I am scared.

I might become, just like people I know that already owned-homes, very calculative, very stingy and very materialistic.

Now I realize what I have to go through to own a home, I am worried I may get emotional over too many little small things; my problem is the world's problem, the world problem is not my problem.

I may treat my friends as another asset.What food-processor do you have? How big is you LED TV?

I may start valuating every piece of materials. I may start knowing what people worth by their goods than people themselves.

I am scared. I might turn into another calculative bastard that I look down at. Now I am opening my big mouth and say I will fly who and where, I may become an home owner that lose sleep because I have bought my friend a bowl of soup noodle, thinking "why did I need to do that?"

I may get used to fighting for every tiny-miny thing. I may start losing sense of responsibility for what I will lose is walk away. It will be harder to pry my hands open to buy my friend a coffee but it will be easy for me to charge friends for any help I could provide, any money I lent. For every effort I give away, I will expect equivalent or more in return. Hey, I am owning a house that will not lose, but expecting value to rise or I walk away, whose debt is that?

I am exagerating, but looking around, the cool people are people without homes; the calculative people are people sitting on top of million dollar assets, calculating every penny. I am very scared, I am losing my coolness, for there is not much to begin with.

Now that I can expect what is next and imagine what expenses I will have, I am scared. I may become a tasteless and passionless person. A dude who has no passion over the golf clubs, it is just a club, eh? A dude who simply dress anything, just a shirt I will say. A dude that has better grill than the watch he is wearing. Hey, what is more useful? I reason myself. I gain a home, I may lose a life.

I may also start thinking I am the king of my world. For now I have a roof over my head, and mirrors on the walls. It is easy enough to ask the mirror everyday, mirror mirrors on the wall, who is the successful person after all? Looking at the reflection, I can always flown at myself, hmm, I am doing just not bad, the king of my world. I might repeat the same procedure everyday. I lose purpose, I lose contents in life. I will think I have midlife crises.

I have a request, please kindly remember this letter. Please slap me awake when I have become a stingy, selfish, calculative, materialistic, irresponsible and self-inflated bastard. For what home owners have to go through, the mind of steel and for what responsibillities home owners have to bear down the road, the mind of calculation, it has very high tendency i will become just that, the people I dispise now.

I want to become a cool homeowner. But can I? I am scared, very.

The most difficult subjects can be explained to the most slow-witted man if he has not formed any idea of them already; but the simplest thing cannot be made clear to the most intelligent man if he is firmly persuaded that he knows already, without a shadow of doubt, what is laid before him.--Leo Tolstoy, 1897

A simple statement that lasts longer than a century , perhaps centuries more.

The exponential growth of choices

Trying to buy a laundry detergent, there are choices of with bleach, for sports, with Drowney, 2X extra strength, etc. Trying to buy cereals, there are choices of different colors, different shapes, different brands that fill the whole isle. Trying to buy soda, there are zero, cherry favor, diet, lite, etc. Trying to buy a golf driver, there is draw bias, fade bias, extra forgiving, interchangeable hosel, extra length, etc. Funny thing is, they all price almost the same, with maybe few cents difference in price. Having choices are great, but having so many choices that makes one stand in front of the product tinkering over to make a decision for 5 minutes is not only torturing, but the whole shopping experience become so tedious, eye straining and confusing.

Taking the laundry detergent as an example, what is the point of so many selection, if the first one simply could have got the job done?

An Obituary printed in the London Times...

'Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: Knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm; Life isn't always fair; and maybe it was my fault. Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. Common Sense declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an Aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as some churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault. Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust his wife, Discretion his daughter, Responsibility his son, Reason He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, I Want It Now, Someone Else Is To Blame, I'm A Victim. Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.'

February 12, 2009

February 12 was an unusual day. It started with a delayed subway ride (always a good indicator how my day will go by) and I ended with staying back late in the office for reasons I didn't even know. It was one of those days where effort is triple the result.

