Jumping Back In The Game

Over the course of my ‘educational’ life, I’ve met heaps of people. If I could narrow people down into smaller segments, I believe I could bring the categories down to just two, with some possible venn-diagram-esque overlap.

The distinction is found in a very specific personality trait. It is between the extremes of impulsiveness and calculation. I’ve met very few that are fully on the extreme of either, but most seem to fall firmly in one category or another.

The impulsiveness I’m referring to is that of the risk-taker, the care-free or laid back personality. They don’t take life too seriously, and tend to opt for the less stressful option in everything. They don’t calculate such decisions, they just occur naturally to them. It is part of the beauty of the personality. No thought is required, if there is, its minimal, and the correct path seems clear as day. Critical viewpoints of their actions seem near irrelevant, primarily because in their mind it is truth—simple and obvious truth.

The calculating type is, needless to say, the converse of the impulsive. They are the thinkers, the planners, the strategists. They look at all options with equal bias, weighing them all against each other, and reasoning the best outcome. The decisions they come to, as well as they things they like are analyzed for their truth—broken down until they make sense and can be explained. Emotions and ‘feelings’ need to be understood, and/or processed. Why do we feel this way? Why does this make me happy? They are not satisfied with the simplistic feeling that things like art, taste, etc give them. They get just as much, if not more, fulfillment from understanding as they do from the actual feeling. Sometimes, they don’t feel satisfied unless they at least somewhat understand a feeling.

I would be willing to cede that most people are a fair mix of the two personalities, yet one always wins out over the other. When a real situation faces them down, they will resort utterly to the dominant personality. Not out of choice or practice, but because its what they’re naturally inclined to do. It is ‘in their blood,’ so to say.

Where things get interesting is when a person from one side meets one from the other. ‘opposites attract,’ is a half-assed cliché that’s false a lot more than its true, and that’s primarily because the calculating personality types are the ones that really observed the truth of the matter, and decided to explicate the results. But there is a mild truth to it, and unfortunately it’s a sad truth. These two seemingly-clashing personality types lead to a Shakespearean drama that seems to unfold the same way every time. Just looking at the two personalities and how they operate, its inevitable that the result should end in the same place every time the two opposites meet.

The initial meeting is a work of art. The impulsive one does just that—acts on feelings. They find the other person attractive, seems fun based on what they can pick up from short conversation, and so they are open to some progression. The calculating one—reactions always dependant on current situation—see the actions/personality of the impulsive one. The impulsivness gives off a sort of air of confidence, which is attractive to a point in any situation. That confidence, combined with any remote successful conversation will boost the belief in the calculating that there could be something to this impulsive person. To the calculating, it’s all about what can have the best chances. The person seems fun, interesting, attractive, and they’re friendly. All signs point to moving forward.

The next part is when they engage each other with more depth. Slowly their personalities begin to reveal themselves, but not fully. The impulsive personality can usually find something alluring in the ‘efficiency’ of the calculating. They have a plan, they pursue it, they succeed. They seem fulfilled, they seem as though when they put their mind to something they really do accomplish it. Success is attractive.
The calculating personality, however, never feels fully successful or accomplished with what they’ve done. They’re big picture thinkers, and are always working for something bigger. This gives off an impression of modesty—another attractive feature.

The calculating person sees the care-free attitude of the impulsive. They live more simply than he does, and yet find a meaning in what they do. They don’t seem to be plagued by the idea of trying to work for some bigger idea. The calculating sees the impulsive as able to live in the moment, in the day, and able to just enjoy a simple aspect of life. They see this as something very wonderful to see, and it makes them hopeful. Is it happiness they other person has attained? Some constant state of joy? Consistent content is an attractive feature.
The calculating enjoy being around that person more because they experience that in the moment-ness whenever they are around the impulsive. They’re happy, because the other person is happy, and usually tells/shows them why. Not in the reasoned/deductive manner that the calculating is used to, but in the impulsive way of, ‘feeling is enough.’ The calculating is made happy by being around the impulsive. The calculating becomes more attracted to the impulsive due to this.

As things progress, they begin to see the faults, and the contradictions each personality has toward their own. The tragic part in the story, being that the impulsive sees the faults far before the calculating. The impulsive begins to see the state that the calculating finds himself in. He is plagued by structure—the wear and tear of the personality begins to show in conversation and habit of schedule. Soon, the impulsive can see it in the planning of future events. The calculating needs schedule, order. The impulsive would rather it be a spur of the moment event. The impulsive begins to fear that the calculating will pull them into their ‘cage.’

