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Finance

I think that the question must be asked: if an economic institution actively fights against a priority of its constituents, should it be allowed to continue its operations? I would hope that any random individual would say no. Why, then, are the liberties of sacrificing public good granted to institutions of significant influence? They’re not elected nor are they governmental, and as such, I understand that they’re not beholden to a government’s standards. They do, however, affect the lives of individuals and the movement of markets in ways that a governmental agency would; perhaps not to an equal degree as the FED per se (at least generally), but an effect nonetheless far too substantial.

Now while profit has displayed itself as a somewhat toxic incentive for your average consumer, its allure serves as the primary recruitment for competition in the relevant financial sector. It cannot be helped: stricter requirements of considering the customer’s benefit, regardless of how basic or stable or well-intentioned, will cause a drop in the pool of advisor and banking professions and lead to a faster consolidation of influence, wealth, and power amongst fewer individuals and institutions. Yet this doesn’t faze me. If the application of such basic regulations as the need to prioritize the customer and avoid conflict of interests is so detrimental to finance, it is finance as a whole which is broken.

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The Lottery & Ehrlichman

Over time, particularly with such open mediums like the internet, perhaps it’s an inevitability: some stories have no effect. The Lottery is an obvious originator of its sort of story, particularly in consideration of its time period. It must have been a radical reading back when, a revolutionary text. Yet, as a reader now, I find it predictable, a tad cliched, both qualities I know I should push aside. After all, any great story will fall victim to its progeny over time. Regardless, I harken and find myself severely uneased by that core fragility of their society. That idea that something so wrong, so horrid, and so unreasonable could be so accepted irks me deeply.

There are some stories, much like the Lottery, which kill ease and induce an internal panic. I recently presented the story of John Ehrlichman and the criminalization of drugs in the United States. The war on drugs has cost dozens of billions of dollars for the sake of killing tens of thousands of people over chaos and dangers we created. I, sometimes, when thinking to myself that, perhaps, history may exaggerate, that today could never allow such horrors as the Lottery, find myself returning this quote from Ehrlichman, an originator of US drug policy:

“We knew we couldn’t make it illegal to be either against the war or black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and the blacks with heroin, and then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities. We could arrest their leaders, raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify then night after night on the evening news. Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did.”

Of course we did. And we still do.

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The Bible’s Wisdom

I grew up as a Christian, went to a Christian school, mother took me to a Catholic church, and I studied the Bible for years and years throughout my childhood and adolescence. I was never particularly devout, even with the early childhood indoctrination. Its lessons have no value to me. Why? Well, how do you choose which of its guidelines you follow? No murder? Well, obviously, you are taking an individual’s autonomy and all known opportunity to experience, well, anything. Don’t wear mixed fabrics? Well obviously not, that’s ridiculous and, as such, likely a remnant of the specific time. What’s my point? Well, we—generally—follow what we do because we have read and reasoned it. We have justified it. We know that, as a historical and ancient text, it will have some archaic content. Here’s the thing though: history has displayed quite clearly that religious rule is a horrid, violent affair. The application of its laws can seem odd and unjustifiable. Why? Because, as a source of wisdom, the Bible is...imperfect. It’s a mess. If you cannot substantiate the individual beliefs and ideas you have, they have no value. Tradition is a dangerous game.

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A Return to Minecraft

So hear me out, but y’know that strange feeling of revisitation after a long time? Particularly in active areas, those inclined to adapt. And what’s the liveliest place of all? The internet (and internet related things)!

I recently got back into Minecraft. In case you’re not familiar, it’s a popular sandbox game in which you spawn to a miniature, diverse earth of blocks and low-level AI. The goal? Survive (also fashion). I hadn’t really played much for a couple years but felt a desire to re-explore its biomes and landscapes (plus playing with friends is always a pretty swell time). I cleaned it of its proverbial dust settled over lonely years and opened it again: never have I seen such a mountain of incremental change. At its core, you would find nothing different. It’s obviously the same game. Yet, every progress you make happens slightly differently. The places to go and structures you see are wholly new, but seamless.

If I can be overwhelmed like that, I can’t imagine watching the world change.

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Gastritis, You Bastard

Gastritis is an evil bastard. It’s not the most dangerous and of all the issues one might encounter, it’s nowhere near the worst. Nonetheless, I hate the persistent twat with a fiery passion. Stressed? No worries, gastritis will keep you company! Enjoy any semblance of acidity? Oh no! Gastritis, the abusive friend it is, doesn’t like you hanging around them acid folk.

Okay, so you’ve decided to placate; it holds too much power. You cease, to the best of your ability, stress-inducing behaviors and desist from the consumption of its disliked foods. What do you get in return? Who knows?! Not I because I can’t tell a damn difference. It is so attached you’d think it is abused itself when it goes back to whatever hell it came from. Almost makes me pity gastritis. Almost.

