1964: The Experience - The Kyoto Protocol (Or: More Thoughts on Happiness)

5/24 (WIJG)

Aboard Hikari 501, En route Tokyo-Kyoto

The fundamental question is this “If something makes you happy, but it makes you happy for an irrational reason, why should you not pursue it?”  That is the practical version of the question, which I attempt to pursue from a more philosophical vantage.  The philosophical formulation becomes “Happiness, not rationality, is the Final Cause of our existence.  Is it possible to have irrational happiness, or is that a contradiction?”  The opening salvo in this argument is “Emotions are irrational if acting on them will reduce your happiness.”  What then does that mean about irrational happiness?  In order to better understand this we need to go back to the balance between fulfillment and enjoyment.  I suppose irrational happiness would be something that increases your enjoyment at too great of a cost to your fulfillment.  It’s about net happiness, and there has to be some way to balance it out.  [Cut a discussion of drunken indiscretions.]  The answer is not that you cannot always explain your emotions.  That is bullshit.  You should never act on emotions that you cannot rationally explain.  I will never say, “Oh, my emotions got the best of me.”  What then is the solution?  I am truly stumped here, and I cannot think of an answer.

Integrity.  That’s the answer.  My personal integrity is a huge part of my happiness.  One of the main reasons that I feel so fulfilled with my life is that I have such a high integrity.  I do not allow contradictions into my brain, and I hold myself to my very high set of personal standards.

The philosophical question posed was whether irrational happiness can exist, and I believe that I have answered.  Yes, irrational happiness is happiness that gives you enjoyment (or fulfillment) at too great a cost to your fulfillment (or enjoyment).  Anything that requires me to sacrifice my integrity would be irrational happiness.  That still leaves the practical question.  Should you fulfill said irrational happiness or is to do so necessarily an act of akrasia?  I believe it is the latter.  I have established that irrational happiness can exist but that it should not be acted on.  However, that still leaves one final question to explore.

If Happiness is the Final Cause of our existence, should we really question what makes us happy, other than in the pursuit of happiness?  The answer to that, I now believe, is that we should not, but it is an irrelevant question.  Every single question we ask should be in the pursuit of happiness, just as should be every single action we take.  If something makes us happy, of course should ask why it makes us happy and if we will be sacrificing more happiness down the line.  I believe that that brings me full circle.

5/24/14 (Travelogue)

Kyoto, Japan

I cannot remember so looking forward to a WHS and then being so disappointed by it.  That said, I am glad that I visited Kinkaku-Ji, or the Golden Pavillion as it is called.  My goals for today, at the most basic level were to see the best Buddhist shrine, the best Shinto shrine, and Hiroshima.  Adding Nara only came later as an afterthought.  I woke up early and knew that I would not get back to sleep.  I actually had enough time to shower and have my Nic Toro before my train, so that was exactly what I did.  When I woke up, I realized that I could see the Diet from my hotel room, not noticing it at night.  This makes three hotel rooms in a room now where I have seen a legislature building from my window.  There were “No Smoking” signs all over the street at random locations.  The only logical conclusion was that the city of Tokyo banned smoking on the street, but I refused to accept that as the reason.  Following the train tracks, I had no trouble finding the station, and I found a nice place to sit outside and finish my cigar.

I planned and replanned my day, trying to figure out alternative options.  In the end, I knew that it would all depend on what time I left Kinkaku-Ji.  I am one of the few people in the world who can say, “I will evaluate all of my options and make a rational decision,” and actually do it.  That motto served me well during my Eurotrip and my WWI trip, and I knew it would serve me well here.  When I got inside, I was amazed.  This was Japan’s Penn Station.  You could catch a train there to anywhere in the country.  Reader, it was 6AM on a Sunday, and I had never seen Grand Central or Penn Station that crowded, even during rush hour on a weekday.  The train ride was unadventurous, and I could feel how fast the train was moving.  I did not get to see Fujisan, most likely due to heavy fog.  I went to the bathroom, and I was shocked to discover that there was no soap, but, fortunately, there was a separate sink-only unit that had soap.

Once I realized that I was not going to see Fujisan, I went to the smoking compartment and lit up an Opus.  I continued for almost the entire train ride to evaluate my options, including trading Nara for a nice lunch in Kyoto.  In the end, that’s what I think I will do.  Unwilling to stand for 90 minutes, I sat in a corner of the smoking compartment and wrote my WIJG entry.  I will include the highlights when I publish as the philosophical section.  We arrived at Kyoto right at 9:14 AM, just like clockwork, and I took a cab to Kinkaku-Ji.

When I got there, I went to cross the street, and I experienced something new.  A cop actually stopped me from jaywalking.  There were no cars coming in either direction, but he would not let me cross against the light.  When I got to the entrance, there were no smoking signs everywhere, but I knew that I could not leave the WHS without a Cuban.  The site was as packed with Japanese tourists as the Statue of Liberty ever is.  I found the plaque and had no trouble finding the vista of the inscription photo.  I recreated the photo and took a few of myself without the cigar.  I then lit up the Cohiba, and people started staring bullets of me.  After a few photos, I moved aside, but I was completely underwhelmed.

I realized that I had already achieved my maximum value from the site and that I could leave right away, possibly even getting back on my original schedule, but the walk to the exit took too long, especially after stopping for souvenirs.  I didn’t really want to buy the souvenirs, but it was a WHS, and they were cheap enough.  One of the vendors, at an outdoor kiosk, refused to sell to me while I was smoking my cigar.  I had never seen such an aversion to smoke.

Just as Andrew had promised, the place that had the green tea also had the replicas, but that, too, was disappointing.  It was gold, plastic, piece of crap.  It was not like the beautiful replicas I have collected from Europe and the Middle East.  I tried to get a taxi to Nara, but it was too expensive, and they wouldn’t let me smoke my cigar.  If either it was cheaper or if I could have finished my cigar, I would have went.  My meal at Kyoto’s best restaurant will be significantly cheaper, and I will probably enjoy it more than Nara.  I went to the smoking area by the bus stop, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, while I finished my cigar, which is almost done.  I would have liked to write my entry in view of the temple, but that was not an option.  It was a very beautiful sight, but it did nothing for me.  Did I enjoy seeing Kinkaku-Ji?  No.  Am I happy that I saw it?  You bet.

