An Honest Living

In the wake of the recent financial crisis that has hit Wall Street, it brings to mind some things that a lot of people probably don't think about too often.

Wall Street, a collective entity of all the world's stock brokers, investment bankers, insurance firms, and hedge fund operations, more or less controls the world's market.  This is the financial sector.  It is a collective of financial gurus, accountants, and speculators, who know the economy backwards and forwards.  They make money hand over fist.  They make deals within deals.  And as paradoxical as it sounds, they buy and sell money.

They wear suits, get up at the crack of dawn, and drink like fish every night.  They throw around words like "portfolio," "stocks," "investments," "buyout," "bear market," "bull market," and other terms that the rest of us have no understanding of.

They are not normal human beings.  They are inhuman robots of computing numbers and making sales.  They make more money than any of us would ever dream, and, while doing so, administer the global economy.

An article in the New York Times just the other day brought to my attention the vast salary of the CEO of Lehman Brothers, the investment firm that went under at the beginning of this week, earned the equivalent of $17,000 an hour during his tenure.  Taking over the position some time ago, about fifteen years, he drove the company to ultimate bankruptcy, putting hundreds of people out of jobs, and continues to collect income from it.

The rest of these financial heads are not much different.  They make hordes of money, more that the gross national product of some small countries, and have nothing to show for it except the amount of greed they possess.

It's disgusting to say the least.

And it brings up, at least to me, the integrity of not only our economy, having been dictated by Wall Street---which, by the way, is not even located entirely on Wall Street any more, as it has become an abstract place in time spread out across Manhattan and the rest of the world (but that's neither here nor there)---it also brings up the integrity of how each person, no matter what their line of work, makes a living.

There are a lot of scams out there.  A lot.  Some legal.  Some are illegal.  Some scams are untraceable, and some are subsidized by the government.  Some would say that it is up to the consumer to be aware of the laws and boundaries by which people can operate and try to take your money.  But the average person cares too much about other things to worry about how they might be being cheated in the financial sector.

Most everybody finds ways to make money.  Making money is a certain, undeniable goal of a great many people.  Money gives people the power to change their lives.  Money changes people.  It affects how they act.  Money talks, as they say.  It creates problems, causes war, and opens doors unavailable before.  

There is a slight difference between a lot of money and a little money.  The difference is quantity.  The amount of money a person has is in large part a way to measure that person.

But there is also a difference between honest money and dishonest money.  And how a person makes his or her money, whether it is a lot or a little, is also a way to measure that person.

Earning money honestly is slightly more respectable than earning it dishonestly.  Making honest money is difficult to do well and be financially successful, which is why you see so many people making it dishonestly.  It is possibly to make money honestly, though.

When you exchange needed goods and services for equitable amounts of money, you have earned money the right way---honestly.

In the quest for riches, some people forget that others don't actually need what they are trying to sell them.  And those people end up getting scammed.  The people who sold it look at these victims of fraud as "suckers" and don't feel an ounce of remorse for what they'd done or respect for the people they'd done it to.  If they had any respect for these people and weren't looking out only for themselves, they wouldn't have thought to do what they did in the first place.

Honesty is powerful.  It is raw and it is not ignorable.

Similarly, comedy is raw, powerful, and tangible.  It is honest, most of the time.  And while at times, comedy may not be in the same interest or in tune with the beliefs of all those bearing witness to it, somewhere, somebody is laughing.  What makes comedy worthwhile and what really makes it truly honest is that it produces an honest reaction.

No feeling in the world truly equates to the feeling of raw, unsolicited laughter.  It is an honest, gut reaction to a stimulus.  Laughter is difficult to feign, and it is hard to feel cheated when laughing.

In my opinion, comedy is honesty.  And while most comedians don't make a lot of money, it is, at the very least, and honest living.  It is respectable.  It is needed.  If done right and if supported by many, comedy can be very profitable.

Comedians, unlike stock brokers, make their money honestly.  They work hard day in and day out to cheer people up, to crack jokes, to make themselves heard, and to be productive while under pressure to be funny.  Comedians have to put themselves through torture, misery, and embarrassment to get ahead.  They have to sacrifice bits of themselves.  

