Tricky Wondalund…

I love 80’s pop songs. Listening to Boy Meets Girl’s “Waiting for a star to fall” brings me back to the era of excesses, simple happiness and how it was so easy to write lyrics full of hope that didn’t sound cheesy. Well, cheese was good back then. It was really the 90’s where all of sudden, the whole world was screwed, nothing was worth living for. I am definitely thinking of Superchunk’s Slack Motherfucker here. I love that track too by the way. There was definitely a period in my life where I considered myself far too cool and original to like teen pop. Suddenly Slack motherfucker and Nirvana’s Smells like Teen Spirit became the soundtrack of my life.

And what now? I am caught up in a web of finance and consulting interviews (gosh) and all i can do is sit here and write a blog about it. If there was ever inertia, you are looking at it. Interviews in this climate are tough. Suddenly, it is not good enough to be you, one has to prove it. Hence, post-interviews, I find myself having to write up investment thesis and crack financial models — because interviewers these days “want to see how your mind works”. Hey dude, this is a great mind here, that’s right…you are looking at the greatest mind on the planet. Never mind that I live on the planet where the apes live but hey, in the land of the blind, the one eye man is god. that’s me. but somehow, such a sales pitch doesn’t get me very far. So, i am back to cracking financial models and writing investment thesis to show how this mofo of a superior mind works. Nicee…

And…waiting for a star to fall. Carry the world into my arms, that’s where you belong in my arms baby…the song that sings to heart. How true. How easy. How unlike a financial model or an investment thesis.

Oh dreaded economy, what has thou done?

Above it all, it’s not so bad to be sitting at a cafe, staring at the streaming crowds that go past and plonk in digits on my keypad. Life could be a lot worst. I havent fully convinced myself of that statement yet, but I soon will.

I can’t even begin to describe how trying these times are for all, in particular, for me. In a recent conversation I had, I have been told that my general sadness and malady is a direct consequence of “dealing with loss”. In consultant-speak, it’s a triage of facts - I lost my job, I lost my apartment and I lost love. In banker-speak, its called “getting fucked” in any manner possible. On good days, I think positive and consultant-speak sounds good, on bad days (which is most days in my case), I feel every bit like the tiny banker that has been thumbed down by the economy, politics and life in general.

Losing a job is something that one can see coming, losing one’s apartment and having to move in with the parentals is humilating, but losing love is quite another thing. While losing 2 of the 3 things can be explained away by external circumstances which one cannot account for in one’s life model, losing love is one of those things where I cannot seem to get over the fundemental question, “What the hell went wrong?! Is it me?!” and this is personal; it’s not the economy, it’s not your boss, it’s not the other person, it’s me. And that’s scary, if not hurtful.

Being over 30, feeling like life ought to be heading somewhere, I am all of sudden left feeling like I have been dumped in the middle of the highway, trying to flag down Harley-Davidson bikers just to hitch a ride to nowhere. Meandering. My girlfriends have been nothing but kind, I get daily sms messages about staying strong, staying focused and trying to remember how my life is better by being alone. Alone. That’s harsh. I never figured me for an alone kind of gal. Until now. Flash forward and I see myself, 35, sitting down to a champagne brunch with other “like-minded”, similarly made-single women remarking how competing for a love franchise against 25-year-old nubiles is hopeless and that we all have “fantastic careers” and it was a personal choice to be “alone”. Life is great. But of course, what other way could it possible be?! I fill the void and gaping hole in my heart by purchasing Chanel bags on a regular basis. Perhaps, by this time, I will not be one of those women that need to wait 1 year for their Birkin bag to be made and shipped. I would have amassed such high amounts of social equity with the Hermes staff that I get bragging rights to getting my Birkin bag in under 3 months. 

The hypothetical scenarios are endless. The best one being I ebay auction my sorry ass and see what sort of marriage proposals I get. Tons of fun in the sun. I can imagine my advertisement to read as the following: 

Highly successful female, with clean habits and good sense of humour searching for equally successful male, with clean habits and good sense of humour. Cute and can bake a mean pie. 

