AlecTorelli
The world is my book. I wanna write it!
Eating in Napa Valley
This past month was my second visit to Napa Valley. Both times I left wondering the same thing: "why am I leaving?" Not only do they boast the country's best wine, but food is at the heart of the culture.
If there was one place I could recommend going, it would be PicaPica in Oxbow Market!
A New Venture
Last summer, I merged two passions of mine: food and writing. The result: Still Served Warm
Here are tales from a trip to Napa Valley: Napa Valley
Share your hear your thoughts and feedback. Comment on your favorite post!
The Good, The Bad and The Difference
“How’d you end up?” Andrew asks after a marathon poker session. I had played 24 hours straight and booked a solid win. “Any interesting hands,” he continues. We work through some possible mistakes. Common words and phrases we use are “misplay, next time, I prefer and I rather.” A recent study found that of the 24 most common words to describe emotion, only 6 of them are positive. We leave an hour later. I recall the number encouraging hands we discussed. Zero.
Imagine watching a movie with equally diverse yet potent images. For example, the disparity in “Hostel” between explicit sex and graphic violence. Although equally detailed, the images of violence account for the overwhelming majority of our recollection. What’s more, scores of gossip magazines such as People, US Weekly and Star thrive by exploiting the faults of others instead of praising their achievements.
In other facets of life the same philosophy is applied. A studious child gets straight A’s for years and suddenly get a C-. The parent is concerned. The employee diligently shows up to work for months and decides to take a single day off. The boss gets mad. The loving partner is faithful for 16 years and cheats once. The relationship ends.
We dwell on the bad and overlook the good. Michael Jordan said: “I never looked at the consequences of missing a big shot…when you think about the consequences you always think of a negative result.” By channeling our energy into that which we excel, we will lead healthier, fuller and happier lives. If it worked for Jordan, maybe it’s worth a try.
If anyone has comments, suggestions or questions shoot me an email at alectorelli@gmail.com. For all my blogs, pictures and videos, check out my website www.alectorelli.com. You can also follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/alectorelli
Timeless
Good communication is both poignant and concise. This timeless speech by Robert F. Kennedy sums up our national problem: a misguided focus. 40 years later, his words are more true than ever before.
Escape From Alcatraz
November 2010
I spring out of bed full of energy. I grab a beanie, tie my Nike’s and hit the streets. Outside the morning air chills my face. As my feet pound the pavement I see the wind of my exhale. A mist begins to fall. It mixes with the sweat on my face and I cannot tell which is more pervasive. Further along the bay, atop the hill stands the most beautiful red bridge the world has ever known. When I reach the edge, a ray of sunshine penetrates the haze and illuminates the city. I experience the most pleasurable feeling. I feel alive.
The night before, I arrive in San Francisco at 5:00 pm. I check into my friend’s apartment; a modern 2 bedroom loft on the third floor of the Marina District. Before I can unpack, four friends join us and we hit the town. Union Square is packed with people to watch the annual lighting of the Christmas tree. We secure seats on top of a planter on the northwest corner of the park. Couples cuddle close, enjoying each other’s body heat. The smells and sounds of Christmas fill the night with love.
Following the festivities, we grab a bite at an over priced Italian restaurant. After dinner we drift. With each new venue, a larger group forms as we take prisoners from one place to the next. By the end of the night our group turns to a blob too large to move. As quickly as we gathered, we dissipate. Friends are made and memories are created but neither is forgotten.
January 2012
I arrive at 6:00 pm on New Years Day and spend 15 minutes looking for a place to park. When I find my motel, cheap but conveniently located two blocks from Union Square, I inquire about parking. “We have a $20 valet service,” they inform me. Thinking it was a bit pricey, I leave. I dodge the lunatics running through the streets and weave my way into a garage with a sign that reads: Self Parking. Brilliant. I circle up to the 8th floor and park in the first vacant spot I see.