But when the day is done, they've earned their keep honestly.

When you make your money dishonestly, and then lose it all because of your dishonest practices, not many people feel sorry for you.

Honest people, on the other hand, are not to be contended with.  Honest people find each other and band together.

Someday, the scoundrels and crooks of the world will be turned out.  It may not be the day of the crash, or the day after, but someday, they will have to make an honest living in order to survive the real world; honest, raw, and true.

Eventually, it will be discovered, that the best policy really is honesty.

I Will Tell You Stories...

This is a very entertaining story, in my opinion, and it could only happen to me, probably...

Every year, my neighborhood of Crown Heights in Brooklyn celebrates its West Indian heritage by throwing the West Indian Carnival celebration on Labor Day weekend in September.  The celebration is in observance of the annual tradition of Carnival, a widely popular and common holiday that is celebrated all over the world.  In America, it is known as Mardi Gras and is well-known in its association with the city of New Orleans, and its great population in derivation from the West Indies and Africa.

Traditionally, the celebration takes place in the springtime, immediately preceding the Catholic season of Lent.  Since Lent is typically a season of repentance, Carnival is generally a time for one to get all their vices out one last time, which is exemplified in a big party, with...lots of vices.

Why Carnival is celebrated on the opposite end of the calendar in Crown Heights, I am not aware of, but it is a very large celebration, including a parade, one of the largest in New York, and typically draws around one million spectators.  The parade route runs along Eastern Parkway, the main thoroughfare closest to my house, along which I walk everyday to get to the Subway, and also run along because it is lined with trees and has a wide pedestrian mall on either side of the street.

The night before the parade I went for a jog along Eastern Parkway, where I bore witness to police setting up barricades and vendors setting up stands from which to purvey food and beverages, as well as nationalistic emblems via T-shirts, flags, and other paraphernalia.  The great nation-states of the Caribbean are all represented here:  Barbados, Trinidad, Jamaica, St. Martin, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, etc.  There are too many to name.  Each one is represented by multitudes of the neighborhood population and by parade float.

The event is very well-attended, and as a resident of the neighborhood, I felt obligated to take part.  My roommate, Anthony, and I planned to make a day of it.  We walked along the parade route, picking out various sundries and foodstuffs to munch on, and periodically returned home to drink some beer.  We admired the costumes, the music, and even at one point jumped in the crowd to march along the parade route.  We took up rank behind a very loud and celebratory float, which coincidentally was hosting Wyclef Jean as emcee.  Though we never saw him, we could hear him cheering the crowd on over the public address system.

Not long after we marched in the parade, we were making our way towards the direction of home, trying to observe more of the celebration when the Jamaican float went past.  As that happened, the crowd got very boisterous and unruly.  Already bunched together, it became apparent that there was no room to pass through until the float passed us by, so Anthony and I stood still, separated by a few people.

Up ahead, some people began causing a commotion and I could see people ahead of me being forced backwards very rapidly, as if being pushed from the front.  The pushes became more frequent, and though I could not tell who the culprit was, rumor was circulating that a fight or some kind of violence was breaking out ahead of us.  I saw Anthony duck out in front of me, and as I made my way out of the crowd, I became a victim of the preexisting momentum.  People were pushing, causing some kind of ruckus; the vendors behind us were pleading with us to stop pushing, in hopes they would not lose their precious vendibles, but their fate was inevitable at this point.  I turned to face the crowd and as I did that, a violent surge pushed me back.  I braced myself, trying to maintain my upright standing position by holding onto the people around me.  I had practice at this action previously in all my recent experience being in the middle of crowds of people at music festivals and in crowds of people in New York.

I nearly fell over this time.  I was disoriented, and when I returned to equilibrium, it became quickly apparent that my wallet had been lifted from my back pocket.  

I immediately realized it was gone, having been checking on it frequently throughout the day.  Also, I was aware that because of the color of my skin (I was about one of two white people in the immediate area, my roommate being the other), I would be considered an easy target for thieves.  

Reaching into my back pocket and feeling emptiness, my heart rate instinctively started to race.  I began sweating profusely.  Panic quickly set in, and I frantically began to search the nearby area.

