Single Digits

This morning's weather for my run along the East River was in the single digits. At one point, I was wishing that I was a duck. There they were just floating on the river. No clothes. No thermal gear, no beanie with a tassle. Just them and their feathers. I wasn't sure what kind of ducks they were as I wasn't able to get a good look at them due to needing to continually look straight ahead. Turning your head when you're that cold requires the whole body turning, Freinkenstein-like, and that was something that I was not prepared to do. Not when a gust could suddenly go down my shirt.

My East River running partner told me yesterday that he is changing offices and will no longer be coming to the City. Instead, he will be staying in Jersey. Have I told you about my ability to avoid Jersey? Maybe another time, but those jug handles irk me and you don't want to see me irked. I kind of resemble a pigeon when I'm irked. Well, it looks as if my morning Manhattan runs are over. No way I can do those by myself. I'd rather be running on a treadmill watching Sportscenter.

Anyways, I'm not feeling it. This hasn't been an amusing session.

488

12 miles to go before I hit the magic 500 mile marker on my shoe odometer. For those not familiar with running, 500 miles is when the internal components of a shoe begin to break down. In other words, I have 12 more miles and then these shoes are going to the Boys and Girls Club bin on Central Ave. Now I've had many, many shoes and I've hit 500 miles on all of them. It doesn't take that long as I'm running between 100 and 200 miles a month. Although I did have that phase where I had this strange compulsion to go to the running store every other weekend and I ended up with five pairs of running shoes, each with under 100 miles. I still have four pairs of those. It's tough to hit 500 miles when you're rotating shoes every day.

Anyways, this pair is special. As a matter of fact, as I sit here thinking about these shoes (Asics Gel Kayano Xs), I'm a bit melancholy. I might even have an Interpol song going through my head. Usually, any of you could call me a girl if I spouted off about some song that meant something special to me (something that has never happened btw), but in this case you cannot. I don't pay attention to lyrics. None. It's all about the beat and the sound. I could care less what some dude is crying about. If he's singing about his pet rock that he used to bash his girlfriend's head in or about how some guy broke his heart, it's all the same. The only differentiator is the sound. Anyways, as I'm thinking about the impending retirement of my AGKXs, the 2nd song on Antics is going through my head. Good beat.

So let's talk about this particular pair of AGKXs, as I've had more than one pair. They are orange, which strangely, is one of my more favorite colors. For having no soul, I seem to like bright things. Very odd. Maybe I'm hoping that the shoes will rub off on me. This pair is the pair that I Boston Qualified in two years ago. I didn't run Boston in them as I was seduced by this hot pair of Mizunos. I shouldn't have given in. They were just eye candy and gave me blisters. So, they have a special place in my, wherever my heart would have been. Should I save them in remembrance of the fastest marathon I've ever run? Will that be the pinnacle of my marathoning career?

Forget it, they're going in the mice infested trash can under the stoop.

Pow Pow

I can't wait for the first time I catch my son doing something really wrong. I've waited my entire life to say, "Son, go cut yourself a switch." Parents are still allowed to whip their kids, right?

SF Bound

But don't tell my present employer. I'm waiting for just the right moment to spring that one on them. They'll be devastated I'm sure. And totally surprised. Now to figure out this logistical nightmare. Anyone have a huge truck? Free flights for L & Z? I'm begging at this point. I'll even paint myself blue and ride through downtown naked on a horse.

I Am

not VTOL. I am PTC, as in PassTheChips (which will be my new gamertag whenever I get another Xbox - damn Microsoft not wanting to fix my current Xbox. So what if I had opened it up? Your lousy 90 day warranty had expired about 45 months ago. The only reason I will be getting a 360 is because I have a hell of a lot of original Xbox games that I still want to play.). Where I got this moniker, is a long and boring story, kind of like how I was going to nickname Zane JJ. D Y N O M I T E!! Needless to say, I like chips, I don't put a lot of thought into nicknames, and my mind wanders. A lot. Now, go off and continue to be bored reading something else.

And Just To Be Fair

If I were president, I wouldn't illegally spy on Americans, wouldn't trash the constitution, wouldn't condone torture, would clean up corruption, would curb spending, would stop borrowing, would ditch most of the religious right's nutty social agenda, would fire Rumsfeld, would actually show an interest in things other than clearing brush in my desolate part of Texas, and would answer honest questions and provide honest answers without spin rehearsing for two weeks prior. Worst president ever, quite possible. This coming from someone who voted for him twice and is as far to the Goldwater right as Kos is to the left.