1964: The Experience - Love and Beauty

5/24/14

Aboard Narita Express 54, En route Narita-Tokyo

I suppose that I fell in love with Japan even before I got off the plane.  The efficiency with which everyone got their bags and got ready to get off the train absolutely wowed me.  Every single action I saw every single person take from the time we landed until the time I got on the train seemed to be done with the utmost of efficiency, not a single moment or movement wasted.  It took less than 15 minutes from the time we arrived at the gate until the time I had cleared quarantine, immigration, and customs.  I was worried because I needed to get my rail pass by 9:45 PM.  The train was at 9:44 PM, but I did not know that, or if there would even be another train tonight.  If I did not catch the train, I knew that I was looking at an outrageously expensive cab ride into the city.  With my rail pass, this train was free and possibly even faster than the cab.  As a bonus, I will be able to walk from the station to the hotel and got my first taste of Tokyo in addition to making the walk from the hotel to the station in the morning easier.

When I took my CA-4 trip, success meant perfection.  With this trip, which will be called 1964: The Experience, success is measured by one thing alone.  If I can cross of the 1964 Stadium, it will be a success.  If I cannot, it will be a failure.  The legislature, the palace, the tower, those are all givens.  Kyoto is also a given and probably Hiroshima as well, but the sites I have planned that are a little further from the city might be up for grabs.  I might have to chop one of them out in order to make that last train back to Tokyo or even trade one for a meal in Kyoto.

It is entirely possible that I left New York on Friday and will not be able to say that I properly visited Japan, which means a meal on steady, level ground, preferably of local food, until Monday afternoon.  I will have my dinner tonight on the train, and I do not know when I will have a chance to stop for meals tomorrow, certainly not a proper sit-down meal.  It feels so weird having left New York before dark on Friday, and I will not see sunlight again until Sunday morning.  I slept well enough off the plane, despite losing two of my four seats to a woman who needed them for her children.  I could not complain.  I only paid for one seat.  She paid for two, so it was only fair that she would get four and I get two.  There was no way to win that fight, so I gave in.

Unable to fall back asleep, I watched the movie Her, which started out really fun, but it got boring at the end, and I hated the ending.  Before I initially fell asleep, l listened to a lot of Avril Lavigne on the plane, even falling asleep to it.  I want to do a proper treatment of why I so enjoy her music.  When I write about aesthetics, it is always about female, human, physical beauty.  When our professor mentioned the Form of Beauty, Rachel Edelman always popped in mind, but Amelia rightly argued that I shortchanged the Form of Beauty by only focusing on female, human, physical beauty.  There are so many other types of beauty, and I never treat that type of aesthetics.

I believe the theme of my initial Tokyo entry will be an aesthetic treatment of Avril Lavigne’s music, since I know that I cannot be a proper philosopher if I restrict aesthetics solely to female, human, physical beauty.  Half a lifetime ago, I wrote Treatises on Metaphysics, Epistemology, Ethics, and Theology.  Not to sound immodest, but those four papers written when I was in my early teens, maybe not even yet a teenager, probably contained more philosophical writing than most of my readers will have generated in their lifetime.  However, the Treatise on Aesthetics went unwritten, and it still is unwritten.

Sure, I have written and studied extensively female, human, physical beauty.  I spent a few years of my life defining exact physical standards I found most beautiful in a female, human face, only to learn over the past 16 months just how irrelevant it was.  The next step is to expand my views of beauty and properly explain why I found Avril’s music so beautiful.

Before I close, I made a little headway into the question I asked in the previous entry, though I think I did little more than simply better define it.  Emotions are irrational if acting on them will reduce your happiness.  That is way I say that I will never act on an irrational emotional.  If I do not understand the reason for an emotion, I will not act on it until I have provided a rational explanation.  However, using that definition of an irrational emotion does not allow for a definition of irrational happiness.  To define rational versus irrational happiness would require circular reasoning, unless the definition is that irrational happiness is something that will reduce your total net happiness.

After I watched Her, I fell back asleep, waking up as we were making our final approach.  I did some work before we landed.  I have recalled the events that led from the airplane to the train, and, once I got on this train, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.

Tokyo, Japan

As I was having my cigar yesterday afternoon, which seems such a short time ago, Hasan saw a very high end Cuban I took out of my bag.  I saw the jealousy on his face, but I told him it was not up for trade.  I explained that it was a very special cigar: the victory cigar.  I do not believe that that needs any further explanation, but I thought about the other special cigars of any trip.  The victory cigar is the most important one.  If I’m about to finish a box, I like to save the last one to be used as a victory cigar.  There is also the Cigar of the Trip, but that is usually only for longer trips.  I will only be visiting WHSs during one day this trip, so there is no point.  There is the departure cigar and homecoming cigar, which I have at the cigar shop.  Even though they are smoked in New York, I usually save count them towards the trip, especially if I am wearing my suit during those cigars.  The arrival cigar is another important cigar, as is the first cigar of the first full day.  They are the cigars that give me the confidence I need to execute a perfect trip.

Puffing on a Hoyo de Monterrey, sipping some sake, and staring at the Tokyo skyline, I am ready for tomorrow.  The first cigar I smoke on the train tomorrow will make me even more ready.  I also thought about special moments of the trip.  There are the planning phases.  It starts with an idea (I need to see the 1964 Stadium before they tear it down).  Actually, if Tokyo had not won the 2020 Games, I would be in Sweden right now.  Then it comes down to a general outline (fly into Tokyo, spend a day in Hiroshima and Kyoto, a day in Tokyo, fly home).  After that, I buy my plane tickets and plan the details, though the order can be reversed.  Then comes the moment when it hits me (Holy Shit! I’m going to Japan).  The 24 hours before I leave are usually filled with nerves (What if my timing is off and I miss the last train back to Tokyo?).  The flying part is old hat, and I’m more at home on a long haul flight than most other places.  Sometime after I arrive, and it might not be for a day there is what I simply call “The Moment” (Holy Shit!  I’m in Japan!)