My financial information flashed before my eyes (mostly zeroes and negative numbers), and I quickly began dreading what would soon be my immediate future of calling up banks, canceling credit cards, and the hassle of trying to get another state-issued ID without the benefit of having my current existing one.

As I wrapped my head around what I was about to face, I was still trying to escape from this parade with my life, so I eagerly made my way out of the crowd.  

Taking a few hindered steps across the sidewalk towards the outside of this mess of people, I spotted my wallet sticking up out of a young man's front right hip pocket.  This young man was quite a bit taller than me, docked in urban garb, including a baseball cap and an open hooded sweatshirt and blue jeans.  He most definitely fit the urban Brooklyn teen-age profile, yet he did not know what he was up against.

Seeing my wallet, I instinctively reached for it and grabbed it out of his pocket, reclaiming what was rightfully mine.

I addressed and confronted him, saying, "You stole my wallet!"

To which he replied, "Nah, I didn't do that.  It wasn't me!"

In disbelief, I turned and scrambled to get out of this crowd.  I was less than half a block from the street on which I lived, but my heart was pounding uncontrollably, and nerves were shaken immensely.  It was, at the least, a little scary.  

I made my way to the corner and turned left, trying to collect in my mind what had just happened.  Looking through my wallet, I found that everything I had previously was still there and accounted for (when you don't have any cash, it's pretty easy to keep track of it).

A couple blocks later, when I felt at a safe distance from the crowd and its associated turmoil, I called my roommate to see where he had gone to.  He was safe, and a few minutes later, he met up with me and we made our way home.

I told him the story of what had happened to me, and found myself having difficulty believing it even as I told it.

It is a pretty remarkable story, even from my perspective, and I am lucky that I am able to tell it.

Whatever caused the scuffle at the parade was not consequential enough to be put in the news, so I never found out happened or who caused the mischief.  All I knew about was what happened to me.

I felt sheer panic and fear for about twenty seconds before I figured out how to corrected what had happened to me.  I was lucky to come away unscathed.  And even though I was briefly a victim of a crime, I used my inner crook to do justice and right the wrong behavior of another.

So that's the story of how my wallet was pick-pocketed and how I pick-pocketed it back.

Change is...

Change is important. Change is good. Change is constant. Change is all of these things and more. It is one of those things in life that always comes around, and though abstract and undefinable in a lot of ways, it always means something very particular to people.

Change is a concept that is hard to grasp on principle, but represents something so solid and soundly based in real life that is it impossible to ignore.

We all go through changes. People change. Society changes. Rules change. Standards change. Records change. The times change. But as things change in a collective around you, it is important to remember that you are often a part of that collective, too.

It is impossible to go through life without changing. It is a natural, progressive occurrence. It is part of evolving, part of growing up. Every person changes naturally in one way or another, whether they like it or not. You change when you go through puberty. You change when you have a baby. You change when you grow elderly into your golden years. These are physical changes, but people also change emotionally and mentally.

Sometimes these changes take place naturally in the course of human growth, while other times they are forced upon a person without choice or warning.

And then there are other changes that take place in the human mind and body that are distinctly decision-based. Changes are made that accompany a new lifestyle, a choice, or a sacrifice. Changes are sometimes encouraged by others, sometimes discouraged. Sometimes change is echoed through an arena of followers, marching towards something different than before. It can be pressured upon a person by a cold phone call, a door-to-door salesman, or a relative or friend that really wants to "help you out".

Changes are not easy to go through. People are creatures of habit. We admire routine. We adore the safety and security of living in a "bubble" without distraction or fear. And sometimes, what we fear the most is change.

Change is a process, it is a learning experience. It is not for the weak or the tenuous of heart.

But it is something we must accept and something we all must do. It doesn't necessary make us stronger to go through change. It can sometimes be too much. But it is important. And it is important to do consciously and not tremulously. How you deal with change and how you react to change affects other people.

It reflects what kind of person you are, what kind of person you were, or what kind of person you are willing to be.