The impulsive begins to worry, and so retreats more into their impulsiveness. They begin to inject their interactions with the calculating personality with impulsiveness. Communication becomes relaxed, plans are made closer and closer to the date/time of execution, etc. This in turn clashes severely with the calculating personality. They prefer full and transparent communication—fast responses, clear language. They get uncomfortable not being able to pencil in an event a day or more in advance. The entire situation of being in contact/relations with the impulsive becomes stressful. The calculating begins to weight he options.

But its too late. The impulsive is detached. The calculating, in an attempt to more fully understand/remedy the situation smothered the impulsive in their further retreat into their personality. They become fully convinced the calculating is going to trap them in his own structure of things, and so they flee. They want to remain impulsive, and not be under the strong influence of the calculating.

If it weren’t for the impulsive leaving first in virtually every scenario, the calculating would do the exact same. The impulsive seems to be trying to passively force their lifestyle upon the calculating. They want him to let go of his projects, take big risks and hope for the best. He sees it as a violation of reason, essentially, the calculating sees the impulsive as being irrational, and concludes that nothing good or lasting can come of this.

But again, its too late. Before those thoughts can be formed the impulsive is gone. Each side is convinced that the other was trying to reel them in and change their lifestyle to suit their comfort zone. In truth, however, they should have remained with the ideas and feelings of that earlier encounter.

What made the opposite attractive to them was that they saw in the other something that they themselves lacked. They saw something they wanted to be, but could not. Somewhere within they wanted that quality, even if within a minute amount. Beyond that, they wanted the other person to influence their life, and not vice-versa.

The tragedy occurs when each doesn’t take into account the idea that this is how the person lives. Theyre within their own area of the venn-diagram. Its how they live, how they operate. The structure for the calculating isn’t an attempt to reel in the impulsive, but just how he is used to things. The lax communication of the impulsive isn’t a withdrawal, its just a status quo habit of their personality.

The reason ‘opposites don’t attract’ is because they misunderstand their desire. Their personalities ‘clash,’ but in a very false sense. It is indeed a clash, but solely because—just like in a collision—each party remains at the same velocity/dedication their lifestyle entails. If it was understood that the opposite side had some desire to attain some level of balance, the clash would instead be an embrace.

I believe that ‘embrace’ is where the original idea behind the cliché is rooted. It is within this misunderstanding and assumption that these opposite personalities fail to succeed.

The irony behind this piece is that I was led to write it due to such an encounter as I just described. I felt like I failed, and things were going badly, but, In fact, after writing this my feelings have changed.

I am hands-down a calculating type. I reason and think way too often. Recently I began to make it a point to start adding more ‘crazy’ in my life. Essentially, adding more risk, taking more chances, and giving more voice to a blind confidence. Meeting the person that I did really helped that idea a long, and gave me more hope for a transition. A dry ending left me dejected, and led me to lose a bit of confidence in the situation.

Now however, I believe I just re-reasoned myself back into confidence. I have to allow it, not let time influence me too much, nor let my default personality take over my decisions. This doesn’t mean I’m not still shifting uncomfortably in my seat when there are no solid plans, but it means im givng it more of a chance to develop. I’m taking a risk, and adapting to a much more impulsive personality in hopes that the slack I give will be given to me in return at some future point.

I said I was going to put more crazy in my life, and if I have to start here so be it.

Sorry--you're breaking up--

Since I've been here in New Zealand, I've developed a few routines. My possible favorite is my morning routine. Due to its general steady, relaxed, and consistent nature, it usually gives me the energy and peace of mind to work throughout the day and adapt to whatever confronts me no matter how rapid or extreme. Without making it too boring, I simply make a french press of good coffee and porridge, and read the news from three different papers from three corners of the world (Washington Post, New Zealand Herald, and Novaya Gazeta (sometimes RT)). Im not very conspiratorial, but the whole reading multiple sources is a pet peeve of mine that I developed a few years ago. It pays off.

It pays off on days like today. In the midst of all these Wall street protests, Im surprised some people in high positions still have the audacity to continue going on with activities that the protests address. [Quick note: The core idea of the protests needs to be the fact that the government is clearly not representing the interests of the US people anymore. Its in our country's foundations (DOI) to remove any system that no longer answers to its people: the power is literally in our hands. The rest of the grab-all ideas that the movement seems to have picked up can and will be discussed/ handled once we have mechanisms of handling that. But the idea now is to address something clear, concise, as well as something that we have a right to do.]

SO in the midst of this protest that should be addressing the above notion, our government is currently engaged in
1.) Holding the record for most deportations of any other term
2.) Continuing to develop a missile shield originally designed to combat the [now non-existent] USSR
3.) Sending more soldiers to Central Africa
*I'm sure there is more, but I have shit to do today. like earn money.