That moment occurred tonight when I stepped out of the train station onto the streets of Tokyo, armed with only my Google Maps printout, my computer bag, and my sake.  I lit up my Hoyo and started walking.  I knew that walking the streets of Tokyo at that hour would be no different than walking the streets of Manhattan or Moscow.  I was right.  Readers, I ask which of you would have done that instead of simply taking a cab?  You cannot experience the city taking a cab to your hotel.  I had more trouble getting out of the train station than finding my hotel, but I did not care if I got lost.  I was not on a tight schedule, and I knew that it would be fun to get lost in Tokyo.  Maybe that will happen on Monday.  I got to my hotel, still puffing on my cigar.  Eventually, they told me no smoking and brought an ashtray.  The obsequious bellman showed me to my room, and I settled in.  I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now pause to trade my cigar for a pipe before I move on to my first real attempt at aesthetics.

If I were to see a girl and think that she was very beautiful, I would want to try to find particular features I found attractive.  If I were to claim to be in love with her, I would first need to justify why I felt that way.  In neither case would I accept as an answer, “Oh, it’s just the way I feel.”  Why then can I not explain why I like Avril Lavigne’s music?  I suppose that we could take as an answer, “I enjoy her music because it’s familiar.”  That works for her first album, and it works for many film scores.

However, I am not prepared to say that I cannot enjoy a new piece of music unless it reminds me of something else.  Yes, her most recent album has a similar sound to what I so loved in high school, but there is also new music in there that I enjoy.  I can point to specific words that speak to me, but I also like the instrumentals and the sound of it.  Regardless of what Avril looks like, when I listen to her words, I think to myself that that is the kind of girl I would like, someone who would make me happy.  “I don’t care about my make-up/I like it better with my jeans all ripped up/Don’t know how to keep my mouth shut.”  Yes, that is the kind of person with whom I want to spend my life.  I suppose that her music, not just the lyrics, portrays that devil-may-care mentality.  To me, Avril Lavigne and her music represent freedom, freedom to be yourself.

That said, I also find beauty in order.  I find a circle more beautiful than any fractal.  I like classical music that fits just right.  I find Quebec and Vienna to be so beautiful because everything lines up just right.  Returning to female, human, physical beauty, I like a face where everything lines up just right.  A crooked or oversized nose will not bother me if it’s in the right place.  Pimples will not bother me if the facial proportions are right.  Large ears bother me, though.

Is that shallow?  You bet it is.  More than anything, however, a wide face bothers me.  If the height to width ratio is too low, I will never find it attractive.  It is the main reason why Natalie Portman has been slowly slipping on my List to Liv Tyler and Jennifer Garner, but I am getting off topic.  Art is what moves, or good art at least.  Whether it is music or architecture or a painting, if you find a work of art beautiful, it should move you.  I find photorealism attractive, since it is “just right.”  I find the, should I say, realistic, Impressionism of Monet attractive since it is “just right,” even if it is an approximation.  I do not care for Picasso.  I do not like rap.  I like rock and roll.  There is a common theme here, and I believe that this will serve as a good start for my Treatise on Aesthetics.

I will now close, since my pipe is almost done, and I need to get some sleep before I spend tomorrow on whirlwind tour of some of Japan’s most beautiful temples.

1964: The Experience - Can Happiness be Irrational?

5/23/14

Aboard ANA 1009, En route JFK-NRT

“There was an accident on the LIE.  What would you have liked him to do?”  That was the question I asked of the two obnoxious women sitting behind me on the bus to the airport as we finally arrived at Kennedy.  I did not say it because I felt a need to defend the bus driver.  I did not say because they were slowly driving me insane, though they were.  No, Reader, I simply said it because I usually keep my mouth shut.  Since the beginning of the year, I have been taking an active effort to alter the way I behave in social situation, forcing myself into awkard situations, making myself do and say things that make me feel uncomfortable.  That was my New Year’s resolution, and I believe that I have been succeeding in fulfilling it.  Actually, I know I have.  I will further explore this concept in my Fujisan WIJG reflection, but I wanted to bring it up here, since it is a theme that has defined this year for me. 

In this entry, rather than just including Day 0 as I typically do, I will implement the CA-4 protocol and lead up with the events of the past few weeks, my quest for NHL plaques.  It stared a while ago when I finally found the one at Grand Central, but it was not until that fateful night I asked out Emily and later found myself sitting next to the NHL plaque at Rock Center that I began my quest in earnest.  The next day, I learned that there were 86 National Historic Landmarks in Manhattan, a bunch downtown, but most of them within a 15-20 minute bike ride from the office.  With the weather getting nice and an hour for lunch, I realized that not only would this be a great summer challenge, but that I could also make it the culmination of the uniform challenge.  I would be posting 86 pictures of myself looking almost identical in each picture, wearing the same shirt, holding the same water bottle.  People looking at the photos would assume they were all taken in the same day.  Slightly less than half of the NHLs had plaques, and each one provided a small value of fulfillment to me.  I had said that any one of those plaques, anywhere else in the country, would be an instant photo opportunity, yet I never made an effort to seek them out.  That changed this month.  I believe that I have now collected almost half of the sites, including 14 plaques, and I know where 3 more are.

During that time, I became more and more convinced of the philosophy of love I formalized en route to ORD.  If I ever choose to pursue philosophy as anything more than just a casual hobby, I intend to focus primarily on my philosophy of love.  There were two major holes in my theory that I could not yet resolve, the first was resolved through personal exploration and reflection, and I intend to resolve the second in the same way.

The first hole was, if you believe as I do that love (and, by extension, sex) is purely an emotional desire, then why does sexuality exist in people who believe the way I do?  It clearly does, and I resolved it in WIJG with some very real examples of the way I felt about certain people of both sexes that met varying ends of the emotional and physical attractiveness scale.  The resolution was quite simple.  I did not allow that physical attraction was necessary to romantically love someone, but I instead realized that physical repulsion would preclude any kind of romantic desire, no matter the emotional attraction.  Last night, I argued, something that I had always believed but had never quite articulated, that the purpose of love is happiness.  If you are not happy in a relationship, you should leave it, something I know at that age of 26 but did not know at the age of 13, much to my detriment.  The argument offered was that you don’t have to be happy with someone to love them.  I rejected that out of hand.

