Say It Ain't So, Doc

Part of the fun of planning for a global excursion has been the number of doctors visits involved in the preparation. Between blood tests, vaccinations, and a general checkup, the costs and time spent have been high. Singapore even requires you to get a chest x-ray to determine if you have any previous exposure to tuberculosis. Now, I know I'm headed outside the U.S., but do people even get TB anymore? My trip to the Travel Health Specialist for typhoid and malaria vaccines even ended up with me even paying an extra $65 for a Polio vaccination. It got to a point where I was waiting for a doctor to prescribe me an antidote for the Plague.

Anyways, as I was scheduling the chest x-ray, I had informed the doctor of my ITBS-symptomatic hip problem that is still annoying the hell out of me even four months later. He recommended I get a hip x-ray as I was going to the radiology department for my chest already, just to be safe.

On Tuesday I went back for the followup, and thankfully, no tuberculosis. Then he pulled out a sheet of paper with the hip x-ray results and told me that there was absolutely nothing wrong. I asked him if he could provide any more color as to why, even after easing off the capoeira and running, I was still having regular pain and "pins and needles" throughout my leg. He calmly turned to me and uttered words that, short of being informed of a terminal disease, are the words that no one ever wants to hear. "Ranjan, you're in great health. What you have to be aware of is that you're heading towards 30 and not getting younger. The body can't do what it did at 20. You can still play soccer, go running, and be completely active, but if you maintain the same level of activity as before, it's necessary to compensate with more stretching and rest. You just can't ignore those physical necessities and get away with it anymore. It's just natural." 

Fuck. 

Kansas Blogging Two: Red State - Blue State

AJ's New York Pizzeria is based off a simple premise: getting a NY style slice of pizza in the middle of nowhere Kansas. I have to say that before moving to New York, even living in suburban Boston, pizza to me was Pizza Hut or Papa Gino's, and the differentiation in quality was generally based on the toppings included. The idea that there was a real difference in two slices of just plain cheese pizza was completely foreign. As pizza has certainly been on my rotation of "kinda meals/snack" and late night drunken eating, I became familiar very quickly with a number of places throughout the city and have of course, in NYC fashion, strong opinions about different places (Frank's on 1st ave and 20th st still being my favorite).



As Adam slowly realized that he didn't really want to pursue his career as a fashion buyer in women's denim at Barneys (I kid you not, that was the pre-pizza career) he started mulling other options. He eventually settled on the idea of trying to bring quality pizza by the slice back home to Kansas. Second row seats during Fashion Week and mornings spent looking at models showing off jeans in SoHo showrooms was to be replaced by brick ovens and quality cheeses. Adam very randomly found one of the nation's leading experts on pizza dough, the Dough Doctor (completely serious), himself a midwesterner, who helped him plan his business-to-be. While a great idea, we were all definitely curious as to whether he could pull this off.

As the restaurant was getting built and we began that battle that happens every four years called the Presidential Election, Adam and me came up with a game called Red State / Blue State. Often on Friday mornings, via gchat (which somehow for all my time at BofA was never blocked...thank you Steve Humble) would talk about our previous night. One of the best instances was when, going first as the Blue State (warning: obnoxious trader sentiment ahead) I recounted a Nobu dinner, followed by cocktails by a 'mixologist' at some trendy new bar, followed by meeting a bunch of eurotrash at some club. The Red State response was about as contrastingly awesome as it gets: Adam had spent the day getting a car sawed in half at a junkyard to be used as decor in his restaurant, then offroading in his 4x4 as part of an offroading club, finishing off with a six-pack while watching tv at the end of the night.



Red State / Blue State went on all throughout the rest of my working days, as even with a physical move to One Bryant Park, my gchat was never blocked (maybe this has a connection to why I'm now writing a blog called life AFTER trading?). As of last summer AJ's NY Pizzeria opened and after my epic travel across the state of Missouri, I finally had the opportunity to sample a slice.