Starting from the top, I went to a university that was heavily Obama supportive (which ones werent really?). The idea that he currently holds such a claim is, quite frankly, a direct betrayal of the ideas of most of these people. It may be a long stretch of a comparison, but these people wanted Obama in office to get rid of things like Guantanamo, and to increase the rights of humans to be with whom they chose, and so on. Immigration policy is a bit different, i'll admit that. But when an incumbent does a better job at kicking people out of the country than the Bush's, something seems a bit estranged. [again, i need to develop this more, but the article really struck out at me today]

For anyone who knew me while i was in DC, you'll know that this missile shield is a really sore subject for me. Im a bit of a Russophile, and can't help myself for always being slightly more optimistic toward them than maybe I should be (perhaps it balances out the negative feelings). But this is a ridiculous idea. Its obsolete--the USSR doesnt exist anymore, Russia (no matter WHAT anyone says) is not a military threat to the US anymore. Its useless for the 'new' purpose--Iran and North Korea's missile capabilities are sub-optimal at best and the furthest they could reach is not even close to what the defense system can bring down. and third--how much money is this costing the US tax payer? They expanded the system two years ago, and are still doing so. Military tech of any nature is not cheap (maybe in the functionality way, but certainly not in price), and I believe that the US government could be using that money for better things. Its not like our economy is in the shit hole right?

And the story about troops going to Central Africa is hardly posted at all in US media. I resulted to finding the story in significantly less time in European media. Supposedly, these soldiers are only going to help training and advice to help the nation's forces 'remove Kony and any other high ranking officials,' which I believe is about the same terminology they used entering Afghanistan/Iraq.
Now, I'm not indifferent to what is going on in that region. Its an awful situation that no one is responding to, and is probably a better example of 'terrorism' than what the word is normally attributed to--mainly because what is going on in Central Africa causes people to literally live in terror every day (not fear- terror). One could get raped, killed, maimed, dismembered....its essentially living in a horror/slasher film. I'm not saying we shouldn't care. We should.
But i'm a Cosmopolitan economist: Nations mean nothing to me, but i still prefer to get bang for my buck. To clarify, I think our relationship as human beings should always be strong than our relationship as Americans, Germans, Russians, etc. But, If one were to drop everything and pursue a goal, chances are, that could be the only goal one accomplishes. Yes, we should be helping to alleviate what was going on in Central Africa.
...But we're also a suffering country ourselves. Not trivializing what is going on in Central Africa with an economic crisis, but we as a country have a lot going on- wars, crises-- We cant help everyone without taking huge sacrifices to ourselves. Something, in my opinion, we cannot do.

Not in THAT way anyhow. I'm tired of the wars in which the US is currently involved. Plus, its costing too much money. We're not helping anymore, we're hurting their people. Wars are expensive, and only created an economic stimulus ONCE, and that was for extreme reasons. In short, what I'm saying is that if the US really wanted to help Central africa, they should get out of the mess theyre currently in, and change the flow of support to something that they CAN help with--not something where they continue to hurt the residents, the soldiers of their own country, as well as their own economy, and reputation.
Still looking for something good to come out of the wars in the Middle east...

Oh! We havent had a terrorist attack on the US since then!
--thanks TSA! You know, that establishment we have on our own shores...

The point of this really has been that clearly, in a time where we have thousands of people protesting [or what they should be protesting] is that the government no longer represents their interests. The economy is dying, people have no jobs, and most of the money the US government receives seems to be going to select, people and then the warfront, or vice versa. Who knows what the priorities are anymore?: THATS THE PROBLEM!

A Dusty Box, Filled with Broken Glass

I'm tired, and I need to write. That is to say, I have two urges that I really need to fulfill, but The mental urge needs out before I give into the physical. I gave into quite a bit of mindless entertainment recently, and my mind is suffering from the lack of exercise. Best to give it a bit of a warm up. Especially since I have a paper that needs researched/written by the end of the week. Sigh. Being a student is a bit of a pain on occasion.

So what to write that could be of interest? I have no prompt really, but there was a bit of an artsy piece I came across that I had written ages ago. By the looks of it, and based on the speech patterns I attempted to deliver via the particular medium, I was probably mildly intoxicated. Regardless, I quite enjoyed it.

It concerned 'hate'.

Hate always seems an interesting topic of choice. Its a word/state that I believe is often taken for granted/overused/etc. Its really lost meaning. We say, 'oh I hated that movie,' or 'I hate traffic.' But how often do people actually experience legitimate, and real 'hate'? I'd venture to guess not very often.

Firstly, it seems that hate is often mistaken for anger. Again, 'hate' is used so often that its meaning has become much less. Someone could get into a fight with another and claim that they 'hate' them. If one were to actually inquire if they truly 'hated' that person, chances are that they would say no, but that they are just really angry with them.

So why retract the statement upon second examination? For me, when asked if I really meant 'hate' there is a certain exponential increase of intensity in the emotion. The second questioning takes the lackluster 'hate' and instead seeks to showcase the possibility of the 'real deal' (if one will).