"If I were president...

I'd disband the military entirely." Never has such drivel from such a wannabe intellectual who wants nothing more than to be taken seriously and to make a difference made me laugh louder at work. That's a lot of caveats, but I like to cma. It's a nice sentiment and maybe that's where that person was going with his comment, but think about the consequences before you spout off nonsense. Another reason I cannot take the far left seriously. I still read them. The things they aspire to are noblesque and the ways they want to reach them leave me in stitches.

PXVZP

I won't be needing Prozac, Xanax, Valium, Zoloft, or Paxil after all. My anxiety/panic attack about my running capabilities appears to be much ado about nothing. I can run after all. It just appears that I actually need to run in order to build up my muscles. Very wierd concept. You'd figure that if you ran comfortably fast at one point, you'd be able to run comfortably fast forever regardless of training. Ah, the young and deluded. We just don't learn. And if anyone comments about how I'm not so young any more, give me a call because I have a special gesture and phrase just for you. I'm not sure it's even found here, but it could be. (By the way, I've never been more excited about a book in my life. Even Liz likes it. It belongs in all personal libraries. It's that cool.)

Too Much Too Soon?

I've run three times over the past 10 days for a total of 10 miles and my ITBs are already sore??? I'm breaking down more quickly than I thought. Good thing I have those amazing metabolism genes.

What's Wrong with Foie Gras?

Absolutely nothing and yet when a plate of foie gras terrine came to the table last night, no one would eat it except for myself and one other. Let them have their hummus, their lobster, their chorizo. I'll take the buttery, engorged duck liver goodness. I can still taste it. Mmmmmmm. Terrine is good, but what I wouldn't do for seared foie gras. Now that is heaven. Looks like I need to drop some hints to the next vendor. Just kidding. I wouldn't do that. Pass the envelope please.

On the Road Again

Well, not exactly. It was more like the treadmill. Three miles. First time in three or four months that I've run. It felt good to stretch my legs doing something other than trying to reach for the remote with my toes. I could bore you all with how my chest felt (bad) or how slow I was going (9:15 pace) or even how the multiple signs posted in the locker room banning the use of cell phones due to men taking pictures of naked men for their after-gym viewing pleasure kind of skeeved me out, but I won't. Let's talk about genetics.

I've been the first to complain about how screwed I've been due to my parents choosing that particular moment to mix their genes together to form me. If they'd have waited an hour or two, I'm sure that I'd be 6'3, 190, with the ability to jump, a genius, and better looking than I already am. Seriously, where did these eyebrows come from. It's like I have a giant fuzzy caterpillar on my forehead. Well, if I'm going to complain about the things I've been batsued with, I might as well do the noble thing and brag about those things I've been blessed with. Actually, it's not things, just a thing and before you think that I'm just a dirty little 32 year old, it's not that thing. You guys are seriously ill. I wouldn't talk about Wilbur on a family site like this.

So my blessing is my metabolism. Before I ran the other day, I stepped on the scale, like I always do, but hadn't done in 3.5 months. I was nervous. What had the holidays done to me? What had my inactivity done to me? My pants were definitely snug. Please, not 160. Please not 160. I was at 151 the last time I ran. My ideal racing weight is 148. So what did all of those tamales, menudo, gravy (I drink it straight from the boat sometimes it's so delicious), and more candy than I care to think about at the moment do to me? Three pounds. I weighed in at 154 and this was after lunch. I almost started to cry. I was so happy. So thank you mom and dad for this magical gift. I seriously appreciate it.

To All My Friends With a Net Worth of Over $10 million

Private Banking is the business of the day. For some reason, a very large wealth management institution is very interested in me becoming a private banker. Now, if you've seen my resume, and you probably have because I like to hand it out at dinner parties and boy am I a dinner party kind of guy, you'll be scratching your head right about now. Let's see, technology, supply chain, customer service, ..., ..., ... . Nope, don't see any finance. Let's check his education. Political science, Japanese, business, strategy, economics, ..., ..., ... . Nope, no finance. So how does this experience turn into private banking? Is this very large Swiss organization secretly profiling me at the networking events I've been going to? What about my blog? If so, they know I'm a great communicator. I mean seriously, is there any doubt about my verbal and linguistic skills? It is all very mysterious.