Most importantly, change is not exclusive. It is universal. It divides us and it unites us. Change separates us from others. It allows us to adapt and move forward. Change makes decisions for us when things get out of hand. Change offers us courses of action and provides our next steps.

Change is relevant. It is cross-cultural and it is binding. Change is marvelous. Some people in this world refuse to believe in change. They don't like it when they recognize it is happening and don't want to be a part of it or go along with it. They think things are better left undone. And so I ask, if a person cannot change, then what good is he or she to anybody else?

What can come of a person if he or she refuses to change? How can that person get through life? And if people refuse to change, what will come of the people who follow?

A Sign of Our Times

As Brian Williams would say, it is a sign of our economic times when you see something like this.

In an effort to save money, I began bringing cold-cuts and sandwich fixin's to work, so I wouldn't have to buy lunch everyday; only my feeble attempts at doing so were thwarted by our terrible economy.  I purchased a package of Swiss cheese from a grocery store in Manhattan.  The cheapest available was a package marked $3.99, only a penny shy of four dollars.

You can imagine my chagrin when I opened up the package to reveal a mere four slices of cheese.

If we round the $3.99 up to an even $4.00, it means I got four slices of Swiss cheese in exchange for four (4) U.S. Dollars.  That means that each slice of Swiss cheese is equitable to one American dollar.  The U.S. dollar is so weak that it is as valuable as cheese! 

The Swiss don't even need to trade with us in money any more.  The coveted cheese of Switzerland is so valuable that it fetches one (1) American dollar per slice!

It is either an amazing feat for the Swiss, or it is a colossal downfall for the U.S. economy.  If we tried to trade in increments of American cheese, we would just get laughed at, but the Swiss have got a tangible product.  At least their cheese comes from animals and not factories.

When I ran out of cheese, I just topped my ham with $1 bills.  It tasted remarkably similar.

Learning is not a consolation prize

Dating is pretty hard. As is finding a girlfriend. Especially in New York. It's not as if I can go up to a counter somewhere and say, "I'd like to have a girlfriend, please," and they say, "do you have your paperwork, sir?" to which I nod, and then they bring me into the next room.

"Now this one is a pretty little number, with short brown hair, green eyes, and who likes to play video games.

This little girly over here is a blonde, has very nice teeth, and likes to watch movies.

And this one over here is a cute redhead, she's a free spirit with a terrific personality and loves the outdoors."

"Oh, wow," I reply, "all three sound great. There are qualities I love about each of them. Is there anyway I could kind of combine them into one super terrific match for me?"

To which the attendant would say, "I'm sorry, sir, it doesn't work like that."

So, I would leave, dejected, and think, "well, I guess I'll have to come back next week and try again."



It has been more than a little while since I've been in the company of a woman I could really feel comfortable with, and to that effect, there are only a small handful of women I've ever felt truly comfortable opening up to that aren't blood relatives of mine.

More than a year ago, I ended the one relationship I've had in my life, the one that so drastically changed my life. It changed me so much I had no idea how much it was changing me until it had already done so. I gave my heart, soul, and passion to a woman who I realistically could have seen myself spending the rest of my life with, if things had been different. But it got to a point where things could not continue the way things had been going, and one of the changes that sometimes happen in life had to take place.

It's not something I'm particularly proud of, nor something I enjoy talking about, but it was something I had to do. I don't regret it, though I wish a million times over I could take away the pain and discomfort that accompanied my actions.

The three years I was in that relationship added more to my life and was better than I could ever have imagined or asked for. But even great things must come to an end sometimes.

I have no regrets about that relationship, and even though I will probably never want it again, I would never have wished my life to have played out any other way than with that relationship. It meant so much so me and to her, and at the time, it was irreplaceable to both of us. The memories of it will go on forever, even though the relationship will not.

Not nearly enough could be said out of what is gained and what is lost when a relationship is over. Love is one of the most written about subjects it the history of the world, and it is one the most speculated, analyzed, and pored over subjects imaginable. It spawns the deepest of thought and the most poignant of observation. One thing that could be said of any relationship, romantic or otherwise, whether it lasts for three years or three seconds, is that a great many thing can be learned from it.

And learning is never a consolation prize.