Happiness is the Final Cause of our existence, so why should love not be an Efficient Cause of Happiness?  Our emotions should be slaves to us, not us slaves to our emotions.  Love is blind they say?  Only if we refuse to see the truth.  There can be no causeless love or any other causeless emotion.  I have held the latter as an absolute truth for almost my entire life, but love, the strongest of all emotions, was not as clear.  It was only recently that I accepted that love, just as all of the other emotions, should be purely rational.  However, what Ryan said about happiness last night got stuck in my head in a completely different way.  I spoke previously about Amelia, my drunk crush, as I think of her.  I get toasted, convince myself that I might feel something towards, my drunk self even calling it love.

No matter how utterly and royally toasted I get, I never lose my ability to do two things: calculate math problems and defend my Objectivist values.  I suppose that the fact I am constantly defending said values, especially in regards to how it applies to love and sex, which I believe are one in the same, despite what others might argue, prevents me from losing sight of those values.  If I am drunkenly arguing about the Objectivist view of love and sex, how could I ever act otherwise?  Would that not be the ultimate act of hypocrisy?

The reason I bring this up is not to try and paint myself in any kind of moral light.  No, the reason I bring it up is because I was happy sitting next to her.  By the time I got home, hours after she left, it finally hit me, a thought that I had not quite been able to answer.  If something makes you happy, but it makes you happy for an irrational reason, why should you not pursue it?  Happiness, not rationality, is the Final Cause of our existence.  Is it possible to have irrational happiness, or is that a contradiction?  It is such a simple question on the surface, but it is probably the deepest question I have ever asked.

It only works from a rationalist perspective.  Someone who does not demand the highest rational thought of themselves will quickly answer that love or happiness or emotions cannot always be explained.  I reject that answer, and I could only accept an answer that was based purely on the position that all emotions can be rationally explained, except for happiness, since happiness is a result of said emotions.  Is it as simple as “Alcohol makes me happy by altering my brain chemistry, but my brain applies filters between the alcohol and the achievement of happiness, and sitting next to Amelia removes those filters?”  I would accept that as an answer, but I would prefer to approach it from a philosophical, not a physiological, vantage.  It’s not a question that I can resolve on this flight, and the evidence and arguments I would need to resolve it would more properly belong in the scope of WIJG, not this Travelogue.

I believe that is was with that in mind that I fell asleep last night.  When I woke up, Day 0 began.  Andrew had told me that I could leave two hours early because of the inspection I had done on Sunday, but HR said that the office was closing at 3:30 PM.  I was not sure if Andrew meant by that that I could leave at 1:30 PM, but I knew that if I walked into his office at 1:30 PM with my bag slung over my shoulder and could honestly tell him that I had caught up with all of my work, promising to work on his special projects on the plane, he would not object.  I say “bag slung over my shoulder” and not “suitcase in hand” since I did not pack a suitcase.  I put a few changes of clothes in my computer bag, and that was all I brought.  I pre-packed last night, since the cigar took longer than the WIJG entry, and I knew I would forget something.  I had to pick up my laundry before I could even get dressed or finish packing, so that cost me about 15 precious minutes of sleep, but I still managed to get 6 hours, so that was good.

I was at the office by the time I realized that I had only packed one extra uniform shirt, forgetting to pack my homecoming shirt for the last day.  If I left the office at 1:30 PM, I would have plenty of time to have lunch and a cigar before catching my bus to the airport.  I knew that the cigar would outlast whatever time it took me to bike home and back to get the shirt.  A little after 9AM, I met Sokol in the lobby, and we headed to Lunchbox to grab a quick breakfast, since we felt bad that we kept missing each other this week when he was in the city.  By 1:20 PM, I was caught up with my work and had everything I needed ready to get on the plane, except that shirt.  However, Young was not there, so I could not review the two proposals.

I realized two things.  First, the proposals could wait until Tuesday morning.  Second, I could grab my lunch, eat at my desk, and then leave the office at 2PM.  It would look better to do that than leave at 1:30 PM and get lunch and then leave, even if the total work hours were the same.  It also gave me more of a chance for Young to get back.  I got my usual pre-departure meal at Hop Won: shrimp with lobster sauce and boneless spare ribs, no rice.  After lunch, I went into Andrew’s office as planned, and he was quite pleased to hear that I was all caught up.  We looked at a map of Tokyo so that he could tell me all the places he enjoyed visiting while he was there.  I also knew that places where he spent a day would take me less than an hour, but I took the advice to heart, especially since it was compatible with my current agenda.

That was that, I headed downstairs to have my Cohiba, get my shirt, and take the bus to the airport.  I bumped into Young in the lobby, and we said our goodbyes, not that I would be seeing him any less than if I had just been going to Scarsdale at 2PM.  It’s a funny thing.  It seemed as if for every person that said goodbye to me, it was not simply as if I was just going to Scarsdale for the weekend, even though they would not have seen me over the weekend anyway and that they would see me on Tuesday morning at the same time either way.  What difference does it make if I am half a world away or half a mile away?  The answer is none, which is why the one person whom I know thinks entirely rationally did not give me a big goodbye.  I lit up the Cohiba, grabbed the bike, quickly made it to my apartment, got the shirt, grabbed the same bike, and headed back.  I had about 30 minutes before I needed to catch the bus, so I headed back to the cigar store.  I traded with Hasan a Cuban for a Davidoff Nic Toro and purchased an Ashton ESG.  I said my goodbyes and went to get the bus.

The bus was at 3PM, and my flight was at 6:05 PM, meaning the check-in closed at 5:05 PM.  I was not too worried.  That all changed very shortly.  I knew there would be traffic, but I did not imagine how bad it would be.  I posted my NHL photos to Facebook, and then we hit the traffic, the bad traffic.  I will not go into the play-by-play details, but I knew I was in serious danger of missing my flight.  The whole bus was complaining, but, what really bothered me was that the two woman behind me, talking on end for the entire ride, were blaming the bus driver.  I think it bothered me more that they did not stop talking than the fact that they were blaming the bus driver, but I was not usually the kind of person to tell someone to shut up.  Usually.  It was 4:30 PM by the time we arrived at JFK, and I was nowhere near out of the woods, figuring it could very well take 30 minutes for him to go through all the terminals to get to mine.