So I went to the first round of interviews. Two guys, one in the business and one HR. I gotta tell you, that I was on fire. I'm not sure what happened. My stuttering went away. I never said um. I was the King. All that buildup of communication jujitsu came out in one huge burst. I just hope I have something left for the interviews that I really care about.

Yes, I have been invited to the second round. Yes, I'm going. Yes, I'm still puzzled. I even asked what exactly they saw in my resume. I mean, it is dazzling, but it's not finance dazzling. Maybe that super nice paper that Liz made me print them on had something to do with it.

So people. All of you with a net worth of over $10 million, make sure we keep talking. Supposedly this fine Swiss institution has the secret to 8% annual returns, with a sigma of 3. Now that is impressive. I'm clueless about finance, but looking at my investments over the past 10 years, I'd kill for 8% annualized. Maybe I can just have them give me the secret and then I'll be on my merry way.

Spaaa-iiicyyyyy

As you can tell, my mind and hence my writing, wander quite a bit. I've written about running, the subway, politics, school, and now food and drink. Red Bull probably wasn't the best way to introduce my new topic, but like I said, my mind wanders. My organizational skills are lacking. I sure hope that I remembered to delete this site from my email signature. "Hi, I'm looking for a job. Here's my bad ass resume. Oh, ignore that link at the bottom. Look, I'm running a $125 million business. Beavers, what? Hey, over here. Stern MBA. Much suffering for learning's sake. Let me draw you a picture of one of the 100 frameworks I've learned about. Wait, wait, that wasn't me wiping my butt with my bare hand. It was someone else. I know EQUATIONS. EQUATIONS!" Crap, struck down by the online gods again. Speaking of which. One more droll recruiting anecdote before I start to talk about why I'm really here, which isn't just to ramble.

Yes, I'm going through the recruiting process. I like my job. I'm not dissatisfied with it, but you never know what's out there until you go out there and Stern does one thing fairly well. Networking and recruiting for experienced professionals. So I went to one of those events and am schmoozing, telling every recruiter there how exciting his/her company is and how I'm such a great match and have skills to die for. Basically lying for two straight hours. You get the picture. Make lots of contacts and then follow up the next day with resume submissions, phone calls, etc. Fun you might think. Not really, but this is what I've been programmed to do. Well, I receive a reply back from one of the recruiters and he is very interested to continue our discussion (of course he is - I just made myself out to look like a demi-god). Well, when I open his email, I'm wondering why within his reply is another email I had sent to a different recruiter from a different firm. You guessed it. Gmail chaining. It's a known bane, but in my eagerness to show that I would be responding within the requisite 24 hours, I must not have noticed that little detail. Yes, I was sheepish. Particularly because these two recruiters represent two very different companies, both of which are under the impression that I am only for them. Not anymore. At least one of them knows that I am what in recruiting terms is defined as a (cover your eyes small children) job prostitute. I'm not picky. Just give me the money and I'll take you higher than you've ever been. Unless you've done heroin. Which I haven't.

Ok. That was exhausting. Do I really want to go into the reason why I initially felt my muse coming on? Not really. Time to start the day. I'll get back to you in two weeks. As a reminder to myself, as well as a teaser for all of my adoring fans, I'll just tell you that my next post will be about silky smooth goodness, with a little habanero thrown in for good measure.

Red Bull

is ill. I've heard people sing its praises, but that might be because they are mixing it with alcohol. I guess beer goggles apply to taste as well. This stuff is nasty. And it was $2.99. Dad, I'm not sure why you drink this stuff. Just get a Dr. Pepper or a Mountain Dew if you need a caffeine rush. Soda is 50% less and actually tastes good. Red Bull tastes like really bad cough syrup.

Delicious Pie for Celiacs

Favorite ad ever.

Consecutive Day Surprise

If I could wrap this gem in a bow and hand it to you I would. People have come to expect twice a month entries and I've tried not to mess with those expectations, but today is a special day. It's consecutive post surprise day, something I haven't done in a long long while. Why is it consecutive post surprise day? It's the day prior to five days without work or school. I'm going to sleep, play with Zane, play with Liz, and try not to use my brain. It will be wonderful.

Ok, so aside from my witty remarks above, I do have something to say. I've been considering switching sides. Not in a gay way, but in a political way. I've been a libertarian, anything goes political junkie, for quite some time. The problem is that even though anything goes, this side of the political spectrum is quite boring and with me, it's all about entertainment. If I never read a right-wing blog again, it will be too soon. Sure, they are right, but damn, they are dull. Trolling over at Kos, Eschaton, the Rude Pundit, etc and hot holy hell am I laughing my tookus off. Seriously, these people have fun with their politics.