To actually hate entails something brutal, and near-primal. In fact, to actually 'hate' carries a negative connotation not upon the victim of the hate, but on the one possessing the emotion. Its something one should be ashamed of, and something one should regret. It leads to rash decisions, potentially violent actions--essentially nothing good. I've found through my studies that if one wishes to see where ideas of morals came about, it can easily be found through the endless stories across cultures. With regards to the topic in question, ever read/hear a story about the benefits of hate? I haven't. I'm fairly confident I wont ever encounter one either.

So it does seem that hate is a negative thing- a sort of regression to a more primitive state, and something that we should be able to control.

I have 'hated'. Not in the light sense. No where near it. The piece that I wrote (mentioned earlier), contains a fairly illustrative description of the feeling. I've only felt it once, and nothing ever came close to it ever before or since.

"I saw [the girl] a week ago- stared her in the eye for a few moments. I realized that I have nothing but wrath for her now. I despise her. I once thought that I could make things better and forgive her, but when I saw her that day I realized that it couldnt happen. I found that I can now tell someone what hate feels like. You feel a discomfort in your own skin just at sight of the thing. Extremities go numb, muscles tighten up- its an enormous mental conflict between confrontation and utter avoidance. You want it gone. You remind yourself to be a civilized and controlled human being, and so you resist, and just deal with the situation. But its like trying to sit in a room with someone scratching nails on a chalkboard, and you cannot make a single reaction. All you want to do is yell, attack, leave, anything but be passive and civilized. You even lose sleep over it. That is hate. And it is misery."

I do not feel this way toward that person anymore. Rereading that paragraph, however, it all comes back. Every feeling described, I remember vividly. It is a painful experience. Its a desperate feeling, and one that reminds one of how weak they are. It feels like an emotion of last resort- what to go to once you've run out of options, and you've realized you cannot win no matter what.

It reminds me of quotes from film and books: "its hate that drives him".

Given my brief experience with hate, I understand the above quote in an entirely new light. While in retrospect, it can be seen that to hate is indeed a shameful thing, there is power behind it. That 'burn' that is always referred to is the effect hate has in erasing all logic and reason. The power is that there is no more human restraint in hate.

"anything is possible"

while that phrase is normally looked upon in a fond light, seeing it through the lens of hate's enabling force, it is frightening. Anything can be done through hate. There is no right or wrong, good or bad. There is the object of hate, and the only thing that is of concern is eliminating that object, so that one need not hate anymore.

And most frightening of all, when one manages to rid oneself of the hated object, logic and reason return.When they do, one can look back and see clearly everything that has been done for the one goal. One can see every sacrifice made, every log thrown on the fire, and every piece of the soul that is left torn and shredded in the firey wake.

At that point, there are only two options: come to terms with the damage that oneself has wrought and work to make amends, or to delve further into the hate and blind oneself of the horrors committed.

I only had a taste of Hate. It is bitter, painful, poisonous, and like many other aspects of power, addictive.

For a Greater Leverage

I'm feeling a little buzzed, so i'll give you a topic...
Campaign finance- is it unconstitutional? or should we be approaching the problem from a different angle?

To give a crash course of why campaign finance is somewhat ruining America (among other countries) is that it gives unnecessary leverage to those with heaping piles of money. Politicians need to get elected so they campaign to get their name out--nothing wrong with that. They need money to campaign and so businesses that feel a particular politician will support their interests will donate money to said politician to try and help get him elected. When that particular politician gets elected, he is then (unofficially) obligated to 'pay back' the contributor(s) in 'favors'. These favors can be anything from subsidy support to endorsement of a particular policy.

Where this can go awry is when a politician takes the 'obligation' he has to pay back his contributors as a higher priority than that of the people that really matter- eg the ones that voted his ass into the position. This is why we have enormous tobacco subsidies rather than a useful healthcare system (among other things) and why most financial banks have a firm grip on most of Washington's balls.

This cant be fixed by taxing the rich more than any other person (i'm referring to percentages not monetary amounts). if there is one thing i definitely will support on the right-wing politics, its that one cannot 'take'. No matter how one looks at it, under the current economic system we enable wealth to be made. Sadly, even immorally. However, it is legal. That is the problem. The correction is not to take what is rightfully theirs (because it is, we allowed it to happen/it was a legitimate loophole in the system/etc), and to take what is rightfully a possession of someone else is stealing. Plain and simple. Taxation is not stealing merely for the fact that it is legalized. so what could be a solution?

Set limits on campaign finance so the politicians cant dig themselves in too deep, therein enabling our policy-makers to do what we elected them to do? Sadly, campaign finance falls under the territory of free speech. Anyone is allowed to spend any amount of money they wish in any way they wish (dont get technical on me people, you know what i mean), and support anyone they wish with said money. One cannot argue against one of the founding pillars of our constitution.