One of the women made another wisecrack, and that was when I finally decided to turn around and say something, demanding, “There was an accident on the LIE.  What would you have liked him to do?”  They were taken aback.  How do you respond to something like that?  “We’re just talking.”  It was too perfect of a set up.  I could not resist.  I said to myself but loud enough so that I knew they would hear, “Yeah, you haven’t stopped talking the entire bus ride.”  That shocked them.  They did not expect someone to say that to them.  “We haven’t stopped talking for 5 days.”  I could hear them laughing at me, calling me a dick, trying to figure out how to respond.  I didn’t care.  I had done something that was hard for me, and nothing bad happened.

It was 4:45 PM when we got to my terminal, so I was looking pretty good.  My food is here, so I will have to wrap up.  By the time I checked in and got through security, it was 5:10 PM, and we did not start boarding for another hour, but I was too stressed to do anything productive.  I bought some Opus X from the duty free, got a burger from McDonald’s, took a much needed U, refilled my water bottle, and headed to the gate.  I had an aisle seat in a four-seater with the two middle seats empty.  There was a guy on the other end, and he moved to the seat in front of us, which was also empty.  That meant I had the whole four-seater to myself, a huge boon, especially on such a long haul.  I realized that I had forgotten my eye mask, but the stewardess was able to provide me with another.  As soon as we were airborne, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can have my dinner and get some sleep.

Lincoln: The Experience - Day 2 - What is in an Outfit? (Or: The Pipe Show)

5/4/14

O’Hare International Airport, Illinois

In yesterday’s entry, I talked about “last time.”  In this entry I talk about “next time.”  There are some trips I take where I need to shoot for Complete, knowing I will never return to that area of the world.  My trip to Dubai was like that.  I wanted my trip to Jordan to be like that, but I failed.  I don’t need to go into more examples, but this trip was not like that.  I knew that I would return to this area, so saying Indiana Complete was not so important.  Not even getting an Indianapolis keychain mattered, since I would probably return next year.  Sometimes I think I will return, such as with Orlando, but do not.  Having no reason to go to Orlando, saying Florida Complete now requires a very long drive from the Miami area to Orlando for no reason other than a stamp.  Maybe I will never make it back to the pipe show, but that seems unlikely.  The Midwest is not a place that holds any special sway over me, not like the Southwest, not like the Canadian Arctic, not like the inland parts of the North American Tropics.  Chicago is a nice city, not that I set foot inside of city limits, excluding the airport, and maybe next time I will spend some time seeing the city again.  When I finished up the show today, I had plenty of time, but I had zero desire to fight city traffic and do some sightseeing.  Next time.  When people ask if I enjoyed myself, I will answer honestly, and say that I did not, though it was very fulfilling.  Next time I will focus on enjoyment.  Next time I will spend some time in Indianapolis and maybe even see the Derby.  Next time I will spend more time relaxing in the smoking tent and showing off my pipes, which are some of the best in the world.  I know that I have one of the world’s best collections of Italian, straight grain pipes, but I do not how where I would rank on the list.  If I had to venture a guess, it would be top 100 in the world, but I could easily be off by an order of magnitude in either direction.  Next time I will budget a little more to the show and focus on just buying one amazing pipe instead of just getting two very good pipes.  Or maybe next time, I will aim to say Indiana Complete and Ohio Complete, pretty much repeating this trip.  Who knows?  I certainly don’t.

What I do know and what was originally supposed to be the opening for this entry is that I will probably still be listening to my Avril Lavigne and Taylor Swift music as I drive.  They are, without a doubt, my two favorite artists of the past 12+ years.  I do not want to provide a critique of their music styles but rather the way the dress.  What does the way two pop stars dress have to do with philosophy?  Everything.  Taylor tries too hard in her appearance while Avril has a more casual appearance, which I find more attractive.  I find it very unattractive when someone tries too hard to look good.  I find makeup, lipstick, eye shadow, anything unnatural to be unattractive.  I will not go into a deeper exploration of the impression I get from someone who so tries to subvert her reality.  Instead, I will explore how someone who dresses like Avril exudes pure self-confidence.  The very fact that she is so confident in herself that she doesn’t care about impressing people with an artificial appearance will make her far more attractive to me than any amount of so-called “beauty” products, and I have empirical evidence to prove it.

Reader, you and I both know that Avril probably spends just as much time working on her “devil may care” look as Taylor does on her look, but that is not the point.  Avril has a persona to maintain.  The people I am talking about do not.  Whenever I hear about a woman trying to change a man, it is a non-starter.  I would never be in a relationship with someone who wants to “change” me.  I am who I am, and I am the only one who gets to decide what is negative about me and what I will do to change it.  It is the Jim/Cheryl (“According to Jim”) example, which is why he is one of my favorite characters.  Whenever Cheryl tries to change Jim, he reminds her that she chose him for him, and he would not be who he was if he changed.  She accepts that argument without further discussion.

“I am the man who does not sacrifice his love or his values.”  Any relationship that requires you to sacrifice your values is not love.  It is convenience.  Any man who is willing to sacrifice his values in exchange for love suffers from breaches in self-esteem.  Any woman who is trying to attract a man based on the way she dresses or the way she “puts on her face” suffers from breaches in her self-esteem.  My reader might point out that I am saying I am attracted to people who dress casually and that might contradict what I am saying, but they would be misreading it.  I would first like to go off on an aside.  In addition to the casual look, which we can call the Avril Lavigne look, there is also what I will call the Marissa Meyer look.  I find Marissa Meyer attractive not because she is pretty, though she is, but because she is the CEO of Yahoo, which means she is pretty much Dagny Taggart made flesh.  The way she dresses exudes just as much self-confidence as the Avril Lavigne look, and it is a look I also find attractive.  The reason why there is no contradiction between me saying “I don’t care about how women dress” and “I find women who dress casually attractive” is because I do not find the way they dress attractive but rather what it represents.  If an irrational thinker or someone with low self-esteem was dressing that way, I would not find it attractive at all and perhaps even be disgusted by their appearance.  Paired with WIJG, it is easy to see why I went on this whole tangent, but I will leave it a mystery to my causal reader, who can just take it as my reaction to the music I had been playing all trip.  I will briefly pause before I recall the adventures of the day.