Even though the ultimate goal may not have been achieved in this particular relationship, a lot of things came from it. Maybe new feelings were discovered about yourself that you never knew before. Maybe new ways of thinking were put into action. Maybe new life forms were created. Maybe you were introduced to some really cool music that you never would have stumbled upon otherwise.

Maybe the person you trusted took your metaphoric heart and ripped it right out from your chest. Maybe the person you loved gave you thicker skin or a new will to live. Maybe your lover stole all your prized possessions in the middle of the night. Maybe you came away from it with an incurable disease.

Be it positive or negative, every action produces a result, and a learning experience goes along with it. And learning is not a consolation prize.

It's not a prize at all. It's not something you can take away from a relationship and put on a shelf and say, "look what I got!"

But it is not second to a greater prize, either. If the grand prize is not there to obtain, then in all likelihood there was no grand prize to begin with.

Learning, though, is something there is always room for. It builds. It compiles. It gains interest.

And in the future you use that learning to ask more questions, to make smarter decisions, to avoid mistakes and pitfalls. If you used it to your advantage, eventually you will find that your learning paid off, and that grand prize is well within your reach.

My Place

I mail postcards often. Not as often as I would like, but more frequently than most people, probably. I live in a place that is a major tourist destination, so even though I'm not traveling anywhere, it is fitting to send postcards out to people.

Before I lived in New York, I used to dream about living here. I watched TV shows that were filmed here. They would open with, "From New York..." Seeing images of New York and having so many memories of it from the different periods of my younger life stirred up emotions of desire in me that probably aren't normal for a person to feel about a location.

I felt pangs of yearning for New York. I would see images of it and wonder what it would feel like to be there at the time. I could always picture myself being there, walking around, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells; being a part of traffic. I could always imagine what it was like at any given time of the year. I had been there before in all seasons, and the memories of those visits stuck with me.

Many a time while living in the Midwest, images of New York would come to me, and the desire would hit me..."I wonder what New York is like right now"...I felt a sudden urge to instantly transport there and get wrapped up in the grandeur of it all.

Those feelings of wanting would get fulfilled whenever I would visit. Hopping out of a car onto a New York sidewalk or walking upstairs from the train was a rush of unparalleled refreshment and fulfillment. The buildings tower over you, the wind in the street brushes your hair, and the people to your left, right, front, and back clamber around and past you while you just stand for a second and take it all in.

Returning home, I always felt satisfied with my visit, knowing one day I would return. But before too long, the pangs of New York would come back.

Now that I live here, I don't get the pangs any more. I am caught up in the middle of it, what life in New York has come to be. I often don't even have time to think about where I am or what I am doing. I am always doing something, and it happens to right right in the middle of where other people are doing things, too.

There are so many activities going on all the time, especially in the summertime. I used to dream about having opportunities for activities like these. I would hear stories of people happening upon things in the street or seeing events taking place that I somehow missed. Now I'm going to activities and telling people about them. It's quite surreal.

Because I'm in it all the time, I sometimes forget what it felt like before, the sense of desire that drew me here in the first place. Everyday the reason behind my decision to relocate here is reinforced. But I guess what I'm saying is that, now that I'm here, I don't envision myself anywhere else. I used to wander all around the Midwest and envision myself here. Now that I'm here, though, I don't envision myself anywhere. In a sense I've arrived.

So when I send out postcards to people, I wonder if they feel the same way I used to feel. I wonder if anybody else I know feels these pangs of desire to come to New York; the sense of purpose like they just belong here. I know people do. They must, because more and more people move here everyday. Even so, I wonder if they feel like they belong here, feel they've found their place here.

I'm still not exactly where I would like to be. I believe I'm getting closer. But I still haven't found my place yet. My place will not be defined by someone else. My place will not be in an office or behind a counter. It will not be transparent or loosely constructed, constantly needing my watchful eye to keep it up. It will not always need guidance to keep it from falling apart. It will not always need improvement or maintenance to keep from falling out of touch. No, my place will be something that I have built, something I have created, something I can stand next to, in front of, on top of, or behind with the satisfaction of knowing what I've done will keep me standing there in peace and comfort and quiet observation. That will be my place.