So, we must argue with another piece of our constitution! Though Campaign finance(CF) falls under free speech, there is another way around it. Essentially, CF is what enables those with more money more leverage in the political realm. In essence, a loophole in the free speech argument allows a kind of plutocracy. the problem is not necessarily the money, but the leverage itself.

We must then, create a way in which we dont not assail anothers' rights, yet regain the leverage we are guaranteed by our democracy. In the way, i believe that we should find a way to give the people more leverage over the elected candidates. To put it simply, every elected official (congress, senate, executive) should be subject to a much easier form of ejection/impeachment. It is, after all, a very foundational piece of our national constitution that if a regime no longer serves the interests of the people, it is in the peoples right to remove that regime and replace it with another that is more suitable (look it up, its there!).

Obviously, as the position of authority gets higher, it will be more difficult to impeach. But in terms of congress and senate officials, an annual 'review' should be instated, and if certain policies are not being worked at hard enough, or enabled when it is clear that they could have been (essentially, if the official is not serving the interests of the majority but that of the plutocracy/campaign finance chaps) then they should be easily removed from their position. Probably by another vote-popular movement.

As for who would replace the official, I'm sure if a popular movement were mobilized to remove an official, a person within that movement would be more than capable of filling the position. If not, there could be any number of mechanism for replacement--a runner up of the elections (if favored by majority of course) for example.

There are other options of course. But as for an option that respects the idea of privacy as well as democracy, the way to go seems to be to find a way to increase the political leverage of the people. Preferably, the increase must be at least equal to the influence of the ones financing the politicians. In this way, the politicians will no longer be fully swayed by the rewards of serving the lobbies (for example). They will also be swayed by the fact that if they do no do as their electors wish, they can be removed from their office at the tip of the hat.

It doesn't hurt every now and then to remind our leadership that they still need to fear their people....

This is a Mind Dump

So its been a while. blah blah blah. Enough small talk. I've only got a little bit of time, but I've got a get my head around this somehow. So lets get right to it.

For some reason, even though there was a seemingly near-criminal investigation into the financial world post-crisis, there is no one in prison.

oh, my bad, ONE guy is in prison.

and probably just because SOMEONE had to go. Someone had to feed the masses rage-hunger

Without going into too much detail, there is an ABUSRD amount of evidence to put quite a few people in prison from anything from money laundering, to fraud and embezzlement--among other things. But all we (the public) got for being blatantly used and taken advantage of was one man.

I only need to illustrate the absurdity of this using one simple parallel. In trading, one cannot trade with oneself. there must be at least two people involved for it to be a 'trade'. So why, if our economy was demolished by financial securities TRADING, is there only one man behind bars?

would i be satisfied if they threw another guy in and called it a day? Of course not. That would just mean one less thing for me to be furious about.

These men are in fact criminals. There are precedents for this. I cannot take out a student loan and spend most of it in a casino rather than on books and food. However, a bunch of financial bankers can take OUR money and use it for a 'pseudo-casino'.

The fact that this occurred, was exposed, and yet there has been essentially no consequences for the actions of the few bankers is painful. Clearly, the finance boys have a diamond studded collar around the dogs in the government, and a firm grip on their balls.

Or I'm sorry, there is no negative coercion going on. Consider this is DC men we're talking about, its definitely positive coercion. And by positive coercion i mean that the men and women that are supposed to be representing the interests of the people of the United States and paying off their debts at the expensive of ours.

I'll leave my angry views on campaign finance for another post, but in short, the reason practically nothing gets done in terms of policy is because lobbies pay for elected officials campaigning to get elected. If/when the official gets elected, that money spent on annoying plastic signs and commercials needs to be paid back. Not in money, necessarily, but in favors. Favors, or government backing of certain areas, protection from foreign markets, etc.

Or in the case of said financial sector, we bail them out when they lose it all on the roulette table. Why? look how much money those guys are making--if Goldman Sachs decides to support say....Obama, the amount of other lobbies he needs to ask for campaign financing is very very low.

the problem becomes when Goldman Sachs loses a few hundred billion performing illegal activities.Because then our elected official (in this case Obama) is very strongly obligated to repay Goldman Sachs for the oodles of money he cost them to get elected.

Was there ever a real debate about the bailout for the banks? I strongly doubt it. in fact, i think the 'debates' were just a show to make it seem we were not being swindled.

To make matters even more atrocious, for the second time this year, the US government has avoided a government meltdown at the very last minute.