Breakfast was excellent, and I left my bags with the valet as I went to take my picture of the Capitol.  I lit up my Cohiba, vowing to say Complete next time.  I had once again miscalculated the time zone differences, but the error was in my favor.  I had not set an alarm, and I will still be at the show ahead of schedule.  The drive was long, boring, and unadventurous, though I barely had enough gas to get to the show.  I knew that if I filled up on the way from the show to the airport I would be able to return the car with close enough to full, so that was my goal.  Towards the end of the drive, after I lit up my Padron and starting to get tired of Avril, I put on Taylor.  When I had put on Avril at the office after getting back from the CA-4 trip, one of my coworkers asked me if I was cheating on Taylor with Avril.  I had replied that I had been cheating on Avril with Taylor all along.  It is important to note that I have found both of these artists, my two favorite singers of the past 12 years, to be physically attractive.  There are other far prettier artists, but I enjoy these two artists’ music better.  Did my attraction to them inform my appreciation of their music, or was it the other way around?  I’m not sure.  I do not think I am attracted to the Avril look because I like her music, nor do I think that I like her music because I like the way she dresses.  Sure, there might be some causation, but I think it is mostly correlation.

As I approached the resort that hosted the pipe show, I realized that I had no idea where the show would be.  Would the valet know?  Fortunately, it was clearly marked, and the smoking tent could not be missed.  Other than the show, my only forthcoming expenses would be a tank of gas, the taxi ride from the airport, and food.  I still had my original show budget in cash, though I had forgotten to account for the admission fee and the entry for the slow smoke, but I still had plenty.  I walked in, and I was floored.  There were well over 100 vendors, each with a big selection of pipes, ranging in price almost three orders of magnitude.  Excluding some antique pipes, the most expensive ones were 4-6 weeks of my net pay.  I had budgeted 1 week.  It reminded me of New Orleans or Quebec, places that are packed with souvenir shops.  While buying a keychain at each souvenir shop in New Orleans was an option, buying a pipe from each vendor was not.  I figured I could get two nice pipes to add to my selection, but I was only interested in Italian straight grains.  I also was not interested in pipe brands I already owned.  I wanted stuff that would be new, stuff that I could not get at Barclay Rex back home.  In the very first row, I found a pipe maker who had an amazing selection, exactly what I wanted.  I forced myself to hold off until had walked the whole floor, knowing full well I would be coming back.  I stopped at almost every vendor, picking up a pipe to check it out.  If it was stamped with a country other than Italy or did not have good grain, I put it down and walked on.  By this process, I quickly made my way through the floor.  I was starting to get hungry at this point, but I wanted to buy my pipes first.  There was another vendor with some underpriced straight grains, or so it seemed.  I went back to the first pipe maker, picked out a real beauty, and I asked him if he could do any better on the price.  Being an Italian pipe maker, his English was not too great, so I named a price.  He hemmed and hawed but agreed to my offer.  I then went back to the other guy, who was right next to Steve Monjure.

Monjure and I go way back.  I always buy a lot from him when he has a show at Barclay Rex.  I probably account for over half of his sales at those pipe shows.  On the other hand, half of my Italian straight grains, the pride of my collection, have come from him.  I would not say that we are friends, our relationship being purely business, but we have a very friendly relationship.  He knows that I have the potential to make or break his show when he comes to New York, and I know that he can get me all the best pipes from Italy.  It is a very good, mutually beneficial relationship.  He gave me a nice greeting, and he promised to do something for me if I wanted a pipe.  I really did want a pipe, but his pipes were almost twice as much as the other guy.  I looked at all the Ardor (my favorite of the Italian brands) straight grains and then moved on.  I soon realized why those pipes were so cheap.  They weren’t really straight grains, most of them being severely flawed.  The few that did have good grain were not of a shape I liked.

I went back to Monjure.  I found a few that I liked, and the sticker price was twice the cash I had in my pocket.  Not wanting to blow my budget and use my credit card, I asked him what he would do for me?  He asked if I wanted the employees’ discount or the manager’s discount?  I told him I wanted both and the Friends and Family discount.  That came out to be 30% off the sticker price, no tax, an effective discount of 35%.  I took all the cash I had on me, including the “lucky” large banknote I kept from Vegas and had been saving in case of an emergency.  I was still slightly short of the number he quoted for the cheaper of the two pipes.  I counted out the cash, told him I had a budget for the show and had already bought a pipe from the first guy.  He agreed.  Absolutely starving, I went to get something to eat at the snack bar.  It was cash only.

I went to the smoking tent, and even I could smell the smoke.  The smoke was so thick that you could see it permeate the room.  I lit up my first pipe, the one that I bought first, as I did some work.  I wrote one proposal and put together the folders to prepare two more.  My computer was getting low on battery.  After I finished the pipe, I was absolutely starving, but I only had 20 minutes before I needed to get back for the slow smoke contest.  I needed something quick and close by.  I found a fast food place across the street.  As soon as I stepped into the parking lot, I was whisked back to all of the Star Wars and comic book conventions I had attended, which used to be my main impetus for travel.  Those were the trips that I truly loved, cheap trips where purchases at the convention took up the vast majority of my budget.  I really want to budget the trip that way next time.  Lunch fitted the bill, a nice bacon cheeseburger, but I would soon be hungry again.  Binging on those Atkins bars the first two days and not leaving any for today was a big mistake.