As I walk the streets I am overcome by the amount of garbage and litter on the streets. The unfortunate homeless seem to outnumber tourists. They wheel around shopping carts or trashcans stuffed with salvaged goods. Most have one outfit: a ragged black cloth-like garment. Several are drugged beyond repair. My head turns as they mumble. It takes me a while to realize they aren’t speaking to anyone. Others make me stop and wonder: what happened? They seem so out of place, like it could be me. I am filled with empathy, despair and a hint of fear.
I allocate $5.00 in $1.00 increments for donations. I begin on the southwest corner of Union Square. By the time I cross the park the money gone. The same Christmas tree decorates the courtyard; only this time the air smells of decay. I continue north on Powell and make a left on Sutter. I stop at the first suitable place, Sugar Café. It’s a modern lounge: stone countertops, a gas lit fireplace surrounded by comfortable chairs and mirrored walls shelved with alcohol. “Make me something hot and strong,” I tell the bartender. He nods.
I sip on a sweet concoction of Baileys, Kahalua, espresso, and Tuaca, a vanilla citrus liqueur topped with cocoa and carmel. The simmering heat burns my taste buds and the alcohol permeates my veins. “So what’s would you do if you had 48 hours here?” I ask. “Have you tried Fernet’s?” “No,” I reply. “Where’s that?” He smiles. “We’ll start there.”
He pulls out two shot glasses and throws them in the air, spinning like a performer juggling bowling pins and slams them on the granite. He grabs a bottle and pours two shots. “What are you doing?” I ask. “Fernet Branca. It’s the drink of choice around here.” “Oh Fernet!” I exclaim. “I thought it was a restaurant,” I laugh. He holds up his glass, touches it to mine, taps the tile and put it back. “Ahhhhhh.”
I finish another mixture. This time it’s steamed apple cider infused with coconut rum, whiskey and orange juice and spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg. When I can take no more he points me to Chinatown and Little Italy. I bid him farewell and stumble out of the bar.
I walk through an uneventful Chinatown. In a drunken mess, I stop for a coconut bun pastry. I take two bites and throw the rest away. I am tempted to add it to the mountains of rubbish. I resist. In Little Italy, I walk past cheap attempts to replicate authenticity, like a bad Elvis impersonator. I avoid making the same mistake I did a year ago and hail the first cab I see. I have no destination in mind, but any place is better than here. I tell the driver I’m hungry and he takes me to a Moroccan restaurant. I order the mixed couscous. It’s average.
I spend the next hour searching for my car. I pass my motel that I still haven’t checked into, Super 8 (a destination I spent hours seeking out in the effort of frugality). Outside it looks like an Occupy Wall Street movement of destitute. Frightened, I walk quickly toward the structure for my car. When I find it, I realize it is parked in the Hilton. I’m informed about the usurious rates for parking: $52 per night. “But I’ve only been here 5 hours,” I argue. “After four it’s the same price.”
“Maybe it’s a sign,” I think to myself. I inquire about room rates. My justification to stay is a stretch: I’ll feel better about paying $52 for parking when I’m at least staying at the hotel. Somehow, I feel like I cheated.
The following morning I open the curtains of my 23rd story hotel room to see a panoramic view of the city. Old weary buildings look like pieces in a Jenga game. Something about being atop of a city never loses its charm. I snap a photo. I proceed to the lobby and pay $5.71 for a vanilla latte at Starbucks; a small price for my safety. I sit in the lobby checking email while the security guards evicts unwanted guests.
I pack my bags, check out and make my way north. Before leaving I stop at the Golden Gate Bridge and think back to a year ago. Had the city changed drastically or is it my perception, a cumulation of recent experiences that alter my awareness? I resort to not knowing. I watch the sun glisten off the water. I gaze onward to the sailboats gliding effortlessly through the bay. My eyes profile the outline of Alcatraz. Standing across the bay, I cannot help but feel relief. Luckily I have escaped.