What seems all too convenient for me, is that the US credit rating is no longer a AAA rating. Even with the debt ceiling increased, its no longer AAA. its not in a BAD rating, but its not the flawless rating we've had since, practically, our formation. These potential 'meltdowns' our government keeps having has been weakening the credit rating and thereby making our financial assets not a guaranteed solid investment. THe flip side of that coin is that if one trades them on the, oh i dunno, financial market that Goldman Sachs (among others) got in trouble with in 2008, they essentially become more valuable. mainly more valuable in that they are more risky, therefore the spreads are larger, and therefore, there is more money to be made.

Which according to a report by Keiser Report (financial publication), thats exactly what theyve been doing.

For me, it seems pretty obvious that the government is tossing more than just a bone to the financial market. Its beginning to look like they're tossing them the entire roast. Our roast. I'm alright if politicians want to pay their debts. But when they start paying their debts and making them a priority over ours, i think there should be some serious consequences.

It astounds me that the title of our politicians is still technically 'civil servant'. In my opinion, 'civil servants' should be like they were throughout the rest of history. You get paid to compensate for participating in government (but not the highest wage, nor the lowest), and you are a SERVANT or the people. A representative. Neither of those titles can afford half the things a politician makes.Nor should they.

ARGH.Lets just vote them all out, make campaign finance limits, and start fixing whats wrong with this country.

Thats my rant. If you bitch enough or provide a good enough argument i'll give you evidence to back my harsh words above.

Call this the last straw for me. If i can find a way to get even ONE more of these to answer for this catastrophe i'll consider my life to have fulfilled something great.

For now, my next goal is simple. Have the words 'Masters in Finance Law" printed (among others) on my final degree.

NEW SERIES: THE LOST ENTRIES vol.1

MONTHS after the last post, I realized that i once again have that special kind of time on my hands, where its enough to do something in my interest, yet too late at night to do anything fun (and too early in the week to drink- boo). So I decided rather than write completely new material, i would dig through the ol' documents folder, and edit up some of the pieces from my Wellington adventures that never made it up here. There aren't that many, but there are enough to make it look like im still active on this thing. Therefore, Enjoy the first of these little reflections

MIDDLE EAST IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC

Walking down a street running parallel to the drunkard highway of Wellington, I found myself still holding my gaze toward the skyline, reading every sign for every restaurant, shop, and stall that stood along the line. Eventually I read a single word that I immediately recognized as foreign to the English language, and yet familiar to me. ‘Habebie’ shone out in red lettering on a white background, and flanked by the signature green tree of Lebanon. With my vast knowledge of Arabic- an entire semester!- I felt it would be kind of me to venture into the quaint eatery, and at least deliver the casual, ‘marhaba’ to it’s kind owner.

Little did I know that this would be the first of my encounters involving insider deals based on foundational foreign language vocabulary. After my probably butchered Arabic greeting, the man behind the front desk began to entreat my friendly approach by responding in a slower-paced Arabic. Of course, I had no idea what he was saying and had to inform him that English- tragically- would be far more productive mode of communication.

Nassar, one of the co-owners of Habebie, began to inquire as to how I knew Arabic. A brief reply soon gave way to an incredible dialogue of exchanged histories. After I explained how I got to the lovely city of Wellington, I politely asked him of his journey to the remote island country.

With the glorious sounds of sizzling oil and heating consumables emanating from the kitchen, Nasser began to tell me how his brother had asked him to help him with his restaurant venture in New Zealand’s capital city. From Lebanon he moved to the other side of the world in search of a life away from the complexities and conflict in the Middle East. His epic of hard work and travel soon gave way to the terrible realization of immigration reality. New Zealand, Nasser admitted, was a beautiful place. But the country was small, ‘you begin to know everyone. It’s just like a really big village. Its too small.’

As if on queue with the smells wafting from the kitchen, Nasser slowly transitioned into a sentimental nostalgic monologue of how he truly missed his homeland- how he wished he could return to his beautiful home, but was unable to because he just couldn’t make enough money at this restaurant.

This speech was not just some little pleasantry I got to experience. This was a reality check for myself, and my current situation. I had been filing my head for years with ideas that New Zealand was the ultimate goal, the finish line, where I belonged. But would I also, in finally deciding to come here and start a life, be trapped within its sapphire borders, forever struggling to return to what I realized all to late was my home?

Before I could entertain the thoughts for any real amount of time, Nasser asked me, without any reserve, ‘So are you going to eat anything or what?’
Sadly, I had already indulged in a dinner at a semi-commercial Thai joint up the road on Cuba. I told him simply that I would come back the next day, roughly the same time, and he could cook anything for me- the most exotic, his favorite, something no one ever ordered, whatever he felt like making- and I would eat it gladly, and pay for it. He agreed to these terms, we made a brief farewell and I departed to the local ‘watering hole’ for the evening.