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Cherry Tomatoes

Tomatoes are the loveliest of fruits; cherry tomatoes are the loveliest of the loveliest of fruits. For cooking? Its sauces are delightfully full. Its salads are considerably more flavorful than pretenders in the vein of grape tomatoes. Roma tomatoes? Fantastic, no doubt, but unwieldy and a poor single-bite-snack for a human-sized mouth.

A favorite of mine is to take a couple tablespoons of olive oil and some minced garlic into a pan, heat it until fragrant, toss in your cherry tomatoes and stir until they blister. Give them some tough love to spread their juices, seasons to taste and administer basil carefully near the end as to not wilt it.

As an individual with a strong distaste of traditional breakfast food, it makes quite the excellent pasta breakfast today.

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Generic Pants

I recently purchased a pair of black pants, and I thought: there are some really awesome, amazing things about modern mass production. Charmless? Sure! Wholly without personality and often without consideration for any consequence. Yet, it brings with it a degree of accessibility impossible to achieve through more traditional methods.

Much of fashion is just about seeming older, used, adding personality. Corporate music is the largest common denominator of relatability, a delicate balance of “hey, that’s me” and “oh that’s everybody else.” I don’t think there’s any doubt in the preference for more tailored, personal products. But, y’know, my pants are pretty cheap, so that’s neat.

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Cost of Clothes

Sometimes I work shifts at the parlor on Lincoln Rd, so, naturally, a significant portion of the local clientele passes by with the objective of shopping, clothing being a particular favorite. We’re situated right by a Marshalls and a block from H&M, setting me up for a fun game of spot the child labor. Yes, I am that person. I’m all for seasonal styles and more so for affordable clothing, but I have some irreconcilable issues with the standard business practices of … well, clothing companies in a loosely regulated global market.

It’s a truly unfortunate situation: considering my pay, these brands are incredible offers! A couple years ago I purchased a neat hoodie for no more than $15, and it lasts me to this day! Since then, I’ve had the necessary misfortune of knowing that the only reason I can have a $15 hoodie is because they don’t care if a factory burns down. I wonder if the shoppers know; at this rate, it seems we’re all trying to forget.

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Balance & Apologies

To the observer, there’s a rather satisfying thunk upon contact between a baseball and face. To the participant, that thunk rings your head like the bells of King’s Landing. Of course, you could always prevent the facial contact with your gloved hands or a handy bat, but those require coordination, balance, neither of which I have an intimate relationship with. Needed to participate in a sport? Alright, swimming. Or running, maybe biking. Anything with no flying objects, although that’s still no guarantee. It seems as if I might trip over an ant through sheer anticipation of its blocking presence. 

I like to think I’m just too busy to focus on my extremities. After all, the mind can only focus on so many things at a time. I just specced out wisdom and left the rest a bit lacking, I hope. I might not be able to make a three-pointer, but I can gladly do a (basic please) derivative!

P.S., I am very sorry random child for dropping your ice cream horizontally into your face. I meant no creamy assault.

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SHIRTS! POKÉMON SHIRTS!

Customizability is all the rage with modern products. In a world of advanced and generic manufacturing, it lets you get a personal touch. There’s a conversation to be had about the effects of lacking human connection in a fully industrialized market, but that’s for another time. For now, we need to talk about something. 

TA-DA! SHIRTS. POKÉMON SHIRTS. Not to be a basic consumerist fanboy, but oh my god are they swell. Now, I’m not the type of lad to spring on such promotions, particularly considering the price tag of $100 (apparently not too high for the quality, but certainly higher than my typical wardrobe, a second discussion for a second other time). Yet, I am positively in love. They’re squarely within the somewhat recent trend of small, repeated patterns, almost a floral-like setup. Only with Pokémon! I’ll admit my excitement is inordinate, but I’m happy to have such a simple thing which brings joy.

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There’s a strange situation I’ve often encountered where I can’t quite tell whether somebody is mature or simply worn by life. Cynicism is often portrayed as the realistic stance. As a cynic myself, I’d like to agree, but I can’t help but have doubts. These folk have taken quite the turn, perhaps not to cynicism, but certainly away from their apparent happiness. My instinct is to say that they’ve “grown up.” They’re dealing with payments and mortgages and seemingly the IRS, but what’s that say about them as individuals? What have they gained for it? I’m keenly aware that children are “worth it” and “the best thing ever,” but I find it a bit of a sad justification, particularly in this presentation.

The 60s are a unique circumstance: the advent of hippie culture, flourishing of environmentalism, revolutions of civil rights and progressivism, and a sea of experimental drug use. What makes it particularly interesting, however, is the sharp turn of its participants. Its aged members are beacons of regression. Perhaps it’s only my youth blinding me, but I find age a giver of complacency; wisdom is individual. It seems maturity is conflated with compliance; it doesn’t mean as much to me.