*The pizza was actually very good and very comparable to what I'd consider above average NYC slices. I'm definitely curious as to whether Adam is able to franchise the concept across the midwest. I have to say it was pretty impressive to see the mostly finished product that was built from scratch, and hopefully AJ's will do for pizza what Chili's did for Tex-Mex. As Adam said, I'd rather own the Darden Group (owners of the Olive Garden among others) instead of Cipriani's.

**The meat-lovers pizza Adam affectionately calls the "18th and 8th", to pay homage to a block right near where we lived. The Kansans hopefully will never get the joke.

- Street signs used as table markers so the food runners know where to send which orders. A little bit of NYC kitsch.

***You know you're in the midwest when: after a night of drinking at the K-State bars I woke up on Adam's couch to what smelled like urine. Now, as most of you know, I enjoy a cocktail or two. However, I've so far been spared the indignity of waking up having, as the kids say, pissed the bed. After slightly panicking, I thoroughly researched the couch and vicinity with no sign of dampness anywhere, yet the smell of urine still wafted through the air. Adam walked out and I asked him if he had any theories. He calmly responded that this had happened before and, "I think the neighbors might be making meth." Kansas, I will miss you.

Kansas Blogging

Before heading out for an Asian adventure, I figured there was only really one place I had to visit to get myself prepared. Only one destination could ready me for the culture shock and traveling challenges I will experience as I start in Beijing on May 31st. Naturally, the land of enchantment I speak of is Kansas.

My connection to Kansas is one that runs random and deep. For starters, I was actually born in St. louis....not quite Kansas, but close enough. Then, one my best friends from college  from college was from Topeka. Then, randomly one of my roommates when I studied abroad in Rome was also from Topeka (Adam...more on him later). He moved to NYC in '02 as well and we ended up roommates for a few years. One day in 2003, with the college Kansan friend visiting and between the two of them inviting people over, I had nine Kansanites in my tiny West Village apartment in one day; That has to be a record of some sort.

Anyways, my whole family was traveling out to St. Louis for the weekend for my cousin's high school graduation (yes, this is something Indian people often do). Adam was now living back in Kansas running a pizzeria, so I figured I'd fly out a few days early and visit him to check out his new business. And so began the adventure...

I bought a roundtrip ticket to St. Louis, as I was flying out of there with the family at the end of the trip. My plan was to rent a car in St. Louis and drive on over to Manhattan, KS (yes, Adam now lives in a town/city called Manhattan in Kansas). One thing I completely forgot about the midwest: Things are really fucking far apart. I google mapped the drive and much to my chagrin, 370 miles. Mind you, I had gotten up at 6am for the airport, the flight had a stopover in Pittsburgh, it was now about 4pm, and I had at least a five hour drive ahead of me. Adam had definitely made it sound like this wasn't a big deal, yet this was like driving from Boston to almost D.C., after a whole day of flying. I'm convinced that this could be the average commute of a midwesterner. 

The first thing I noticed was how much easier things are vs. New York. As anyone who's ever tried doing any basic life task in NYC, they're always a pain in the ass. I got off the plane, while waiting for my checked bag, I was able to get my rental car processed at the counter which was conveniently right next to the carousel. Right as I signed my credit card receipt for the car, my bag came out, I grabbed it and walked over the to rental car shuttle. There were no other passengers, but the driver, with a big smile offered to take me over right away. I got dropped off, went up to my car and was on the highway. I am not kidding, from getting off the plane to being on the highway, including getting a checked bag, was all done in around 20 minutes. I was getting to like this magical land already.

I was on the road and exhausted. The road from St. Louis to Manhattan, through Kansas City, is straight, flat, and long. You take I-70 the entire distance, and my Ford Focus, of course without cruise control, could barely keep up with the 18-wheelers overtaking me. Being exhausted, I undertook a steady cycle of stopping to get Diet Coke, stopping to pee, buying more Diet Coke, and repeat. This process, while time consuming, did take me into some pretty amazing truck stops. 