Break it down to bite-sized pieces and we realize the idea of “The One” can be categorized into buckets of clean habits, humour, good dress sense, social graces and intelligence. And of course, the perennial whacked assumption of timing. Timing is everything. You could be a world-class ballerina and he a gas-station attendant and if the timing is right, magical things happen. It’s rude, because everything that womens’ magazines tell you about creating the value proposition about “strength, independence, self-confidence” is a lie. The biggest single factor to getting anywhere in this love franchise is timing. I know that now. I feel like I have come full circle just to learn that. Everything else, is a waste of time. I could be a pumpkin and if the timing is right, it wouldn’t matter. All the rest (skills, personality, looks) is icing on the cake.

I am learning to be flexible in this downturn. This flexibility extends to all facets of life, including being flexible to meet new people, to try new things, to take a reduced salary and a different role from what I thought I wanted to do. Someone remarked to me “everyone is breaking up. i wonder why?” I have the answer to the holy grail. It’s the damn recession — people have lost all hope and if one is not happy, it’s really hard to be happy with someone else. It’s even harder if one has no money to go on dates. Somehow, love-on-skype is not as charming in practice. 

Right now, I don’t want to have to hear another word about being single is great. And how you can live life by your own rules. Of course, the same individuals who are proponents of this nonsense are in every sense, looking to get out of it. If it wasn’t true, explain to me why people subject themselves to speed dating or dinner-in-the-dark? We are single only by virtue of hoping to get out of singlehood, until the next best thing comes along. mark my words, it’s true. underlying it all, is trade-off analysis. Eating with someone is far more fun than eating alone in front of the telly. And if you don’t have a telly like me, you end up sharing a dinner plate with Moo-moo, the stuffed toy cow. We get along great, it’s hysterical.

I read somewhere that one has to go through several steps to overcome grief. The first step is usually Disbelief, that something so traumatic can happen. The second step is Acceptance, that really bad things do happen and the final step is Coping. I think I am past disbelief right now and nowhere near acceptance but on all counts, I still have the support of my friends, Moo-moo and my cactus, Luis. I have been told my derisive humour is dry acceptance, after all, if I can make jokes, it can’t be that bad? When I do get to the stage of auctioning myself off, I’ll let you know.

Lily allen got it right — everyone’s at it. Welcome prozac nation! But I am really ok. Life isn’t that bad. I still have nice clothes.

I know being unemployed in this day and age is really NOT a big deal. Some say it’s great. It’s apparantly rejuvenating. In good times, people take sabbaticals, in bad times, people take no-pay leave or voluntary severance. But if you ask me, being jobless is pervasive and can be detrimental to one’s mental health, emotional well-being and mathematical intelligence (read: ability to make fast math calcs in one’s brain). It lowers the opportunity cost of a human being’s most important resource - Time.

All of sudden, I find myself waking up in the mornings, thinking about well…taking a job, going to the gym, perhaps reading the paper over coffee, musing over the latest Fed plans on the fiasco of a financial bailout. It has come to the point where my opportunity cost of time is so low, that I am basically reading exclusive articles covering the history of Tim Geithner. In a normalized world, would i really care that he is a publicity phobe, or that he ever made comments that women are less developed in math and science capabilities? I am thumbing through You tube videos, sent by well-meaning friends to cheer me up, seeing 30 sec flip shots of Hilary Clinton kissing Obama instead of Bill - it is supposed to be funny and clever. I have become an internet voyeur in response to my apparant increase in time.

An article in the recent Economist said that given these recessionary times, people have become more polite. Certainly, I find myself having to be more conciliatory, and put on my best suit and my best smile to have coffee with the many investors that I used to mingle with on a professional basis. And so polite I am, that I try not to blanch overtly when they say things like, “Sorry. The markets are really bad, we are not even looking at making investments this year, much less increase headcount.” Smile, smile, smile.

