’s impacting you in such a manner? If it is, isn’t that more a political issue? I don’t think it’s based on taxes paid, either, which would make more sense to me, if it’s a financial issue. Anyway, I guess it’s catchy. I have some experience in activism myself – I got Gristedes to change the price of Arriba salsa storewide from an absurd $7.99 to a still-absurd-but-it’s-Gristedes-and-it’s-the-only-place-that-has-Arriba $5.99 with just a couple emails to corporate.) We waved at some people, checked out what was going on; I didn’t really get an animosity vibe from the crowd and i suspect they got only a curiosity vibe from we, the balcony people (although if they really only had peanut butter and sh*tty veggie pizza that first day, they probably should’ve revolted to get some of our food). I finished my drink, went inside for another (the true error in judgment was probably allowing me access to an open bar) and forgot all about the “encounter.”
Then the next day someone posted the video on youtube – as I said, I didn’t get any hostile vibe at all during the actual five minutes that I was “looking down on the crowd”, but whoo-boy were the youtube commenters a different story. “You should’ve firebombed the f*cking place!” and “Id have shot everyone in the throat and had sex with they’re corpse” and “that gray-haired f*cker has a big nose!” (Note: I’m all for making fun of people on the internet – hell, that’s one of my (money-losing) jobs – but I think suggesting the mass murder of a bunch of people you don’t know might signal a need for some internal reflection, or least a reduction in the amount of Red Bull consumed.) Frankly, it’s pretty amazing how quickly a few graphic death threats can tarnish the memory of a nice celebration.
I resisted the urge to comment on that youtube video and forgot about it again. Then I got an email from an Italian friend and somehow that image above (could have been the entire video, not sure from screen grab he sent) made it to the website of Italy’s biggest paper. I had to wonder if my unphotogenic nature was somehow giving this image legs, like that one of Katy Perry without makeup? Then I forgot about that, too, and have been in Arkansas helping with my dad for a couple of weeks, and then Saturday someone sent me this:
Whoopi: call me, happy to discuss as you suggested. I suspect you’ll be disappointed at the divergence from the presumed narrative, as my lofty status in life is largely due to the considerable points I’ve racked up on my Qdoba Rewards card. I won’t bore the seven regular readers of this site with a replay of my life story, but I’ve worked in a Tyson turkey processing factory with a bunch of Sling Blade types, spent some time sleeping in my car after failing out of college (Nissan 280ZX – surprisingly comfortable to sleep in, except for the fact that it somehow gets to be twenty degrees colder than the outside temperature), and toiled at the lowest ranks of the U.S. Navy. Poke around this site if you want more details – but I’m happy to play Costanza to any Andrea Dorea survivors who want to compare notes on background. Several of my friends literally laughed at loud at the idea of Chilly, child of privilege.
I did, obviously, catch many incredibly lucky breaks later on in life; I would love to say it was just intelligence, a winning personality and hard work that put me in the position to succeed. But a whole bunch of it was just good fortune and taking a modest chance here and there. After being laid off in late 2008 I’ve spent a lot of time having fun and trying my own ventures that have ranged from disappointing to wildly unsuccessful, so I’ll likely be working for the man again someday soon. It probably won’t be on Wall Street, as the Silver Fox look really only works for senior Managing Directors, not mid-level scrubs. (And if I were to become a victim of mob vengeance, I have to think the mob would be sorely disappointed in their selection after reviewing my bank statements. Likely epitaph: “They got the wrong guy. This motherf*cker’s broke.”)
But for clarity’s sake, at this particular party, there were certainly some financial types in attendance – think Associate level, not Jamie Dimon level – but also many people who work in IT, teaching, non-profits, etc. I’m not sure why anyone would begrudge a 27-28 year old their job on Wall Street; generally anyone in that position has made significant lifestyle compromises to get that position in the first place (worked hard in high school to get into good college, in college to get offer, and then once on the job the first 3-4 years are fairly brutal). And not everyone who works on the Street is out synthesizing CDOs or creating other crazy derivative bets – at each institution there were probably only a handful of folks responsible for the mortgage mess; I didn’t know any of them at my firm.
As I said, I’m happy to go on The View and discuss the party and any other issues you want to talk about, like how much money bankers really make (hint: you aren’t rolling around Scrooge McDuck style for a long time) versus how crappy the lifestyle is, which tie brands are acceptable for meetings and how many days per week the average banker has foie gras for breakfast. You have my info sent via email.
Later,
Chilly17
(P.S. I’m the dude in that picture above, just in case it wasn’t clear. I don’t know what’s up with that picture though, looks like I’m somehow parting my hair on both sides. I have no explanation, but am considering wearing a football helmet when outside from here on out.)
(Edited to add: I revised this post several times, and am still not too all that happy with how it turned out. Wanted to maintain my trademark* “I’m an asshole” style, but I am also somewhat sympathetic with the protesters; also didn’t want to sound apologetic, as I/we didn’t do anything worthy of an apology. I have, however, been saying for years that the ridiculous costs of going to even state schools are likely going to be a bigger problem than even the mortgage crisis going forward – the benefit is likely to come up well short of the investment – and the average OWS participant is pretty young. I field a decent number of questions about college/grad school decisions, and I almost always have the same response – you need to try and figure out what is a likely/realistic return on your investment and see if that return justifies such an investment. Eventually, undergraduate degrees aren’t even going to make sense for everyone, just too damn expensive if state schools are going to run you close to $100k in loans. Since most jobs end up being mostly sales gigs in the long run, what’s the huge benefit of a four year degree, as long as you understand your products?
My secondary point, which is hard to glean from the text above but becomes more apparent if you peruse some of my older posts, is that I likely have more in common with the typical Occupy Wall Street protester than the people they are protesting. Did I eventually have a pretty good job and make good money for a few years before getting canned? Yes. Did I pay a sh*t-ton of taxes (single, no dependents, owned nothing)? Yes. Did I give to charity? Yes (but Operation Smile – you are f*cking pushing it. I gave you money, I obviously know you exist: please quit mailing me four packets per week – and these days address labels aren’t all that helpful!) Did I waste (opinions vary – I still hold that spreading multiple awful bets across the craps table is more therapeutic than -EV and everybody needs to have a few drinks now and then) most of the modest excess money I made? Yes. No regrets, everybody needs to do what they need to do. But 23 years ago, I was in a pretty similar situation – few options, none of them particularly attractive. I ended up on the right end of a bunch of coin flips, things pretty much went my way. That doesn’t mean I don’t recall how sh*tty it was before things turned positive.
I applaud the OWS protesters for making a dent – people asked me about this non-stop at home, even those that didn’t know I used to work on Wall Street, so awareness is very high. But given the young age of the average protester, I would probably caution against putting all chips in on long-term change. Affecting political/policy change takes somewhere near forever, there is a danger of losing prime years in the shuffle – need to simultaneously try to make inroads under current systems. Despite the terrible economy, it has never been easier to try your own thing – f*ck, these days you can start your own gig with little more than a $10/month hosting fee, a good idea and some hard work. (I’m not a great example of this, but will keep trying. I did score over $5 last month!))
*also the trademark of everyone else on the internet
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