Skipping to the next day, I walked in, the place a bustling mess of restaurant chaos- a thing of beauty, something akin to the many moving parts of a machine; a storm of seemingly disorderly pieces that all collaborate toward a single goal. I stood a good twenty feet away form the front desk, beginning to believe that maybe tonight was not the best night to have Nasser prepare me a personal meal of a yet undetermined size. My doubts were cast like dust as soon as Nasser noticed me. His brow was damp, and he had the fatigued face of a chef that hasn’t quite yet hit the ‘runner’s high’ of a busy night. Despite this state, he turned to the head waiter, said a few inaudible words, and then pointed me to the small two-seater table by the window. It was reserved for me.

The waiter, also Lebanese, told me it would be a few minutes but the food would be out in good time. I exclaimed as best I could that he could take his time- the fact that he remembered and reserved a table for our deal was more than enough courtesy. In the meantime, I pulled out my notebook and began scrawling a few notes down (as you do) when one is overwhelmed.

Before I could retreat into my inner thoughts for too long, the food was placed before me. I must have said something right, for the service was at a level beyond what I thought I deserved. Within twenty minutes of my seating I had before me a feast of both the foreign and the familiar.

Upon the porcelain vessel rested a collage of meats= chicken, beef, and lamb. They were each spiced to perfection, varying only slightly between their respective flavors and all carrying their distinct flavors as well as a slight bit of spice that gave it a pleasurable heat, but didn’t interfere with the overall flavor of the meal.
Bordering the mound of protein was a mountain of rice, and a crater of hummus filled with a lake of olive oil. With a basket of flatbread all to myself I made quick work of the hummus, and left the rice to be a delicious partner for the meats. In the corner rested a festive looking green and red, ‘salad’ of perceivably tomato and parsley. Later I learned this was called Tabouleh, and to me, this was a culinary masterpiece.

It was parsley, and tomato, and some other seasonings and spices. One could pick out the distinct taste of parsley in the dish. Let’s be real on this; parsley is NOT that great to eat. The taste, when combined with other herbs/spices can be used for good. If it is left on its own, however, the best use of parsley is already filled by its (in my opinion highly likely) not-so-distant cousin, cyanide. Somehow, the inventor of this dish- as well as anyone who makes it- has found a way to use this bitter-ass herb to flaunt their skill. In making Tabouleh, the chef essentially says to their diner, ‘I’m going to serve you one of the most awful plants on the face of this earth, enable you to taste it and recognize the terrible herb, but will then make you enjoy it and possibly want more.

Needless to say, I was impressed- thoroughly.

As if it weren’t enough, I still had a meatball-esque sausage dish in the corner. Imagine meatloaf that had the same wonderful, exploding flavor of spicy Italian sausage, and rolled into meatballs. You now have a general idea of what I tasted. Add that to all of the above (and a glass of CabSauv), and you’re on your way to the essential Habebie experience.

My devastated plates were removed, the water refilled, and soon after the check was placed before me. I thought to myself, ‘don’t bother looking at the bill- its worth anything he might charge.’ But, of course, being raised by a once-financial consultant, my conscience couldn’t bare blindly signing a bill.

It was enough already. Meeting Nasser, and having him tell me his life story would have been enough to make this experience unforgettable. But then he remembered our deal, then he reserved a table for me, then he cooked the amazing meal despite the bustle of his restaurant obligations. Looking at the check, I knew I found someone I would remember forever. Forty percent of my final bill was removed. There are no words. There is just a lifted wine glass, mentally or physically, every time I see well-made tabouleh, taste homemade hummus, or encounter the Lebanese culture.
Strangely, I also think of Nasser and the Habebie restaurant anytime I think of New Zealand. In all of its beauty, through mountains, blue waters, clean air, amazing views, New Zealand can apparently still be an inescapable land where (just like in the US) grand dreams can fall to mediocre and disillusioned pieces. The way I found myself coping with this devil’s-advocate-illustration toward my own desires of immigrating was strangely defeatist. I still believe that nothing but good could come of my permanent stay, and if I felt some tinge of regret at the loss of mobility, at least I would be trapped- not in some undesirable, jaded land- but in a land of exquisite beauty.

Being trapped in paradise; shielded form the serious troubles of the world, left only to enjoy the best things in life, and yet in exchange doomed to sacrifice ties to the past and the old country- New Zealand is beginning to sound like an Asimov novel…

Gastronomic Poetry

It was now Tuesday. I’m not fully convinced on what it was that did it. It may have been that I watched the Brad Pitt special of Oprah the day before (conceding to a brand of American television and culture that I try not to think about on a daily basis), or if it was the need to actually know how much money I owed the credit card company. Shame and financial worry aside, I somehow rolled my lazy ass out of my wonderfully comfortable bed and down the steep hills to downtown Wellington once again.