Anyhow, after the long day I had the best Pakistani food in my life. To be fair, it was my best Pakistani food. To be even more fair, it was my first Pakistani food. Not only it was finger linking good (I was using my hand to eat), I was thinking about it two days later. After the delicious meal from a long day, we departed around 935pm, I headed east to the 4,5 subway.

Since I have a son 2 years ago, I hardly walked around NYC at night in the weekdays anymore, dazed in the rich after-taste of best Pakistani food I ever had and, I walked and walked and maybe God was playing with me, I passed my subway entrance by 2 blocks. As I turned around after realizing my mistake and was about 100 feet before the subway entrance, a SUV stopped in front of me, a dude in his twenties reached over from the driver seat and asked me for direction. In his hand he was holding a worn out Manhattan map, spoke with thick accent and more-broken-than-mine English (according to him, it was Italanio) but it did not sound much to me any close to the Brok’yn “How’ ye dooing” kind of tone. He asked me to direct him to Lincoln tunnel from the worn out map. It was dark, cold in the upper thirties; I could not see what was what.

Since this stupid recession has started, I had been trying to be nicer, more helpful to people, before this, I could care less for this kind of need. He asked for help, I try to provide the assistance. So I pulled out my iPhone, loaded the map and showed him direction to reach to 34^th street. I was pointing on 42^nd (we were on 28^th) and asked him if he was going to Newark, he went “Yes, yes… si, Newark, si”, without paying much attention to where my finger was pointing. Just as I was about to leave and enter the subway station, he burst out “You are very kind man, I worked for the Georgia Armani, I need some help”. Things just got fishy starting from here. In his best attempted-Italanio English, he explained he was from Italy, working for Geogia Armani, attended the fashion show in Javitz convention center, had promised to help his boss to carry jackets home, it would be too much hassle and he would have to pay heavy duty tax, he was out of cash, so wondering if I would buy 3 jackets from him, he would just charge me for one.

Hmm, 3 for 1, he was returning me a favor for being helpful, it was late, he had a flight to catch. My little evil of greed kicked in, I started thinking. Maybe my eyes glittered with lights at that point, at the same time I paused; he willingly showed me his flight ticket, rental car receipt and the red Italian passport. As I recalled now I remembered I saw paper with words in plane-ticket cover, paper with words and a passport-like booklet in red. I did not identify any one of them to what he claimed they were. He started asking my name, where I worked and would sell all two leather jackets with a suede shirt which cost over three grand total for six hundreds. I also got the luxury to touch the material, smell the aroma of leather. After that he begged me to help. To be honest, he had one of the most truthful eyes I ever seen, it was so sincere that I was seriously thinking about the leather jacket with Armani tags on them. I declined and I said I did not have 6 hundred cash with me, then he had me touched the material again, smelled the aroma of leather. This went back and forth for couple minutes, I declined, he begged, I touched the material, smelled the aroma of leather, rejected his offer to ATM, and touched the leather again. Finally he pointed at me “why not help me? Why? Why? How much do you have?” I sensed desperation, the desperate of getting cash. “You were a nice guy and I wanted to do something for you” “One hundred, 3 leathers for one hundred, help me.” “So let me get this straight, you worked for Georgia Armani, have trouble bringing too many leather jackets home because of duty tax, and wanna sell me three for one hundred?” “Yes!” Turned around to the back seat he showed me more nicely packed garment and suits with the Armani logo all over.

“Sorry I could not help you, I am going to leave now.” In his eyes I could see the most sorrow and desperation as I walked away. I entered the subway with great debate within me, what if he was for real? What if he was really desperate? What could I lose with $100, three Armani leathers, even if they were stolen it was still worthwhile? Should I turned around and help him out?

An old Manhattan map, going to New Jersey while coming to NY for convention, did not pay attention to my direction and asking how much I had, duty tax to carry work clothing? All these rushed through my head within that quick moment.

Later on as I reached home the first thing I found was this:
http://www.wonderhowto.com/how-to/video/how-to-pull-off-the-leather-jacket-stitch-up-scam-77887/

Like a dumbass I was, I did truthfully feel sorry for him. In recession, I thought that people would be in need of help, like a dumbass I was, I was the naïve one.

Recession my ass.