My opportunity cost of time has become so low that I spend the day formulating social behaviour theories that link Tim Harfords “the Logic of Life” to the now-hit movie, “He’s just not so into you”. Hah! So, an excerpt of my thoughts:

Underlying the end results of “He’s just not so into you” type of male responses to women connudrums such as “Why didnt he call after our date?” or “Why doesnt he say I love you often enough?” lies rational motivation. Millions of mechanical thought processes later, I really do believe in the power of revealed preferences and what and how people’s actions display is really a result of their underlying emotional motivations and preservation of self-interest. Meaning, if some guy does indeed say I Love You enough and voluntarily probably is very self-interested to be committed to a relationship (read: maybe he is done with random dates and meeting unfulfilling women). In business school, we often make the joke of a man’s option value expiring, and this is simply cashing in one’s option as you know that one’s market value will probably fall in the future, or has come to a complete stagnant point. Future growth (one’s ability to play the field) has just ceased to exist. Women who allow men to constantly give excuses for their “poor” behaviour (as all is relative), secretly know that they probably have few options, else, why would one stay in a destructive and possibly debilitating situation? Ok, the psychologists are probably flipping out now, because god knows, all sorts of human beings enjoy being victims, through no fault of their own…yeah…whatever. Of course we need to examine relative and perceived lack of choices. Victims probably reckon they have very little market value, and hence are willing to cave for a lot more crap.

In any case, in reading one of these analyst reports on how the world is coming to an end, that capitalism as a force for allocating resources is making way for socialist procedures, the report makes fun of people who now “blog more” given the high state of unemployment. Thanks, i just joined this club unwillingly, as i take yet another coffee break, sitting at my local cafe, typing out furiously, might I add, my opinions of the world (that NOBODY will read!). I am not at the stage of screaming “its unfair! Why me?!!!” yet, I fear it might be soon, but I am definitely at the stage where taking some form of mood moderators is going to help.

If facebooking and watching last 3 seasons of Lost back-to-back is not a crime, I don’t know what is! The last crime that I hope i do not commit, is joining Twitter and twittering my exact location, life event and thought every single minute.

It’s raining cats and dogs here and I cannot escape from this cafe. I am stuck here for at least another 2 hours listening to the best of power rock and the likes of Alanis Morissette. Technically, I could keep writing till my laptop dies… See how I just let you know my location, life event and thoughts? Joblessness has that effect. Call it the new evil.

The Dead

Yesterday, en route home from having an interesting conversation with a well-known philanthrophic organization, I chanced upon a dead man. Mid-40’s, car up on a kerb, lying there quite still. The car was apparantly undamaged, 3 cop cars were parked just beside. The forensics guys had their high-end Nikons whipped out, photographing his very dead face, as he lay benched against the back of his car seat. It was black Japanese car, nothing special nor illuminating. I thought it was a movie being filmed on my street, but I guess…it wasn’t.

Real death, as opposed to reel death (of the CSI variety) is strange. I do believe this is the first time i have seen someone dead, aside from coffins at funeral palours (Another weird statistic - i have been to more funerals than weddings but it’s probably because i avoid happy endings). Non-life seems very static and well-composed. I felt strangely ambivalent, but did manage to chat with Anand, the guy who makes my coffee at Starbucks on what we thought happened (a mad case of Cluedo). I think it’s foul play, only because he was so…bloodless.

I went home, with groceries in hand, past the maddening crowds gathering for the extended CSI reeltape and went home to watch the reel-thing. CSI Season 9 - where reel death is far more elaborate and suspenseful than real death.

p.s: I checked the papers today, no mention of dead man. it’s terrible to go this way. not leaving a spot on this world, just a bunch of dead photos…but then i will have no way of winning my bet with my coffee-dude now.