By the time I neared the library, laptop in hand, I was feeling pretty good about my decision. I had forgotten about Brad’s home life, and was looking forward to checking up on things back home as well as conducting a little bit of business for my return. I grabbed the usual obnoxiously large International Law book that I always intended to read more of, and signed into the Internet, immediately rendering any intentions of furthering my self-attained law knowledge a thing of the past.

While the once painfully expensive book gained dust behind the screen, I began to feel bits of hunger coming on. Nearly six o’clock and all I’d eaten all day was my routine breakfast of European-style bread with Brie. I let the taste buds wander in thought as to what they desired most in this culinary paradise; Irish food needed a break, Korean was done, Indian was eaten the last visit. I considered the Lebanese restaurant again when it suddenly flashed back to my memory. Yes! Down on the corner near the top of pedestrian Cuba Street; a modest looking French bistro. That settled it. I may have been conversing with friends 16,000 miles away, but there is no time for shenanigans; this man is hungry.

A short walk away and I’m greeted by a French-speaking maître de inside Le Metropolitain. Promptly seated, I’m given a drink menu. I thought to myself, I’ve been fiscally responsible lately, I believe a little binge on “class” is in order. I saw an unfamiliar drink at the top of the “aperitifs” section and felt obligated to order it. The Rinquinequine was delivered with bread and olive oil in tow. It was described in the menu as a the “perfect drink to start off a meal.” The only item I would add would be the words “during summer.” It maintained the personality of a light white wine, but contained a timid peach taste that really seemed perfect for a summer meal eaten on a warm sunny day. Served over ice, it really was the perfect afore-meal indulgence.

After I came to the conclusion that the lemon peel in the drink was just for show, I ordered the braised lamb as the main course. I’m in New Zealand. I feel it would be wrong not to try lamb at least once on the trip (or twice for those actually keeping count). The lamb shank arrived, beautifully displayed, among carrots and potatoes, sitting in a paper-thin pool of dark brown sauce. The sauce itself was ever so slightly sweet, not overpowering the taste of the lamb, but complimenting it perfectly: adding flavor, yet keeping the lamb’s inimitable taste the main event on the plate. It was prepared flawlessly- cooked the whole way through yet juicy and tender enough to cut with a fork (even if cutting is actually mashing).

The accompaniments to the generous portion of meat were equally enjoyable. The seasoned baby potatoes were a perfect side with the sauce, the carrots were cooked, yet maintained the perfect amount of crunch. Two cloves of roasted garlic also sat among the vegetables. I must have had it written on my face my philosophy that garlic is something of which there can never be too much. However, after sampling all the parts of the meal, I had no use for it. Everything was perfect the way it had been prepared.

I still had room after the main plate, and my “class” binge could still go on. Tort de jour it was. A plum tort with French vanilla ice cream on the side was to be the finale of the meal. A work of art was placed before me. A yellow cake with a reserved amount of a deep purple filling and topped with chopped almonds, flanked by a lone scoop of ice cream, sitting among a river of plum sauce, all lightly dusted with powdered sugar. After the first bite, I was completely content paying a lot for this meal. Hell, I would have paid at least fifteen bucks just for the dessert alone! The buttery tort was so moist it nearly melted in the mouth, and the plum filling was brilliantly sweet, but tasted wholly natural, adding a pang of guiltlessness to the undeniably diet-crushing dessert.

I left the defeated dessert along with the paid check sitting on the mahogany table, and headed home. I was the perfect kind of full and couldn’t help reminiscing over the event that had just occurred. A meal of such proportions isn’t just a meal, after all, and its not just due to the food-It’s everything in the restaurant. It was the maitre de asking me, “how many?” in French, it was the glass walls overlooking the streets, it was the close proximity seating, and it was the dining room that proclaimed loudly, “Yes, I am inadequate to suite large groups of evening guests, but this is all I need.” Because what that says to me is, what I have to serve you is well worth the wait and the little inconveniences.

If you were to ask me why French cuisine is my favorite to cook, or why it is one of the few I will consistently enjoy at a slow pace, my answer will mirror some of their most phenomenal dishes. I heard it said once that the Scottish eat to live, and the French live to eat. If a culture can find a sure-fire, flawless way to make something taste inconceivably delicious from less than five simple ingredients, ingredients that can be found in virtually any kitchen at any time, they are most assuredly masters of the art. I give the French a lot of shit, and on a fairly consistent basis, but I am near the point where I may take offense if you insult their cooking. Credit is given to the Italians for their renaissance art; the Greeks, basic philosophy and mathematics. So why not give credit where it is undoubtedly due?

To the French, I salute you. Because, lets be honest, god-dammit, you know what you’re doing in the kitchen, and I cant think of many things more respectable and honorable than that. A votre santé les recettes Francais, a votre santé.