AlecTorelli
The world is my book. I wanna write it!
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