If anyone has comments, suggestions or questions shoot me an email at alectorelli@gmail.com. For all my blogs, pictures and videos, check out my website www.alectorelli.com. You can also follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/alectorelli
2011: A Year In Review
Click Here for a map of my travels
Miles Traveled: 24,444
Countries Visited: 6 (US, Holland, Sweden, Italy, France, Switzerland)
Poker Tournament Cashing Record: 1 cash in 22 tournaments
Most Amount Weighed: 172 lbs
Least Amount Weighed: 151 lbs
Current Weight: 159 lbs
Proudest Accomplishment: Getting in the best physical shape of my life
Best Workout: Biking around Lake Lugano from Italy to Switzerland
Best Thing I Did: Move to Italy
Coolest Thing I Saw: Statue of David
Inspirational Moment: Watching the sunset at the top of Sillman Pass in Sequoia National Park
Hobbies: Writing, Italian, Cuisine, Travel, Reading
Best Meal: Montecristo Ristorante, Milano
Food of Choice: Sweet Potatoes
Drink of Choice: caffé shakerato (shaken iced coffee)
Alcohol of Choice: Scotch
Clothing Items Purchased: 0
Favorite City: Venezia, Italia
Books Read: 18
Favorite Read: Biography of Michelangelo: Bruno Mars, The Power of Now: Eckhart Tolle
TV Show: Homeland
Movie: Midnight In Paris
Song: Littlething, Jimmy Eat World
Artist: Taylor Swift
Role Model: Rafael Nadal
Estimated Hands of Poker Played: 250,000
Word of the Year: Meaning
Lamest Moment: Hearing people celebrate the beginning of 2012 while writing this blog
You Got A Fast Car?
I love cars. Ever since I can remember my dream car was a BMW convertible. When I turned 16 and won my first $12 playing poker, I began writing out equations to determine how fast I could win one. Five years, 10,000 dedicated hours and 2,000,000 hands of poker later, I walked out of the dealership with a brand new 2007, M6 convertible. "Black Diamond" ("BD” for short), was perfect. For months, I drove around on cloud nine, helping cops meet their ticket quotas. Like Andy and Woody in Toy Story, we did everything together. When I had a bad day, I took her out and she helped me to forget. If I wanted to run, she was the ideal companion. We’d go for hours with no destination in mind, her top down and the wind in my face. She gave me a feeling like none other. For the first time while driving, I felt alive. In return, I cared for her every need: I cleaned her when she was dirty and fed her when she was hungry. Sure she ate a lot, but I didn't mind. I loved her and she loved me. Life was good.
I recently returned from Italy and like any good toy, "BD" was waiting patiently for me. But just like when Andy returned from college, something was different. "BD" was older now and wanted more attention than ever. Unfortunately, I was getting older and couldn't play her silly games. She needed new tires, an oil change and her alignment adjusted. She constantly needed to go to the dealership to be serviced. I began to suspect that she was more time being driven by someone else. When the mechanic finally dropped her off I couldn't run a bloody errand without stopping for gas. I forgot how much she ate! Furthermore, she's not very practical. What if I wanted to carry luggage? Worst of all, I was nervous leaving her alone. Who in their right mind wouldn't want her? The recent stress of our relationship meant we spent a lot more time “arguing” and a lot less time “playing.” "BD" and I had grown apart.
Lately, I've been driving around in an Expedition that is much more suitable to my needs. She carries everything, loves when I bring friends and because she's so loyal, I never worry about leaving her unattended. And best of all, she never complains. If something grows wrong, she can protect me. But what about "BD?" Some days, I miss her like Romeo does Juliet. That feeling of total freedom that, no matter what, my Expedition cannot provide.
Recently, I've been asking myself: “what do I really want my car to do?” The easy answer is everything, but its just not realistic. Fortunately, I've found a perfectly acceptable solution. I use my Expedition for errands and "BD" for cruising. The real problem comes when I try to apply the same logic toward women.
Over the past few years, I've treated relationships a little bit like cars. You know, a long drive here and quick shiny one there. Some were passionate, others were practical. Eventually I came to realize that life is complicated enough with one car. But just like your car is not going to get 60 miles on the gallon, have a convertible top, outrun a Ferrari and last longer than the Energizer Bunny, it's unlikely that I’m going to find a mate that’s driven, loves backpacking, is passionate about writing and wants a family. She's probably not waiting for me on eHarmony.