People were lining up for the slow smoke when I got back.  They sat us down at tables and explained the rules to us in great detail.  The entry fee was far less than the cost of the new pipe we were getting, so it was a really good deal.  They had produced 100 identical pipes and weighed out 100 identical bags of tobacco, which looked like little bags of weed.  We would be given 5 minutes to inspect the pipe and then we would be given our little bags of tobacco.  We would get 5 minutes to fill our pipe bowl.  After that, we would have 1 minute and two matches to light our pipe.  After 10 minutes, we could have a bottle of water.  We were not allowed to use a pipe cleaners, so some smokers left the stem a little bit out to avoid a moisture build up.  If we wanted to use the bathroom, we would have to leave the pipe at the table and hope it was still lit when we got back.  We were out of the contest if the pipe went out for any reason, whether or not we had gone through our entire bowl of tobacco.  I had hoped to go for an hour, but I just wanted to smoke the damn pipe.  The tobacco was very dry, and I knew that an hour was a pipe dream, pun intended.  I was not the first one out, and I went out just as the bulk of the crowd started to go out, so I had no reason to be embarrassed, considering I was a rookie at this.  It was my first time, and I lasted 25 minutes.  There is a sex joke to be made here.  I saw one of my friends from the NY Pipe Club, and we exchanged greetings.  The president, Lou, of the club was also there.  They both finished a few minutes after I did.  Lou was quite impressed with my new pipes and examined them “under the glass” as he said.  I sat down to finish my Aristotle reading, which I had started during the contest.  There were some obnoxious guys sitting down near me.  They were smoking cigarettes, but one of them showed how knowledgeable he was when he started asking questions about my new Ardor.  I was, once again starving, but I did not want to go back to that same fast food place.

I figured that I would smoke my Ardor, grab something to eat on the way to the airport, stop at the cigar lounge I had seen on the road, and then get to the airport with more than enough time for to write this entry.  I stopped at another fast food place and then tried to remember where the cigar store was.  I had trouble finding it, and it was not a cigar store.  It was a hookah lounge with a shitty humidor.  It was good thing that I did not stop for a smoke, sine we will be boarding in about 40 minutes, and I am not yet finished.  I gassed up, cleaned out the car, and was on my way.  I got to gate without about 3 hours to spare before my flight, and I spent the proceeded to write this entry, which I have spent about 2 hours on, so I will now close and publish as is.  I suppose that I will includes some broader reflections en route, but this is the bulk of the entry, and I intend to either work or sleep on the plane.  I will make one last point before I close.  As I was driving in Illinois, they had a billboard with Illinois’s 5 Most Wanted.  3 of them were black, the other 2 Hispanic.  I am not making any kind of judgment, just pointing it out.

Lincoln: The Experience - Day 1 - What is Freedom (Or: The Lincoln Run)

5/3/14

Indianapolis, Indiana

I suppose that today would be considered the day of passed by opportunities.  In order to do my Lincoln Run, I passed up on four opportunities, three of which would have been worth a trip on their own, and the fourth something fun that time just did not allow.  However, I had the freedom to choose how I wanted to spend my day.  In fact, I have the freedom to choose how I spend every day.  In order to maintain my lifestyle, I am obligated to weekly devote around 40 hours of work time to my company and 10 hours to my studies.  I need to sleep for maybe 56 hours a week to properly function on an ongoing basis.  Meals take up another 10 hours a week.  That leaves me around 50 hours a week to spend however I want.  I probably spend half of those 50 hours with a cigar in my mouth and a good deal travel planning, but those are choices I am free to make.  I am free to set my own bedtime, eat whatever I want, and go wherever my passport and available funds will take me.  Of course, I have to deal with the consequences of my decisions.  If I decided to sleep 4 hours a night every night and go on an all cupcake diet, it would not be good, but I am free to make that choice.  If I wanted to tell my company to go to hell, I would be free to make that decision.  I would have to find another way to make money and fund my travel, but it is a choice I am free to make.

When Lincoln freed the slaves, he did not end slavery.  There are people all around the world still enslaved.  There are people living under totalitarian regimes who are not free to think however they want.  There are people so indoctrinated by religious beliefs that they are not free to act however they want.  There people who are actually enslaved.  From forced marriages to sex trafficking, slavery still exists.  Freedom is the most important thing in the world.  Everything else flows from it.  What good is having a philosophy of love if you are not free to love the person you choose?  What good is condemning racism when it is enforced by the state?  What good is it know what gives you fulfillment and enjoyment if someone is stopping you from leading a fulfilling or enjoying life?  These were some of the thoughts coursing through my mind as I engaged on my Lincoln Run.

Lincoln did not even end slavery in the United States.  I am not talking about how the Emancipation Proclamation only applied to the states in rebellion.  I am talking about today.  I will start by discussing all of the people jailed for stupid crimes.  In my book, there are only two crimes: fraud and the initiation of force.  Fraud is shoplifting, perjury, embezzlement, insider trading, etc.  The initiation of force is the only other time where it is acceptable to take away someone’s freedom.  Murder, robbery, rape, assault.  Those are all very good reasons to lock someone up and take away their freedom.  Non-violent drug offences, prostitution, and other “victimless crimes” are not acceptable reasons to take away someone’s freedom.  What force or fraud did they commit?

The government does not get to decide moral values.  Every individual person gets to decide his own moral values.  Once you impinge on that right, you take away their freedom.  I will not go into Rand’s position of taxation as slavery, though I will sum it up.  She basically says that by taxing us to pay for welfare programs, it is no different than slavery.  If we do not pay our taxes, we got locked up or our property gets forcibly taken away.  I know that I will find very little agreement for that position, so I would rather talk about other kinds of slavery we still find in the United States.  A large number of people in this country are enslaved to their religious beliefs.  It dominates their life, prevents them from thinking on their own, and causes them to try and use force to get others to follow their views.  Another type of slavery are people who are in abusive relationships.  I do not just mean physically abusive relationships, which obviously impinge on the victim’s freedom.  I also mean emotionally abusive relationships, where the victim is so afraid or complacent that he will go along with anything his spouse wants.  Where is the freedom there?  The term is even the same as for slavery: “whipped.”

Any person who is not free to make his own choice on any matter is a slave.  There is no way around that statement.  Whether it is a child who cannot chose his own bedtime, a husband who cannot chose his own wallpaper or a taxpayer who has to give 40% of his income, maybe 1000 hours (2 months) a year, they are experiencing a minor form of slavery.  Another form of slavery, which can be found in the works of Nietzsche, is slavery to morals.  People have a hive mentality when it comes to morality.  Sure, they might differ on the finer points, but almost everyone considers charity and compassion to strangers as a virtue.  I consider it a vice, the very poison that has been destroying our society for millennia.  As long as laws against force and fraud are enforced, there is absolutely nothing wrong with looking out for only yourself.  Society will not collapse.  People will not start dying on the streets in droves.  People will show compassion to other people to the extent that the relationship is mutually beneficially.  They will engage in profitable economic trade and trade will flourish.  It is when people engage in unpredictable, irrational, self-destructive behavior that society collapses.  When such behavior is forced by the government, it collapses even faster. 

