Parlez-vous Francais?

Life is undoubtedly a series of decisions that will then lead somewhere. Where the hell that is, I’m not exactly sure, but your life goes in a direction that is dictated by decisions you make. Sometimes this is difficult to swallow (especially for me). It’s tough to think about all the potential repercussions of the decisions we make. In fact, it’s easier not to think about them at all and just pull the “if it feels good do it” line out when you’re faced with a decision. And in reality, that may be the best way to go, however, it can (and will) change the outcome of your entire life.

Think back, if you will, to the first decision you made that would probably affect the rest of your life. Most people may say that their choice of what to do after high school could be that first real life altering decision. Should I go to college? If so, which one should it be? This decision is shortly followed by: What should be my major? For whom should I work? What career path should I take?

Not only do these early-life decisions make a difference in what happens thereafter, but they also form your decision making personality. Do you tend to make conservative decisions? Risky? Somewhere in the middle? This mentality either being conservative or risky will stick with you, at least to some degree, forever.

I contend that a strong personality forming decision is made earlier that the oft-mentioned after high school decision. And without really knowing it, most fourteen year old kids make a crucial mind wiring decision that theoretically should affect little in the outcome of their life (we could of course get into a chicken and egg debate, but please – let’s not). This occurs when they decide what language to take in high school. I know this sounds nutso (not a word but don’t care) and feel free to stop reading right now (go ahead click that X), but I encourage you to hear me out.

Everyone knows what language we should take in high school…………Spanish!

It’s a no-brainer. There are damn-near more Spanish speakers in this country than English. There are few towns in the US where Spanish could not be used at least in some capacity. Why the hell should anyone take a language other than Spanish?

And the answer is: Because they want to.

People who take French in high school know what they should do and don’t give a shit. French is a cooler language than Spanish several million times over. People who take French in high school have more divergent brain chemistry and place more emphasis on pleasure and happiness than practicality - and if these people where to crack open a fortune cookie it would tell them the same damn thing. (Folks who took Latin, German, Chinese, Arabic, or any other obscure language will require further psycho-analysis that may or may not be addressed in future blogs)

So what happens to people later in life who take French in high school versus people who take Spanish? It beats the hell out of me, and a full-blown study of this is the only way to find out. Any takers?

I contend (you’re still reading I suppose) that if this study was done, people who took French would end up with more divergent lives. They probably didn’t go to their local community college, marry their high school sweetheart, or work in the same job for twenty or more years? But what did they do? I would love to find out. I want to know what language Bill Gates took, or those dudes that started Google.

For the over-simplifists (another non-word – don’t care) among us, it comes down to conservative versus liberal. In my opinion, liberals will more often do things that don’t necessarily improve their bottom line, put letters on their resume, or improve their marketability to future employers – they do things that they think will make them happy, only if it’s short term. Is that bad?

Go ahead kid take French – it could be the best thing you ever do.



Parle Francais avec moi a poolejohn@gmail.com

What the Fuck Happened to Friendster

I remember about two years when I first heard of Friendster. A roommate of mine who was a bit younger and more in tune with popular culture (you know who you are), introduced me and claimed that it was good place to score chicks. He in fact scored one himself on the illustrious "social networking" site.

But I thought it was just friends?

I didn't find my roommate's claims to be exactly accurate (at least for me), but I will admit that Friendster seemed pretty cool. I started looking up old college and high school friends. I asked them to be my "friend" and then they would either confirm or deny the request. Most, however not all, confirmed.

Soon, everybody was on Friendster and I think it was because it didn't carry the stigma of desperate and pathetic singles looking for dates online. It was just friends! Of course you could bravely venture into the world of soliciting dates on Friendster, but really it was more of a networking thing.

Now you don't hear jack about Friendster. An evil competitor has risen to the forefront of free online uhhhh - friend making. That's right - My Space.

My Space came along and pounded Friendster's pansy ass straight into the ground. It was sooo much cooler. They out-cooled Friendster with more of a rock-and-roll feel than a conservative cocktail party atmosphere. My Space allowed users to pimp their pages with cool backgrounds, movies, and music. They were able to appeal to the hip crowd much more than Friendster, and of course, when cool people are doing something, it then makes you cool if you're part of it. The snowball was begining to roll.

My Space was MTV and Friendster was Nickelodeon (or worse - CNN).

My Space beat Friendster because they allowed their users to be who they are and adapted their business to meet the needs of their users. How brilliant - a company that seeks to meet the needs and wants of their customers.

Friendster founder, Jonathan Abrams, had a pretty little image in his head about what he wanted his wonderful website to be. He baulked at MTV culture moving in and taking over. He beat down any new features that would be desirable to the riff raff of the social networking market. The demographic with which he worked is not one that takes kindly to dictatorship. Internet surfers respond much better to leadership that allows them to be who they are. Almost like real life!

Jonathan Abrams' ego ran Friendster out of the top spot. He's a control freak - and that's what the fuck happened to Friendster.


Be a good Friendster and email John Poole at poolejohn@gmail.com

A Closer Look at Crime

I just finished that book everybody's talking about called "Freakonomics" written by two dudes (that's right - two) who claim to "explore the hidden side of everything". I don't think "everything" was covered in the two hundred or so pages, but other than starting each chapter with a quote from someone stating how brilliant and creative the author(s) was/were, it was a rather interesting read. However, I do think they should change the name to "Legalized Abortion is the Reason for Decreased Crime in the US" - which was basically their claim throughout the book. And really, they're probably right.

Steven Levitt who co-authored this book with Stephen Dubner is an economist at the University of Chicago and specializes in the economics of crime. He certainly threw lots of correlation/causality stuff in there that can come from nowhere but the world of academics, but he did a decent job of keeping it down to Earth.