Kansas City is about 250 miles along the way and on the border between Missouri and Kansas. As I drove through, I definitely got a second wind when I saw that Welcome to Kansas sign. I had finally reached this world I had heard so much about and Manhattan, KS was only an hour and change away (yes, my Ford Focus could go 90, which I guess isn't "really considered speeding" according to most people I talked to)

The last two hours were a pretty amazing drive as literally there is nothing around. Even flatter and straighter than the previous stretch, I am convinced I could've driven the entire thing just steering with my knees. If I had cruise control I imagine I probably could've taken a nap, woken up, and would've been fine. The main thing I noticed at this point was how massive the sky was; there is nothing blocking the horizon in any direction. One amazing part of this was I was driving through here as the sun was setting. As I was driving west at a high speed, it seems like I was chasing the sunset (I really did feel like I was living out a classic rock song at this moment) as it lasted almost the entire hour and a half of the drive. 

I was right outside of Manhattan and called Adam to let him know I was close. Here's where it got interesting. I was a few miles away from his place and he told me to stop at a gas station and he'd "come get me". By coming to get me, he meant he'd drive over and then I'd follow him back to his apartment. I had GPS on my phone, but he insisted. I guess this would be like telling someone you'd pick them up at Grand Central...definitely the polite thing to do and helping the traveler avoid that last little bit of confusion? Except, being in the midwest this involved being in cars instead of walking. 

I had finally arrived.

Rock of Ages

While indulging in the world of grunge during my middle school years, playing Nirvana songs with my fellow 12 year olds in a band called Kamikaze (yes, this is true), I always wondered about what it would've been like to have been an 80's rock star. This wonderment became more of a dream when I actually came of an age where girls and booze were exciting things. Fast forward to when I'm nearly 30 and 80s rock sometimes seems to just be a bunch of "those finance people" singing Don't Stop Believin' at the Joshua Tree at 3am. The problem is...that song and many others like it, really are still amazing.

Rock of Ages is a new musical that attempts to harness that dream of 80s rock stardom and package it in an art form that is in some ways does represent the idea of bands like Poison, but in some ways seems the very antithesis of everything that movement supposedly stood for: The Broadway Musical. I was a little skeptical when I first heard about this endeavor, but after a strong recommendation from someone who not only was in their 20s during the 1980s, but has a combination of a great taste in rock and a great disdain for music for "pussy music" (two concerts I've seen with him: Godsmack and George Thorogood). I figured, even with the inclusion of American Idol's Constatine Maroulis as the lead, it couldn't be that lame?

The crowd was, as one would imagine, an interesting one. There were barely any kids and you had your combination of people in suits, tourists, 20somethings, but most importantly, there was some representation from that crowd that I was hoping for...the guy sitting in front of me:



Yes, motorcycle vest, biker's gloves, and as the picture can't show you, a goatee about a foot long. With this guy there, I figured out of concerns for the safety of the cast, this had to be legit.

The show started off a little slow, and as I worried, it was somewhat tough sitting there watching a bunch of broadway types dancing around to choreographed routines with moves reminiscent of The Producers, to songs like Sister Christian and the Final Countdown. Even more disturbing was the combination of these songs into medley formats. At one early point, the Sherrie is on the phone with her father. The father, of course back at the farm in Kansas, doesn't believe in her dreams and hangs up on her, when she just wanted to tell her dad, she just wanted to....."Saying I love you, is not the words I want to say to you." Yes, there were many moments like this in the first 20 minutes that worried me.

Then...enter the "arrogant rock star" character, Stacee Jaxx. The character changed the entire direction of the show. One of his first actions was to sign an autograph for a fan with a pen sticking out of his fly. The guy was absolutely absurd and almost every word out of his mouth was hilarious. Suddenly, it became clear the writers had a tremendously self-aware perspective of what this production was. Having a bunch of performers who normally perform in lion king or cat costumes, trying to recreate the aggression of an Axl Rose, was an impossible task. Instead all the stars displayed a good deal of self-aware, self-deprecating humor between spectacular singing performances. They made clear they knew this was not supposed to be a legitimate representation of the 80s....and it was definitely the raunchiest musical I've ever seen.