[alegodofpenguinsandpasta-blog]

Customer Service

“Will that be ice cream?” I’ll ask. You might be thinking that it’s a rather silly question. Of course they want ice cream! It’s a damn ice cream parlor. We do, however, serve a variety of options including frozen yoghurts and other milk. In fear of a customer changing their minds after you’ve finished their order and to avoid wasting resources, I always ask to confirm. Generally, it’s a monotonously simple affair, but sometimes, I get a variety of somewhat disproportionate responses.

“Yeah, what else would it be” with a lovely stare of the most certain intellectual superiority, for the foolish customer service employee doesn’t even know what the store is selling! Absurd! Occasionally it’s spiced with some more ... choice words, inconsiderate of the large youth population typically in attendance of the parlor. Usually, the customer will take up a mildly apologetic tone and their sass and menu illiteracy. Other times, they will get angry with me for bringing up such nonsense. I’ve never entirely understood anger like that, seems silly. Then again, I’m only a customer service employee. What would I know?

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GoT | A Sad Story

SO. Game of Thrones. It’s over. The show is anyway. It was gorgeous, incredibly well produced. Also perhaps the biggest disappointment in the annals of television entertainment. I was somewhat of a newer fan: I only found myself watching the show six seasons in after years of recommendations from my friends. The first four seasons were masterpieces, the fifth was odd, the sixth gave some hope, and the following two tripped over their egos and cracked their skulls on the pavement. It’d be one thing to say “oh, I just didn’t like how it ended,” but that’s not the case. I’m okay with how…most of it ended, but it felt as if they chose the most absurd solutions to the most straightforward problems. Need somebody to siege through a dense forest? Bam, it’s now a desert!

It is, ultimately, only a show (in the “big picture” anyway, I feel it necessary to acknowledge that it’s also a masterful collection of many people’s long and hard work, very possibly their dream project). It does, however, make me think about how something so big, so awaited could be filled with such obvious and simple mistakes. How can the magnum opus of so many careers fall so flat? It bewilders me, and the concept terrifies me for more important things.

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Swift Seasons

I have to admit, it’s pretty cool. Especially with the whole lack-of-seasons-shenanigans down here in the sunshine state. I know the intent has to be something along the lines of realizing the cyclical nature of time and, sure, there’s undoubtedly some existential dread to be had. I’m no happier than my fellow Americans and the prospect of spending the majority of my life working and watching time slip by, but I’m considerably more captivated by the existence of different seasons. To push it a bit further, it’s not even necessarily the seasons in that they are seasons, but that things can be so entirely different at all. Imagine all the interactions and thoughts and realizations that you never had because of the situations you never encountered. Sure, we joke about “haha, oh man, ain’t it funny how Miami has two seasons, hot and hotter amirite” and I suppose that’s an interaction unique enough to those living in likewise consistent climates, yet I can’t help but think that any loss of variety is a butterfly-effect like loss in experience.

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Ears & The Universe

Ears are a rather sensitive organ, carefully crafted by the universe over millions of years of evolution. I must have pissed the living hell out of that universe because five weeks ago it cursed me with a double ear infection. The nerve! Nerves, actually; they all hurt. This particular punishment was a new one, although I have always had a tenuous relationship what might be considered ideal health. I spent my first year of college in an out of clinics and hospitals. My junior year of high school had a mess of midterms due to missing school from some “cruise” virus.

I’ve had a habit of irking the universe for the vast majority of my time being alive. Of course, I don’t really think there’s really such a thing. Any universal being is unlikely to be irked by a sentient meat sac, but it’s considerably more comforting than a reliance on pure chance.

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YouTube Troubles

Because I must harbor a deep hatred for future me, I created a YouTube channel a short just-over-a-year ago. The intention was a jumbled mess of primary education and an earnest attempt at comedy. After months of hesitation, I took a single day to write and make my first. After months of delay, I took two to write and make my second. After months…well, I’m sure you see the pattern. After the third, however, I stopped cold turkey, or at least as cold turkey as possible considering such sparse participation. There’s nothing to lose, I think. I should try it again! And so I did, but it felt a bit rushed and unfit, so I took a break and tried again. It seemed rather un-exemplary. I now have a folder of twenty nonsensical notes for which I can’t find the motivation to execute nor the sense to find something else to do.

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Passions & Icy Cream

So the ice cream parlor where I work isn’t your standard affair, it’s one of the new and fancy nitrogen ice cream spots. If you haven’t heard of it before, the idea is that we store a “base” (cream for example), mix it with a flavor (a scoop of Nutella or pump of vanilla extract), and flash freeze it with liquid nitrogen. The ice cream is pretty damn great, but the coolest part is the complete customizability of made-to-order ice cream. The options extend to those bases as well; we can freeze your standard cream alongside yoghurts and coconut milk, making possible choices quite vast.

I wonder how many things as simple as ice cream have a whole world of variation I’ll never encounter. While likely not as delicious, I expect that many of them might provide greater insight than the intricacies of freezing cream.