She's Got...Hungry Eyes

As I sat eating the stem of a shiitake mushroom while googling "Can you eat the stem of a shiitake mushroom?" (yes, but they are tough and typically not eaten) I briefly looked out the window and realized that snow is a social life killer. It's early yet though. I want to go out. In fact I want to go out just so I can say that I didn't stay in and absent-mindedly watch She's Just Not That Into You, because I'm not doing that right now to be clear.

What I am doing is thinking about a hedge fund holiday party that I was invited to this past week, and while I may be staying in solo tonight, there is some hedge fund guy out there with a special black book entitled "Snow Days" and he certainly is not watching She's Just Not That Into You this evening because that would be pathetic. Let me tell you, all is well in the hedge fund industry, you know aside from all that insider trading stuff. As for said party, unbelievable location, top shelf open bar, hiring of an internationally acclaimed music group. You know, a usual Wednesday night for the average New Yorker. I was hearing that some firms were sending out letters to employees to not gather in groups of 12 or more as that might constitute a, dare I say it, party, and we all know that if there is one thing Main Street cares about, it's gatherings of 12 or more people. I'm just waiting for AIG to be blamed for this party somehow.

Soon after I arrived at the party I thought to myself, this must be blogged about. While the employees were downstairs at their employee and dates-only dinner, the invited folks were upstairs milling around, dropping $20 tips on singular Miller Lites. Good for them. That's one less delicious bowl of ramen soup they're going to be able to afford this week, suckers. But alas, the evening's most interesting tales did not involve the $20 tips, but the 20-some year old women flanking these hedge fund "ordinaires". There was a gentleman, a nerdy looking gentleman by most standards, with this one young lady. She wore a black outfit that might've been a one-piece. She was either coming from a Beyonce video, a yoga class, a biker rally or a Rydell High Class Reunion.

I don't know exactly, but the outfit was perhaps something that CatWoman once owned, and any CatWoman will do here (Eartha Kitt, Michele Pfeiffer, or Halle Berry). Anyway, the back of this outfit simply did not exist, and several law of physics were surely broken just to keep the top part from coming off. So here is this guy, who is with this girl, and this girl is shaking it, and showing off her God given/Doctorally enhanced? talents for everyone to see. The fellow...he looked like he no idea what to do with her. Like none. I half expected him to escort her out so nobody else could witness her gyrating herself into his midsection while he stood there flummoxed, and I half expected him to put a big ol' tag in her ear stating that this piece of meat belonged to his farm. While several of us were witnessing this spectacle, some guy behind me probably summed it up best how ridiculous it was when he remarked, "I think I'm going to go home and kill myself". These hedge funders just live in a different world I suspect. A world where they can descend the stairs of their plane in Cabo with their gaggle of girls and say, "eh, too cold. Let's head to Curacao" and then run back up the stairs while slapping the barren backsides of his travel companions as the girls playfully spray champagne all over the tarmac. What? That's how it happens.

I am a big fan of the HBO show Eastbound & Down so let me share with you what kind of sums up how these guys operate, or at least how I'd like to imagine they operate, because as we all know not everyone is like this, but enough are to where I can write a blog like this and at least a few people will shake their heads in affirmation...

These guys can make it rain every, single, night, dollar dollar bills ya'll.

There were wives and girlfriends there, and as the night wore on it was clear that there were a lot of women still milling around who were unattached, and how did I know they were unattached...because of their (beat) "huuuungry eyes". I can understand the appeal for both sides. The mantra of my most interesting class at Michigan was "the market knows best", and as the night dragged on, and more alcohol was consumed and as the married and coupled folks went home to their million dollar apartments, the market knew best, with guys undoubtedly doing the requisite financial models in their heads, and the girls scoping out which guys had the most hair on their heads. I'd like to think that perhaps a few marriages will come out of that evening. I'd like to think that two people, one with love of finance and one with love of finances, one with a penchant for creating complex models and one with penchant for surrounding themselves with models, one who used to look up to the great corporate raiders and one who used to date the Oakland Raiders...I'd like to think that these two seemingly different types of people can come together and make a real honest to goodness love connection in this crazy crazy world. If not, I guess a trip to Curacao works too.

10,000 Thank Yous

First things first. Right before I left for my Southeast Asia backpacking adventure back in the first week of June I decided to put up a website hit counter at the bottom of the blog just to see what the traffic was like. This week, six months later, I surpassed 10,000 hits, and no I did not sit at home in the dark and refresh the webpage 10,000 times. I'm not saying there have been 10,000 unique visitors, but I am saying that I appreciate the love and wish I'd put up a counter back in May 2007 when this started. I hope that you'll continue to come on through and visit every once in a while.

So apparently the blog I wrote about Tiger seemed to have pushed him over the edge and into professional golf purgatory. My bad. I don't want to continue to beat a dead horse here, but I just want to share something that I've heard several times from several different people this past week. People say how Tiger's wife is way better looking than any of the women he allegedly had relations with, and wonder why he'd downgrade. But you have to think of it like this; every time you see a gorgeous woman walking down the street you have to remember that there's someone out there in this great big world who is probably bored of having sex with her. Yup. Listen, I didn't make up the rules here. Such is life.

