On the way to the pharmacy to fill a prescription
A series of unfortunate events conspired against me last week. Their combined efforts thoroughly left me in a deep state of depression and despair that only has just begun to fade much like how the fog floats away once penetrated by the warmth of the sun. It was a freak coincidence of nature that saw me working very late hours coupled with perturbed sleep and hearing stories that simply tipped me over the edge to drown in world void of true happiness. And true happiness, much like the magic of marijuana or Prozac involves the release of endorphins – nature’s happy and free drug that is limitless in supply.
It is a well document fact that exercise releases endorphins and although rather redundant, any pleasurable activity releases endorphins. As we are younger, the body is more willing to release more of it – call it nature’s addiction – as such, children get hooked to their next hit of happiness which horribly drives their desire to live long lives in the misguided belief that the endorphins are free flowing fully funded future sources of happiness. Alas, that is not the case.
My work load has rendered any attempts I may have at securing endorphins – leaving me much too tired to tap into my first choice: shopping. This lack of happiness in my daily life has left me exposed to horrible realities of life, the nucleus of my despair. It started when I listened to friends give their brief summary of their recent sojourn overseas, rousing feelings of nostalgia and despair that I am unable to experience feeling again that anytime soon.
This despair was reinforced later when another friend mentioned his brief getaway to land of sin – New York City. Further despair was ensured when he messaged me right before take off to look out for his plane due to fly by. And new depths of despair was reach when I discovered the shocking twist to the conclusion of Harry Potter 5 – a fantasy world of escapism shattered by the bitter truths of reality. And watching the finale of Desperate Housewives almost drove me to tears. And finding out that I my Healthcare card is no longer valid and me having to pay retail for prescriptions. And discovering the button of one of my shirts had mysteriously vanished. And lavish weddings I’m not invited to or free concerts I had not known about all combining to polish off a wretched week.
But not all is lost; I recently purchased a photo album and much to my surprise, looks remarkably like it is bounded in the Louis Vuitton Epi leather. In that, I am going to fill it up with memories to remind me of the happy times I had experienced because it is as they say, better to have than to not have had at all. And if the endorphins don’t start production soon, it will serve as a great place to hide the Prozac.
On my way to to boil some dumplings for dinnerThere are too many problems in the world.
And in particular, my little problem. During my after-work evening classes, I have a tendency to fall asleep mid-sentence and always around the 7 PM mark. I hypothesised that this was usually my dinner time and my lack of oral movement put me in a drowsy state. So I consulted a personal trainer and he confirmed that people’s energy levels are usually low at this time of the day and especially low for me considering my day, which usually comprises of a morning work out and an early lunch followed by no other nutritional intake besides soy lattes. This left my energy levels low, and in particular, my blood sugar levels drastically depleted and hence, my body’s attempt at conserving energy resulting in my class napping. It is a serious problem and quite an embarrassing one too; that is why I always sit at the back of the room and behind this rather large guy which obscures my snoozing from the lecturer.
To counter the problem, I always buy some snacks to take with me to class, usually a coffee or a lolly and in particular, a Mars bar. This alleviated the problem but earlier this week, I was confronted with a nasty issue: the confectionary was at the subject of a blackmailing campaign involving poison. Frankly, I don’t need this problem.
And frankly, I don’t need bombs in the tube tunnels in London either. After visiting London, it saddens me to realise that people are so callous as to attack the very thing that Londoners despise – the Tube system. And believe me, I hated the Tube. They extremely small capable of inducing claustrophobia in the agoraphobic, crowded beyond comprehension and there is always someone that smells in the un-air-conditioned carriage. The stations itself are small, full or dark tunnels with interchanges involving constant stair climbing and 15 minute power walks to the other line. On top of that, there is constant crowd wherever you go and the elitist form of conspicuous consumption in daily life. But there is a certain allure about London – a constant atmosphere of cosmopolitan yet elegant vitality with reserved restraint. It was displayed on the day of the bombing and in sharp contrast to the more emotional New Yorkers. I love London and all of its problems.
And frankly, there are too many problems in the world.
On the way to buy some coffee before class
There is a certain field in behavioural science that enthrals me. It is the behaviour of anchoring. Put simply, anchoring is the process by which people are exposed to an idea from which they develop a starting reference and it is this reference, be it correct or incorrect that people will base decisions from. Through trial and error, this reference or anchor will shift, thereby affecting the relativity of the decisions.
We see it all the time in society. For someone like me who spends a great deal of time shopping/reading/day dreaming, the process of anchoring has left a somewhat aloof view of the world. In the space of just over one year, there were things that I would have considered to be preposterous and yet now seems rather normal and perhaps mundane. It is the ordinary things that surprises me and how anchoring has affected my views or rather, how anchoring no longer shocks me back to reality.
For example , the million dollar Mayback saloon seems quite ordinary after seeing so many on the streets of London; or the $30,000 crocodile leather Hermes Birkin with platinum and diamond hardware seems rather reasonable; or the flotilla $10 million yachts in Sydney Harbour; or the $170 French shoe horn for a bit of class; or the $50,000 Louis Vuitton mink coat appears decent; or the $400 black Chanel boomerang for a bit of Australian authenticity; or the $170 degustation menu at Tetsuya’s; or the $150 bottle of French Bordeaux wine; or the $4,000 a night for a room at the Penninsula; or the $500 flask of Richard Hennessey; or the $40 fly squatter seems quite arty; or the $25,000 non-precious metal Rolex Daytona; or the $90 Dior leather mobile phone strap; or the $400 plain white Egyptian cotton Helmut Lang t-shirt; all of these now seem rather reasonable and above all, justifiable.