 Life has a strange way of presenting options. I turned 31 last week, and in the midst of the euphoria surrounding learning how to snowboard, navigating through serious discount sales and realizing that the job market is absolutely shite because no one can send out 30 job applications and have no callbacks…unless, my resume just isn’t stellar

 
Alors, I decided that if nothing is going to happen for me, then i shall make…French Onion Soup! This isn’t related to any particular event (or rather, non-event in my life being Far more plausible), but I thought it would be a good effort on my part. Beats trying to force my way into yet another KFC in Paris. 

One begins by chopping onions, as so. Pan-frying the onions in a pot with a chunk of butter, a tad of sugar and a tablespoon of flour. Looks good, doesn’t it? 

The magic ingredient is red wine, or sherry. I got a 2 euro bottle of red stuff, where the wine colour was probably colouring and the taste of alcohol was artificially introduced by some enzyeme. My soup turned immediately a dark shade of red after I poured the wine in. After stirring religiously for 15 minutes, my soup turned….grey. hiyah.

Secret ingredient #2 — one beef cube to add robustness to the grey soup.

Last step is to take some ready made pastry - best would be to get your hands on filo pastry to make a little cap for the soup bowl. Sadly, i couldnt find the right kind of filo pastry, but made do with tart pastry instead, which is a tad thick. And of course, since I didn’t know how to use a French oven, i could not estimate the heat too well. But in any case, the finished product looks like…this. Ok, not so handsome…but the taste is pretty good. This is what i call, “ugly till it’s nice” - especially set against the crazy table cloth and the cheap-looking blue bowl. Hiaks! Comical food? I say! 

All in a day’s work…as hard and effortful a day CAN be in my situation!

Ciao from France…

As I sit here, aching in my forearms and scratching my forehead thinking about What the hell I ought to be doing TODAY…i decided, what better way to close off one year and begin the next by summarizing the year that just passed?

I remember sweating through 2008, complaining incessantly about the weather and running into any air-conditioned mall I could find. I remember working through sleepless nights, uncomfortable days and finding the highs in my jetsetting career, and the lows of weight gain and afternoon food comas, and yet again, the highs of learning new skills, facing new challenges and the lows of having to renegotiate my rent with my landlord. I have lived through a year in recession, lost my job, learnt more about myself that is only made possible by the virtue of time. 

I remember discovering fitness, massages and false eyelashes. It was a good year for gigs and watching Jason Mraz, Jens Lekman and Whitest Boy Alive interspersed my work world with sanity and good grace. I remember cycling through the mountain ranges in Nepal and getting drenched by torrential downpour and hanging out watching the sunset on the mountain ranges of Nagarcot. I remember expanding my wardrobe and living the life that only a young banker could afford to and loving every minute of it. Inspite of it all, I was most happy with raising a nice sum of money for The Star Shelter, working on a couple of non-profit projects, meeting the CEO of Kiva.org and learning all about microfinance and wishing I had enough strength and passion to do what they were doing. I remember finding hope in jazz piano lessons, reading books on Eeinstein, mathematics and string theory and being dazzled by the complexities (or rather, marked simplicity or symmetry) of the universe. 2008 was a terrible year, trying and for many (including myself), a glitch in the matrix that we wished we could all rub away.

But not everything has been bad, as I grow to appreciate the complexities of the industry that i chose, being tried and tested on political agendas, learning to read people and situations with more intelligence, grit and prudence. Being consistently challenged on my ethical windvanes and wondering many a time “What does this ALL mean?” Understanding that despite all the frameworks that we know, the people that we learn from and trust in, that nothing holds and there exists an nth degree of chance, randomness and a good sledge of Murphy’s law that comes around to kick you in the balls and tell you “Hey, that wasnt accounted for in your model” and “Any assumptions you  made about life, just arent meant to be.” And one lives through it.

And did I meet my personal goals? Definitely, learning to be dastardly cool (not that I could ever Not be) on a snowboard before I turn 31, was definitely an awesome achievement. Going back to playing the piano is another.