It’s heartbreaking but I may never have another "BD." Even if I buy a faster and shinier Lamborghini, she'll never replace the "BD" that opened my eyes to a whole new world of driving. In some way, she will be a part of me, forever. I know “BD” can’t drive around a family. She can’t even carry my luggage. I've considered parting ways with her, but the idea of never taking her for a spin is a sad thought... after all Andy never does get rid of Woody.
Yesterday I went for a drive with my Expedition. I took her to the Top of the World to watch the sunset. I rolled down the window. As I gazed into that blazing sphere, a light breeze flew up from the ocean. I closed my eyes, it kissed my face, and just like with “BD”, I could feel the wind. ♠
“You got a fast car
But is it fast enough so we can fly away
We gotta make a decision
We leave tonight or live and die this way”
- Tracy Chapman
The Moral Code
Some time ago, a friend an I had a misunderstanding; a concoction of ignorance, naiveness and coerciveness brewed a substantial storm. Two sides of a story; one black the other white. When each tells their tale, the shades of grey create a hazy fog. As the masses formulate their thoughts, our minions built like the armies of Saruman and men. Unbiased parties; Hobbits from the Shire and Ents from the forest were called upon to take a stand. Words are thrown like arrows from the Elves, piercing the hearts of our enemies. When the dust settled, I looked in the mirror. Who was this villain staring back at me? "Alec,” I asked myself, “what have you done…"
"For better or for worse, it sounds like they’ve already made up his mind," Luke said to me. "People have an opinion of you and nothing is going to change that."
"Right, but I want to say something at least," I protested. "I don't want people to hate me.”
"People are going to hate you," he interrupted, pissed that I diverted his attention from the football game. "People hate the President. I'm sure someone hates Mother Teresa. Spending your time and energy trying to change them is fleeting."
Not convinced, I persevered, fending off allegations like Eragon to an army of orcs.
"You just have to let it go," Luke reminded me.
"I think you're right," I conceded. "The more I say the louder they yell."
"You're still not there yet," he told me. "You have to stop caring what they think.”
“How?”
“You know the truth, that's all that matters."
"But…"
His look cut me off. His index and thumb brushed against his chin. "When you accept what they think and it no longer bothers you, then you've won."
The ones who point fingers are always the most vocal. Somewhere deep down in the Mordor infested swamps of our hearts, we like to see others fall. Whether or not Kobe Bryant was guilty of rape became lost in theories and speculation. Everyone has an opinion but few are looking to change. It's easy to seek evidence that supports our case. It’s scary to challenge the Evil Eye of ego. When a pastor gets diagnosed with cancer, it's not a statistical anomaly or advancement in medical science that saved his life, but an indisputable fact that God exists; a sign from the divine.
Life is full of color. Certain things are black. Others are white. Most are somewhere in-between and not everyone reads from the same bible. Certain actions that we find intolerable others will find acceptable. When we hold others to our standard, we set ourselves up for disappointment. In order to ensure our happiness, we cannot begrudge others for not adhering to our code, nor should we bother changing them. Instead, we must surround ourselves with those who share our values. ♠
“We all have to decide for ourselves how much sin we can live with.”
- Nucky Thompson, Boardwalk Empire
Fear Challenge - Week One: Pilates
Last week, my friend Adam and I decided to undertake a series of Fear Challenges. We each wrote down a list of things we didn't want to do: sing karaoke, sign up for a class alone, write an apology letter, etc. Each week, one of us chooses an activity which we both have to complete. Following that, we write a blog post summarizing our experience. Here lies my tales...
I took a mat pilates class this morning. After doing yoga for a few years, I expected it to be a breeze. I arrived a few minutes before 8:00 am to ensure myself a spot. When I showed up, I was greeted by Marc, my regular yoga instructor. "You're taking this class," he giggled. After a quizzical look, he introduced me to the teacher Lizzy.
"Welcome," she said. "Have you done pilates before?"
"No," I replied. "But I've heard good things."
"You've come to the right place. Take a seat on the floor."
I laid on my back and began to stretch. She walked by me on the way to the front. "Don't let these old geese give you trouble," she whispered. "Oh, and you're going to need these."