I did become a little worried though, as the bald dude in front of us looked very pissed. He constantly turned to his wife and looked to be complaining. I did wonder: if you truly were living the rock n' roll lifestyle in the 80s, watching a broadway bastardization of it might disgust you. If everything you held dear, if the memory of friends who actually died in drug overdoses, was now being mocked by a guys singing soprano in makeup (no offense to Bret Michales), wouldn't you be pissed? The guy grabbed his bag and his lady at intermission, and we guessed he wouldn't be back.

Right before the curtains came back open, him and his guest actually did make it back to their seats. The show only got better and better and we kept observing him, but saw absolutely no reaction. As everyone around us started clapping, including a 50 year old Asian guy who was there by himself and pumping his fist to Pat Benatar, the bald dude showed no emotion and only clutched his beer.

After the last number, a massively climactic rendition of everyone's favorite Journey classic, the last chord was struck, there was maybe a moment before the crowd erupted in applause.

The bald guy, violently raised his arm to the rafters, and clenched tightly in that leather fist....a lit lighter.

Absolutely. Fucking. Awesome.

What I Want to Be When I Grow Up

I'm currently sitting at Fiddlesticks, a fine drinking establishment in the West Village. It's the day where the taxman cometh and hopefully, unlike Geithner, turbotax won't screw me up (though as my biggest asset is my television my taxes really should not be too complicated). I came here as the advertised combination of Champions League soccer and free wifi were just too tantalizing to turn down. The daytime sporting bar scene is an interesting one, as there's definitely a good combination of drinking choices, from some folks drinking a cup of coffee, an orange juice, and a guy wearing a suit drinking a martini.

What has caught my attention is at one table is a trendily dressed British guy sitting with his two kids, who are in similar fashion, dressed way cooler than I think I'll ever be capable of (they both look to be about 11 or 12 years old). As I watch Cristiano Ronaldo repeatedly dive and hopefully see Porto come back here, I have to wonder, what job allows this British guy to take the afternoon off, bring his kids to a bar, and watch soccer? Is he obscenely wealthy and just retired by 40? Is he from money and never worked a day in his life, introducing his children to the life of leisure at an early age? Is it just as simple as he planned ahead, took the day off, and let his kids play hooky for the match? Could he be, dare I say, a fellow severance kid? All I know is, while I'm not sure what I'll be doing post-MBA, I want to do what he's doing. Oh, and he's drinking a Guinness.

Spy Wednesday

When I was laid off on January 22nd, I had a vision of what April would hold in store: 60-70 degree days, playing soccer in Central Park, margaritas outside, and wandering the streets endlessly. Well, that happened on Sunday, and now by Wednesday we're back to sub-40 degrees with some snow flurries this morning.

I was a bit restless this morning as my laptop is currently being repaired for a hard drive failure, preventing me from accessing the lifeblood that keeps me going, wifi and rosetta stone. I woke up fairly early, went to the gym, and after starting to check emails realized that this weekend is Easter and Passover is apparently tonight. As a general agnostic, and part-time Hindu, I never really keep track of this stuff but decided that maybe I should head up to a weekday church service; see what all the buzz is about.

As the saying goes, go big or go home, and I went big. I made my way up to St. Patrick's Cathedral on 5th ave in midtown for their 1pm Holy Week mass. The scene when you walk in was the very definition of breathtaking, and by breathtaking I mean I actually gasped and under my breath uttered "Holy Shit!" The ceiling soars above you and the amount of ornate gold structures and statues throughout definitely humbles you. I remember visiting the Vatican while in Rome with a Catholic friend, who as we walked in and were both just dumbfounded, smirked towards me and said, "this stuff really does kind of make you think we're the right ones, no?"

I've never attended an actual Catholic mass before, but been to numerous Catholic weddings and I never have absolutely any idea of when I'm supposed to do things like sing along or kneel. Luckily St Patricks is so immense that you can have a good view but kind of hide to the side and keep to yourself. The mass was actually really interesting as today apparently was "Spy Wednesday", the day Judas cut the deal to sell out Jesus. They described the Last Supper at length, during which I realized that the recent South Park on the economy actually was fairly faithful in its depiction and the different interactions that take place during the event. The priest also somehow calculated that Jesus was sold out for today's equivalent of $19.27, don't ask me what shekel exchange rate he used or inflation he calculated this off of, but he hammered this point. While the whole experience was somewhat somber, it definitely reminded me that religious services are definitely a good indoor activity to do if the weather continues sucking like this. I wonder if countries that suffer from terrible weather (i.e. Britain) are much more devout.......