And what next? I plan to grow my hair long, run a half-marathon, continue snowboarding, and perhaps, just maybe, finish reading Tolstoy’s War and Peace, courtesy of Ashvin. The book quietly sits on my bookshelf, reminding me of what I need to do I suspect that 2009 will be lived through, like any other year, but a year that will be passed with calm and consideration. And that doesnt sound too too bad.

peace out munchkins.

The mafia brass team picks up the pace

Wall to wall screen of Jason - now that is priceless

Jason Mraz also showed his allegience by flashing “Vote for Obama” on the back of the theatre which roused a huge round of applause and claps. I guess the canadians have less vested interest in the u.s elections but hey, who isn’t a fan of obama? even if he keeps overusing the term “Change”. But one thing is for sure, his working relationship with Tocca is solid. Their harmonies are flawless and they have this undeniable stage chemistry. In fact his whole show is filled with sunshine and smiles, as he openly encourages phototaking and blog sharing the photos to his site. Nothing anal, and totally californian sunshine, it must be his diet of avocados and raw food.

Jason has a penchant for pointing to the sky, its so ravvee....

 Most of the songs played were from We sing, we dance, we steal things, save for the medley of oldies “You & I” was intertwined with “Sleeping to Dream” — one of my most favorite mraz tracks of all time, and sadly no studio version is available, only a live recording. He opened with Make it Mine, which was surprisely, given how it is such a huge hit, but I guess I’m Yours is now top of the pops. He didnt play Wordplay or anything from Mr A-Z, which was sad but I guess he really went mainstream and hugely successful with this new album, so I ain’t complaining about singing along to Beautiful mess.

Jason mraz has the childlike spirit that is simply addictive. he cajoled the audience to sing, he covered bob marley, he got us to do crazy dancesteps, now that is what i call real performer talent.

i think…this may be the best show I have attended all year. and i got to do it with my best friend. that rocks…

Of all the random things that one can do in Toronto, none is more random than sitting down at the Letteri cafe, drinking a cappacino vigourously in order to fight the cold winds that beat down round the corner, thumbing through the latest David Sedaris book, and then deciding that what I really needed to visit was the Bata Shoe Museum.

At first glance, i was faintly amused and excited and thought that the entire museum housed Bata shoes throughout the ages. For sure, who would not want to know where Bata really is from? And no, it’s not from Malaysia for those lesser intellectuals out there! Bata is erh hem…a Czech brand, with a full 110 years of history. That’s almost rivalling Lehman Brothers — i wonder if those dudes ever wore Bata.  And yes, ah nostalgia! The Bata 2000 series of white school shoes, I wore to shreds and still, i put them on again, till it stank, chased away the boys and yes…still i wore them. the good years.

But this post is not about Bata (slogan time: One Bata, One World - classik!), but rather…shoes. As a rather well-heeled individual, the shoe museuem had a good collection of footwear from North American indigineous tribes, Chinese/ Manchurian booties, Indian padukas, a collection on ballet pointe shoes, Victorian heels, african beaded boots and any other random queries you may have had about shoes, why shoes, what sort of shoes for types of activities, and clasps and detailings for shoes. all very random. What was even more interesting was the finding of the first Ice Man (Some 5000 years back), frozen and….wearing one shoe. Our friend was indeed well-heeled, with sandals made out of string, a flat panel and grass stuffings to keep the feet warm.

Ice-man shoes, filled with grass

There was a large indication of shoes addressing status, of which, height was the main enforcer of such opinion. The higher your heels, the more elegant and “above others” one was. I guess Buddha must have had 20 inch stilettos then. And that reminds me that i ought to go out and get those 7 inch vivian westwood clogs, cos that would put me right on royalty’s tracklist.