She handed me a blue elastic strap that was roughly four feet long, a bendable circular piece of plastic with a large hole in the center that looked like a donut, and a tiny inflatable ball, no longer than one foot across. What had I signed up for?
In the class were six other women, most in their fifties. "Hello ladies," Lizzy began, drawing their attention to the front. The chatter amongst them ceased. "We have a new student today." A few of the women chuckled and six pairs of eyes immediately turned to me. I pulled my lips together and nodded my head slowly, slightly embarrassed. "Is this your first class?" one of them asked.
"Yes."
"Oh, don't worry," the lady in front of me said, her arm pawing at me, "we love men."
So this must be what an attractive women feels like when she walks into a night club, I thought. No wonder they're always packed.
We began on our backs with the ball underneath our tail bone and feet placed firmly on the ground. "Now roll lightly back and forth," she said. "We're just warming up here." I played along from the back of the class. To my right, a lady struggled to balance the ball. As she swayed, the pressure from her hips shot the ball forward and hit the woman in front of her. I began to relax.
We went into our first core exercise, keeping the ball on our tail bone and crunching upwards while scissoring our legs. I can't believe I'm doing this, I thought to myself. I did my best to work up a sweat, but to no avail. Each time I came up to crunch, the women in front of me came into view. They breezed through it, making small talk as they went.
While working my abs, I learned about Betty's fifteen year old daughter who just pierced her belly button without her mothers permission. "What do you think of that Alec?" Betty asked. "Yea we need a male opinion!" another one shouted.
"It's that age," I said struggling for breath between sit ups. "Don't be too hard on her."
While working arms, we discussed Julie's plans for Thanksgiving, particularly that she dreaded dining with her sister in law, who brought a terrible broccoli quiche, got obnoxiously drunk and inevitably told the same story about the glory days of being a ballerina.
After three rotations, I was fatigued. "You know what time it is," Lizzy announced.
"Rest?" I wanted to say. I bit my tongue.
"Hundreds!" the class shouted like a group of fifth graders. We laid on our backs, again, and lifted up to our highest possible "V" position, with our core pressed firmly on the ground, legs bent in a table top position and arms forward alongside them. Then, we pulsed our arms up and down a hundred times.
"Five pulses of inhalations followed by five pulses of exhalations. Ready, go!" Lizzy said.
"So what good movies are out?" said the girl in the front. "I just saw In Time," with Justin Timberlake," another responded. "Which one is that?" Julie asked.
"It's set in a futuristic society where people stop aging at 25," she answered.
"Oh how was it?"
"It was pretty good. I'd give it a 6.5." What the hell was going on? I wondered.
I just saw, "The Women on the 6th Floor," Julie said. "It's a French film but it was amazing."
"Is it a chic flick?" retorted Betty. "You know how I hate those."
"Oh, no, no," defended Julie. "It's about a spanish maid who falls in love with a French aristocrat in the 1960's."
"Sounds like a chic flick to me," Lizzy chimed. "98, 99, 100! Good job class," she said. "Your finished!"
"Goodbye ladies," I said as I left. "Come back next week!" Julie said. "We loved having you," said Betty. "Your a good sport," Lizzy commented. "Thanks for coming."
"Thanks for having me. I worked muscles I didn't even know I had," I joked.
"By the way," Lizzy said, "Hundreds is when we discuss movies. Next week, bring a review." ♠
For more content, updated daily, check out www.alectorelli.com
Quick Fix
You want a 2 second cure to dramatically relieve stress and increase productivity? Filter your email.
If you're a gmail user, they make it easy. Simply go to "more" on the left hand side > manage labels > filters > create new filter. Now copy paste the unwanted email address and click "next step" Chose your selected preference (I prefer to simply "delete it). Check the box "also apply filter to conversations below. and you're done.
If you use yahoo or hotmail, switch to gmail. Otherwise, the process is relatively the same.
In five minutes, I saved myself upwards of 20 spam emails per day. That's not only a lot of time saved, but more mental energy I can spend to writing quirky blogs like these! ♠
I have just finished redesigning my website. For more content, updated daily, check out www.alectorelli.com