Gaga for Geithner

The past few months have definitely seen the turbulence of last fall's financial crisis continue, and one of the central figures in the battle against that invisible hand that is beating the global economy like Rihanna (sorry....sorry, too soon? ) has been our Treasury Secretary, Timothy Geithner.

Right now America needs its whipping boys, and the while bankers are the easiest of targets right now, Mr. Geithner does exert a tremendous amount of influence and is thus naturally the target for much of the ire. Economists from the left and the right are on the attack, even 90 days into the job. I became curious about Sir Geithner's own background and after some digging, and by digging I mean googling and wikipedia'ing, there were a few standouts that definitely secured my faith in both Geithner and the choice of keeping him around. A few points:

1) The whole idea that he is not 'exciting' or 'charismatic' enough is absolutely insane. Are you fucking kidding me? I think the American public has become a little too used to Obama's rhetorical flourish. Do people even remember what Paul O'Neill looked like? Do you remember John Snow's crazyass eyebrows? These men were not particularly memorable, and the position does not demand it. I want the head of my banking sector and planner of the economy to be the most boring guy around. The guy who is excited about analyzing capital ratios, the guy who would much rather be reading Cecil Pigou / Adam Smith debates than at a Yankees game boozin' in the box and making us all laugh.

2) Have you read this guy's background? Forget Dartmouth, his dad was the Director of the Ford Foundation's Asia program. He grew up in Zambia, Zimbabwe, India, and graduated high school in Bangkok! (Fun Fact: His Dad met Barack Obama's mom in Indonesia years back as part of a microfinance initiative). He speaks Chinese and Japanese. Please do not forget that China is currently America's sugar daddy, and while our marriage has worked out so far and China still wants his trophy wife, he might one day find a younger, hotter commodity to spend his money on. We need someone exposed to that part of the world, with legitimacy, to make sure any such troubles or transitions are orderly.

And can you imagine Geithner and Obama talking during the hiring process? "Hey man, were you beat up by the local Asian kids for being an American?" "Sweet, so was I. Let's talk banking." When we elected Obama, we gave a mandate for more a more worldly administration full of people with real international experience, and we got it.

3) I think the "Bank Stabilization Plan" as it stands is the perfect strategy. The Krugmans are strongly calling for some sort of receivership or nationalization of insolvent institutions. What I have never quite understood is that the Geithner plan does not preclude this from ever occurring. It rather lays out a specific attempt at revitalizing the troubled market, and if, even with all the government support, an institution is deemed insolvent rather (than just a liquidity issue), then have Sheila Bair grab Vikram Pandit by the nuts and twist away. The only real argument has been the urgency of the "moment", but I feel a more cautious strategy that leaves nationalization as the last resort will be deemed much more legitimate. The worst outcome we could have would be a nationalization deemed by the market and public as illegitimate, completely negating any progress we've made.

4) The idea that Geithner is in "bed with his Wall Street buddies" is both ridiculous, and somewhat visually troublin. The guy could've easily left at any point and joined the revolving Rubin-esque door and made millions. But he didn't, he stayed in public service. Admittedly, the NY Fed is not paid like a non-profit, but he could've made many times more at any bank with his background and he chose not to. That very decision should give him the benefit of the doubt in decisions like the AIG bonus brouhaha. The fact is, he did not realize the political implications of the bonus issue because he was concerned with much broader issues regarding the survival of the banking industry. If anything, it should indicate a serious approach to the problem rather than a pandering, political approach.


Bonus: For any of you who have read this entire entry, I am in a coffee shop and there is a apartment broker negotiating with a potential tenant, but spending more time trying to ask her out. He definitely did say "there's a gym right down the block, but you don't even need to go you're so fit!"