Well-heeled heels…

Such are the joys of adult learning. As one ages, it’s always exciting (if not neurotic) to learn that there is still so much that we don’t know or comprehend and if the Matrix technology of “jacking in” ever took off, I would be the first to sign on to fight the war. In the meantime, i will settle for marvelling at man’s greatness, at least with respect to shoe lace technology and how ballet shoes are straight, without a left or right foot shape.
Dutch roller-clogs…nice

There is always something nice about travelling overseas and over the years, I have established somewhat of a travel pattern. Cities warrant that I visit good independent bookstores, sip cappucino in a student hangout joint that spins music from death cab for cutie and the likes of other indie, electro and downtempo beats. but a favorite walkabout always almost includes a trip to an independant record store, speaking with the counter staff, who almost always stink of musical superiority, have wild hair and wear tees with slogans like “Slacker went home.”

After much searching, I walked about an hour or so through college town in Toronto and ended up at Soundscapes, a small independent outfit at 572 College Street. The store was dark, with muted lighting and of course with music that is rather specifically classified. It smelled of record imperialism. I like! One of the major difficulties about operating a music store is inventory. Music sales and distribution is incredibly low margin (especially post rent and having to deal with chronic slack-jawed staff whose real job is recording his next demo and stacking cds is just like his lunch job.) Choices need to be made about music selection, and what one carries and there is a fine balance between “no, we don’t carry boyzone, please go to hmv for that” versus “no, since death cab for cutie appeared in Time magazine, we now refer you to hmv.” One has to keep constant count on the “yes we have these in stock” vs “no, this is for hmv.” and mind you, that’s a key performance indicator right there that is hard to beat. And there is also the indie vs the ultimate-too-too-indie. Like a Beirut recording (which is acceptable indie and appears on reviews by Pitchfork and therefore of celeb status now) vs the (dude in his basement with his 4 track. “you gotta listen to this shit, cos it’s da shit. you know what i mean? like…no one has ever heard of him man…”)

Having worked my teenage ass off at a record store, I can tell you, we used to have where we all FOUGHT, with claws out, about what cds get onto the next order sheet. Of course, there would also be a sales tracker at the back of our minds to see whose albums ordered rendered the most sales. However, in all honesty, a bunch of indie records could never outsell Rickie Martin, so the KPI tracking was kind of a dud effort really.

In any case, after rummaging through the best of electro, lo-fi (only in an indie store does lo-fi get its own shelf), and simply just…rock - here is what i emerged, victorious with:

1. Morgan Geist - Double Time Home

2. Iron and Wine - The Shepard’s Dog

3. Cut Copy - In Ghost Colours

4. Santo Gold - Top Ranking Santo Gold, A Diplo Dub

5. Lambchop - Oh (Ohio) — beat sufjan stevens to the next american state huh?

6. Junior Boys - Body Language Six mixed by Junior Boys

7. Ron Sexsmith - Exit Strategy Soul

8. Sandro Perri - Tiny Mirrors (I have to support canadian as a result of being a tourist guest)

9. Santo Gold - reminds me of M.I.A but better and more rude electro

10. Donkey - really great. what can i say, kicks the tits off killers right out. they even got cute female vocalist.

There may have been 1 more record - but i forget. In any case, this is a pretty bombass list.

Oh and for those that wish to survive a recommendations-from-the-elitist-staff-at-indie-record-store, just look for the skinny, nerdy dudes. they are often pretty darn laidback and beta in disposition, so you probably wont get too much crap to annouce that your last purchase was The Killers debut effort.

The latest on FB (no…not facebook), but our much-lauded Frank Brown with Lindsay still carrying out his divine SFTM reporter duties, even post-MBA, in a shittiest job market possible

I am Frank Brown bitch!

There is no theory of evolution - just a list of creatures that Frank Brown has allowed to live.

Frank Brown does not sleep. He waits.

arh hahahaha. ok, i gotta stop. this is too funny. kudos Lindsay. perhaps we should all go back and write follow up articles to SFTM. I would love to run another Point-Counterpoint article!