I want to stomp my feet, wave my hands in the air, froth at the mouth and scream. That's my definition of fun. Sitting in the library coldly typing about the theory behind why the individual is the most important entity in politics is ... wait, I'm searching ... still searching ... don't feel like opening a thesaurus, but don't want to use dull or boring again. Well, you get the point.

Wait, dreary. That's a good word and yes, I cheated. And just so you know, I have gone to the wingers' blogs, where they do like a good hoedown, but I can't stand the stupidity, the illogic, and overall obtuseness. I need intelligent mania.

Ok. My muse has left me. It must be this conference call that I'm on that is headed into its fourth hour. This call and the right definitely have something in common. Kos, here I come. Pass me a sombrero.

Two Slices

Toasted of course. Yes, I had a delicious sandwich the other day. Two slices of toasted gluten-free bread, with deli-sliced turkey, mayo, spicy mustard, two kinds of cheese and lettuce. Never has a sandwich been so good.

I don't really remember if I've mentioned that I have Celiac Disease. Basically, it's an allergy to all things containing gluten. That means wheat, barley, rye, and oats. Let me break it down. That means, no pasta, no bread, no pizza, no Key Lime pie, no German Chocolate cake, no oatmeal with fresh honey, no twice baked cookies, no delightful chicken parm' heroes from Smiling Pizza in Park Slope, no meatloaf sandwiches that my Grandma Egerer has perfected. Essentially, my diet sucks.

Well, yesterday, I had a little bit of heaven. Liz has always been very aware of my disdain for all of the imitation products that act like delicious gluten-containing foods, but that I've very loudly stated taste like kaka. Liz found a bread for me that doesn't taste like kaka. I'm crying now. I wish you could see it.

89

The fact that this site has gone from a hardcore running diary to a complaining session has not gone unnoticed by myself. Well, now we're switching gears. This has now become the refrigerator report card. Yes, I received a very unexpected 89 on my Corporate Finance mid-term, well above the mean. This is funny to me as I haven't really understood what's going on in that class until the past week and a half when I actually started reading the book and using the frameworks...for a different class. I've come to realize that Stern does know what it's doing when it sets up its curriculum. I've even begun to use accounting and although I'll never be a fan, I have seen glimpses of the beauty that is a financial statement. Ah, Monte Carlo. I need to go there sometime.

Dance Little Sheep

I'm not posting this picture for any other reason than my site looks very bland. As you might know, I'm blandness's biggest enemy. If something is bland, be it food, a book, scenery, school, music, whatever, then I'm going to go to war. Literally. If Liz is cooking chili and I reach in for a taste test and it's bland. Out comes the red pepper. (Don't tell her, please.) If a class is bland, I'm bound to take a little nap, with my eyes open of course. I've perfected the technique.

Financial Statement Analysis - bland - sleep time.
Corporate Finance - somewhat bland - sleep time during figuring out the beta of debt, but waking up for real options
Competitive Strategy - lectures - bland - sleep time. Presentations while the crazy red-socked professor, who told us he likes to smoke a joint Friday nights on his porch in East Hampton, rips the presentors to shreds - not so bland, almost entertaining.
History of Finance taught by an Oxford professor - spicy, riveting - no sleep. Immigration will solve all our woes and the death of globalization is nigh.

Anyways, blandness is bad. Anything but boredom. I would have made a great emperor. Now dance.

This Is Not The End

I'm sorry if I scared some of you and made you cry by my previous post. I'm not abandoning my blog. I wouldn't do that to such a treasure. Liz, Zane, and VTOLing are all up there at the top of the importance list. Work, baaaa! School, double ba baaaa! VTOLing, I love you. You are my soul's retreat.

So I've been reading mindless drivel before I get my usual four hours of sleep. Just finished the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, the Unbeliever. I read those books when I was a kid. Gotta tell you, I was a smart kid, with a big time D & D imagination. I remember one time wishing that the pie tin that was sitting in my backyard was a spaceship that would whisk me away to a place full of wizards, dragons, and fair maidens. I think I stood wishing, staring out of the back window of my house on LaDonna for a full 45 minutes. I think this was after I set fire to my neighbor's house. Yes, I was and still am disturbed.

V E N G E A N C E!!!