On my way to work Friday the last song that came on my iPod was Journey's "Don't Stop Believing". Somehow it just seemed right for a Friday morning. It was one of those weeks. The week just reminded me of that cliche classic classroom scene where it's 2:59 and everyone is anxiously waiting for 3:00 so they can leave, and they pan to a shot of the clock and the minute hand goes backward to 2:58. Nine more days of work until I head out on vacation. Not that I'm counting. Other people out there have clearly started their holiday vacations early, as evidenced by the throngs of people walking up and down Fifth Avenue this weekend. I walked down Fifth yesterday to buy some sneakers right around Rockefeller Center. At one point my bobbing and weaving came to a slow crawl and I wondered what the hold up was. A dropped camera? People admiring chestnuts roasting on an open fire? I soon realized that I'd been sucked, tractor beam style, right into the mosh pit that is the line to get into Abercrombie & Fitch. After I immediately disentangled myself from the Midwesterners and Europeans clamoring to overpay for a plaid shirt I had to just admire what Abercrombie had done. They basically set up a velvet rope situation out in front of their store. I can't confirm this, but it almost looked as if it was a "one in, one out" door policy. I don't know what goes on in there (I'm guessing a lot of midriff comparing based on their ad campaigns) but they pump extremely loud music and all that cologne and perfume wafting out the doors makes midtown smell like a summer camp social. I continue to prefer the no-longer-mysterious maple syrup smell. I really have never seen anything like it though, but person after person left the store with a little Abercrombie bag, so clearly things are being purchased, and these days, "you gotta do anything to move product". I put that in quotes, because these days, with nothing really great on TV on Sunday night I put anything in quotes that vaguely reminds me of The Wire, and I always attribute the quote to Slim Charles. Always. Damn I miss that show.

For your viewing pleasure this rainy Sunday. Not Safe For Work (masterfully crafted explicit language).

If I ever resign or quit a job, you better believe I'm going to say "the game ain't in me no more".

Sustainability

I always heard that things slow down during the holidays. That's clearly a lie. I just think that we slow down during the holidays. I am tired. The unpredictability of my hours at work have driven me to working out before work, because work can't touch me before 9am. Yes America and beyond, the hours of 6:30a and 8:30a officially belong to me, and only me. At school I used to work out in the mornings. Wake up, you know, around 8am, hit the gym by 8:30, in the gym for an hour, come back, shower, make an egg sandwich, and get to class by 11am. Now, an early morning outing to the gym happens at 6:30am, and by 6:30pm I'm gassed, and by 11pm, I'm a zombie. I did it two days in a row, and then my doorman remarked how shitty I looked (I paraphrase) so I decided to refrain from getting up early for a third time in row. I suppose I'd get used to it at some point, but right now is not that point.

It would feel wrong not to address the Tiger Woods saga. The initial story was kind of boring. We all know it went down like this...



I like to envision Tiger and Elin actually yelling with sub-titles. But like I've said, this was the boring part. I mean, we've all chased down loved ones with golf clubs, smashing the back window of our own SUVs, have we not? What is this, amateur hour.

The interesting part happened today. I don't really know about prenups. I married some Cambodian woman I met at an ice cream stand this summer (annulled the next morning...turns out she wasn't Jewish) and received a dowry of a couple chickens and three motors scooters, but we didn't do the prenup thing. But Tiger, well, he and Elin have one hell of an agreement.

"The initial prenup was worth $20 million after 10 years of marriage. However, the Chicago Sun-Times' Bill Zwecker has reported that Elin Woods will receive an immediate payment "into an account she alone controls," and that the 10-year timeframe -- which began when they married in 2004 -- has been shortened and the value increased "substantially."

The Daily Beast quotes "a lawyer familiar with the couple's negotiations" in reporting that the term of the prenup has been shortened to seven years, and that a series of staggered payments could increase the total value to $75 million."

But apparently there's also a behavioral component to all this: Elin Woods must "be a dutiful wife in showing up with him at social events and in public as if they were still the perfect couple, and sign a nondisclosure form that will prevent her from ever telling her story."

What the what? So basically Elin Woods is like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, except she kisses on the mouth? Is this a marriage or an endorsement deal? Do you mean to tell me that every time I buy Gillette razors that my money is going to Elin's "Dutiful Wife Fund" via Tiger's endorsement deal with Gillette? And can I invest in this fund because I'm pretty sure the return is going to be better than the 1% I'm getting on my money market savings account. Where the love at? Are these mega star athletes just absolutely so far removed from reality that they have to make up elaborate contracts with their significant other(s)? I just have so many questions. Like for one, how did this agreement even come to pass. Of course, this is how I envision it going down...


So the deal is, I'm going to pay you millions of dollars and you are going to act like we are the perfect couple.





But aren't we the perfect couple?


We're good, but when I pay you it'll be a guarantee. Do you understand?




Ya. I like Sweden.




Jesus Elin. I'm paying you to look good and shut up. It's a contract. Like you know how Gatorade is putting food on my plate because I say how tasty it is.



Ya. I like the red one.




Well just think of me as your Gatorade.




Ya, because you wear the red on the Sundays.




Listen. I'm paying you because I want to bang whores. There, I said it.




Schmurgen!!!!!






Schmurgen indeed.