But here is the rub of anchoring. All of a sudden, the $30,000 Mercedes Benz is a bargain compared to the Mayback; or the $1000 black calf leather bag is cheap compared to the Hermes; or the $100 stainless steel Danish shoe horn; or the $700 cashmere coat compared to the LV mink; or the $70 main course at Rockpool compared to the degustation at Tetsuya’s; or the $6000 Cartier compared to the Rolex; or the $100 printed t-shirt considering how much the Helmut Lang costs. Anchoring does strange things to you.
However, while waiting for the barista to brew the coffee, I spotted a star sticker on Wallpaper magazine with its new low price. Flicking through the magazine, I came across an inconspicuous photo that left a profound impact with its effect tantamount to a tsunami’s on an anchor. After staring transfixed at the photo, I scanned for the price where I happed to spot the GBP symbol and followed the numbers from there. And followed I did until I finally located the decimal point and the magnitude of the figure struck me. GBP 2,334,200 which roughly translates to AUD $5,835,500 for a pair of "White gold drop earrings with diamonds and yellow oval diamonds" by Van Cleef and Arpels.
All of a sudden the standards for diamonds have risen to a new depth.
On the way to get a cup of coffee before BB Uncut
When we are in need of advice or knowledge, we turn to the professionals in their field; people who have spent an incalculable amount of time practicing their craft and skills to the point of authority: to financial planners when we need retirement advice; to lawyers when we need to get out of jail; to stockbrokers when we need to trade on that inside information; to trades people when we don’t have a clue on how to assemble that Ikea bookshelf or to doctors when we don’t know what the weird growth on my head is.
When there are no professionals to offer advice, we turn to the leaders in the field for guidance. The AFR when we need politically unbiased editorial with a no-sports policy or to PC World for geek related news or to
www.dictionary.com when we don’t know the meaning of one of the multi-syllabic words I use or to Motor magazine when we need to know the performance of the new BMW M5 or to Gourmet Traveller when we need that restaurant review or to Conde Naste Traveller when we need know the thread count of the new super luxury hotel in tsunami ravaged Sri Lanka or to Vogue when we need to know the latest fashion designs and looks.
That is why it was so surprising when I opened up the latest issue of the Bulletin where it claims that it will cost over $1 million to raise a child. That claim is obviously false but the Bulletin isn’t known for its accurate news articles, but more for its morally charged voice, which paradoxically is also the morally charged voice of Australia’s wealthiest person. But towards the end of the Bulletin, in the new Enterprise section, a single line spoke of insurmountable truth, free of bias and cash for comments which is practically scripture upon itself.
The sentence as written by Elisabeth King – "A man looks much more in control of the game if he keeps his keys, money, mobile and documents in a Louis Vuitton travel wallet."
On they way to the train station being distractedWe have all heard that a picture is worth a thousand words, where one image can replace a whole block of text and convey the same meaning. But a picture is capable of a whole lot more. A picture is capable of conveying a feeling, an emotion, a viewpoint and above all, force the viewer to think and to ponder the implications on their life, society and way of thought.
But due to economies of scale, a picture is no longer worth a thousand words. We are constantly being bombarded with millions of pictures a day reducing their marginal value. One only needs to look at the disengaging series that is Big Brother or the antics of a blond cricket player or the trials and tribulations of a convicted drug smuggler or the pouting of a hotel heiress or the single gallery in the city. They have all brought the value of a picture plummeting towards the word count of a pre-school novel; void of any serious meaning, vacant of discussion and empty in thought. These pictures are vulgar, reeking of ignorance and at many times, bordering on smut – a blight on the intellectual development of society and its people.
And it is starting a trend too – the devaluing of a picture bought on by social attachment to what can only be described as the dumb and dumber – captivated by the virtue of irrelevance, a nothing that exploded into something by doing nothing. A la Big Brother.…throwing a ball at some sticks….travelling to Bali….applying lip gloss….cataloguing the artworks into storage….
This irrelevance only heightens our senses when we see a worthy picture. That is why it was so surprising when I strolled pass the newsagency and saw two captivating magazine covers. The name of the magazine usually compels me to purchase it, but this time, it was the picture: the double page spread of the Desperate Housewives on the cover of the Vanity Fair and the immortal portrait of Mao Zhedong emblazoned with the Louis Vuitton monogram on the cover of Time.
Naturally I bought them and naturally I read them while ogling the hot older women on the and the LV pyjamas on the cover. Both articles were insightful and intellectually controversial, but above all, they served as a distraction to the mindless rubbish the rest of the media is churning out. The Desperate Housewives highlight the terrible worldwide obsession with being youthful while the other describes the descent of a country into the throngs of commercialism and luxcessities (luxury + necessities). I can discuss the articles further because it needs discussion, but there is a far more important point. So the next time someone tells you not to judge something by its cover……ignore them.