I was about half-way through this book that took hard looks at the business models of drug gangs and their detailed financials, when I was talking with a friend who I hadn't seen in about a year. (And no, this friend is not me) He told me that he had about a four month stint of selling drugs. The business of crime is a rather fascinating topic which may be why "Freakonomics" hit the best seller list. So with my new found curiosity for the drug dealing business I asked by buddy some detailed questions about the intricacies of his business.

He told me that he would pick up a shipment of cocaine from "the man" for about $5000. I don't know how much that was but I do know that he would turn around and dice it up into about ten portions and sell them for $650 a piece, which would bring his revenue for one shipment to $6500. That's about a 30% margin - which for any business is pretty damn good. But it was funny because he only sold to other dealers. So he had about five or six clients who then turned around and sold their goods with another hefty mark-up.

I asked him why he didn't sell directly to the little people thus cutting out the middle man and possibly doubling his profits. He cited the desire to remain unknown and the fewer people who knew about him the better. I didn't argue with him there.

All said and done, in four months he cleared about $16,000 (he did confess to having about $1,500 still "out there"). And with the stress and worry he described, it seemed hardly worth it. He talked about being scared to go out to his car because of possible stake-outs by the cops. He also had several sleepless nights thinking about the possibilities of being thrown in prison for several years. This anxiety of possible law enforcement was in fact the reason for his departure from the world of drug dealing.

The risk of being put in prison for several years far outweighed the benefit of making $16,000 in four months. In my mind, even with the tax free benefits of dirty money, you'd have to add about two zeros to that number to make it even remotely worth while. So for an able-bodied and educated American with an ounce of intellect, it makes no financial sense to venture into the world of selling drugs. However, for the "nothing to lose" folks, like people described in Levitt's book who lived in inner-city Chicago projects, the opportunity at a tax free salary of nearly $100,000 was not only temping but almost a no-brainer. What the hell else would they do? Making minimum wage at McDonalds wouldn't buy them that Mercedes in which the drug dealer down the street pimps around.

Analysis like this makes me feel nothing short of fortunate. I could have been one of those kids growing up in the project of Chicago, but instead my problems arise more from people calling me an "east coast yuppie import".

Things could be a hell of a lot worse.


Try before you buy at poolejohn@gmail.com

Pretentious? Vail? C'mon...

I was talking with someone from Breckenridge recently and she asked me if people in the Vail Valley are as pretentious as she thought they were.

Well, I never really thought about it.......Pretentious? In Vail? No.

Could it be true?

To tell you the truth I'm not even exactly sure what the hell it means to be pretentious so according to some dictionary on the internet the indisputable definition is as follows:

pretentious
adj 1: making claim to or creating an appearance of (often undeserved) importance or distinction; "a pretentious country house"; "a pretentious fraud"; "a pretentious scholarly edition" [ant: unpretentious] 2: intended to attract notice and impress others; "an ostentatious sable coat" [syn: ostentatious] [ant: unostentatious] 3: of a display that is tawdry or vulgar [syn: ostentatious, kitsch]

I think my acquaintance from Breckenridge was referring to the first definition where pretentious means to basically think your more important that you actually are - an inflated ego, if you will. Hell, why not call it down-right uppity.

Now, I'm not too into making huge generalizations about groups of people that are all significantly different (and special of course), but I can give you an example of how pretension may have crept into this lovely Valley of ours.

In an effort to avoid having bad episodes of 20/20 and Nightline consume the entirety of my Friday evening, I decided to make a trip to the infamous Gore Range Brewery with my roommate.

I've had people tell me that the Gore Range Brewery is "crazy" on Friday nights. I've even heard them go as far as to say that it is "dope", "sick", "killer", and (this is the best) "off the chain". With all this vivid description running through my mind, I was expecting a barroom filled with people swinging from chandeliers, grinding on tabletops, and blowing shots into torches and having it make a big flame like they do in cool college parties that I never went to. My thinking was wishful, but given the lofty description of this place, certainly justifiable.

We walked into this perceived pinnacle of Vail Valley living and ordered a couple of drinks. Unfortunately, high hopes of rocking out Dennis Rodman style turned into hopes that we could finish our drinks before we got run out of the place. I felt like I was at a bad high school party that I wasn't invited to. Dennis Rodman would not have put up with this.

I know that I can't expect people I don't know to graciously invite me into their conversation and immediately include me in their circle of friends, but I was getting a vibe that was hard to explain, but definitely not comforting.

We were about to head home and blow some shots into flaming torches when we saw a couple of ladies we knew. Ahhhh, we wouldn't have to stand around like a couple of wanna-be Dennis Rodmans - we could have casual small talk with these two chicks we already knew. Right? Wrong.

These humble women put up a force field like that impenetrable shield around the planet that Darth Vader lived on in Star Wars. Wasn’t that called the Dark Star or something? Without saying a word they told us to stop right where we were, drop our light sabers, put our hands behind our head, and slowing step away from the women.

Now, could my ramped imagination be blowing this situation somewhat out of proportion? Perhaps, but I will tell you that this feeling was more unpleasant than the aforementioned bad high school party that you weren't invited to.

I understand that women up here tend to be extremely cautious in social settings like this. Why that is, I'm not exactly sure, but it is certainly the case. Probably because of some skewed male to female ratio you hear about all the time, or the presence of lots of aggressive male ski-dudes. Regardless, I'm not expecting women to grind on tabletops (well, not anymore), but can we at least behave like adults? Is that too much to frickin' ask?

In my years in this World I've realized that asking adults to in fact behave like adults is too much to ask. We grabbed our light sabers and got the hell out of there.


If you can get your nose out of the air for long enough to look at your keyboard, email John Poole at poolejohn@gmail.com