Many people may consider my travel methods to be irrational, but it is not.  I just value fulfillment over enjoyment, as I discussed in a previous entry.  It does not matter what I choose to value, so I long as I make those choices, and I rationally pursue those desires.  That was why I embarked on this Lincoln Run.  I woke up before my alarm, and I was well ahead of schedule, getting breakfast and, of course, forgetting my suit on the way out.  I packed the car, which I left in the garage, and headed to the Capitol.  I was rearing and ready to go for what I knew would be a crazy day.  Three places where Lincoln lived and three state capitols.  10 hours of driving for about an hour of activities, standard practice.

I took my picture at the Illinois Capitol, did my business at the VC, and decided that taking a tour of the home, Lincoln’s only surviving home, would blow my chance of hitting all three sites.  I took my picture outside the home, which was surrounded by a replicated village of what Springfield looked like when Lincoln lived there, which was really cool.  I grabbed my Hoyo de Monterrey, walked toward the car, stopping when I got in view of the Capital, and tried to light it.  I say tried because, without a torch, it was very hard to get the cigar lit.  I joked to myself that the Cuban, the easiest part of the Complete, was going to stop me from saying Illinois Complete.  I did manage to get it lit, said, “Illinois Complete,” adding some sentiment about the day to come, and went back to the car.  It was 4 hours to the next site, and I was kind of tired.  I knew that the drive would be brutal.  It was.  I was also starving, and I did not want to make a meal out of Atkins bars.

When I stopped for gas, I also got a bratwurst, which filled me up for a bit.  I lit up an Undercrown and got back on the road, looking well on schedule to complete the Lincoln Run.  I am constantly impressed by the features of this car.  It has a feature where it starts beeping if you drift out of your lane.  When you back up, it gives you a grid on the rear-view camera, showing the direction you are going.  Soon enough, I was at the National Memorial in Indiana, the whole reason that I decided to do this crazy run, the only one of my 30 Goals served by this trip.  The VC was designated an NHL (National Historic Landmark), and it even had a plaque out front.  These NHL plaques have become my new obsession.  There are over 100 in NYC, and I want to spend a weekend tracking down as many as I can.  I took care of my business at the VC and then proceeded to the cabin site.  There was a big no-smoking sign, which I proceeded to ignore as I lit up my Carillo.  It was an actual farm with functional historic buildings, such as a blacksmith.  I took a bunch of pictures and quickly turned back.  I was not on a time crunch, but I wanted to make sure I allowed enough Dutch Time.

As I was leaving, I tried to imagine what Lincoln was like as a boy.  Did he aspire to greatness?  Did people who knew him think he was something truly special?  Did anyone predict just what he would achieve?  I doubted it.  The next site was his birthplace, a NHP (National Historic Park) in Kentucky, which had recently been upgraded from a NHS (National Historic Site).  I had wanted to see that site when I went to Kentucky last time, but I did not have the freedom to do that.  I was the only one in the group who wanted to do it, and I was unwilling or unable to go off and do it on my own.  As I was making my way to the NHP, I saw the sign for Mammoth Cave, and I laughed.  2 years ago it was such a big deal for me to be able to go there with my family, to get the new state and the WHS, and now, I didn’t even think about stopping there.  I could have done Cahokia, which I passed by leaving Springfield, and Mammoth Cave in one day.  I easily could have arranged a weekend trip.  Yes, 10 days of travelling in 2012 could have been reduced to a weekend the way I now travel.

I made it to the NHP with enough time to take care of my business at the VC and then walk around the site, which was good, since they kicked everyone out right at 4:45 PM, which was 3:45 PM Springfield Time, just 7 hours after I left.  My plan was to be racing to get there and get my stamp right before 4:45 PM, but that plan would not have worked.  They had a little memorial building at his birthplace with a reconstructed log cabin.  I like to say that after, having seen Jesus Christ Birthplace WHS, no other birthplace can compete.  Abraham Lincoln Birthplace NHP came close.  I could not smoke inside the memorial, but I walked around the cabin a few times, thinking about the greatness that came from that little baby.  When I smoked my pipe at Jesus Christ Birthplace WHS, my thoughts were probably about all of the great Christmas songs he inspired.  Lincoln saved the Union and freed the slaves.

I lit up my Arturo Fuente, announced, “Lincoln Complete,” and headed back to the car to make my way to Frankfort.  I stopped at Knob Creek, another one of his boyhood homes along the way, and, no longer on a time crunch, I was able to relax a bit.  I walked around a bit and reflected on how relaxing of a place it seemed for our 16^th President to live.  I had been told that there was a KFC in Bardstown, which was only 2 miles off-route, and my GPS confirmed it.  Bardstown was the self-proclaimed Bourbon Capital of the World, and I passed by this historic tavern.  I knew that I needed to stop for a drink.  They had dozens and dozens of different bourbons.  I asked for “bourbon, neat.”  I did it as a joke, but she didn’t get it, saying that they had quite a few different bourbons, ranging in price well over an order of magnitude.  I asked for her best one, fully prepared for an outrageous price tag.  She picked one out for me, and it was more than I ever spent on a bourbon but less than what I had spent in Orlando on that Cognac.  She gave me a generous pour, and I gave her a generous tip, more than the price of their least expensive bourbon.  It was delicious and worth every penny.

As I made my way to the KFC, I saw a souvenir shop, but it was closed early for “Derby Day.”  Yes, reader, I was in Kentucky, on the day of the Kentucky Derby, and I did not realize it until that moment.  If I had, I would have rearranged the schedule to allow for a stop there.  Hell, it would have been worth a trip on its own just to see the Derby.  I misestimated the distance to Churchill Downs, and I might actually have been able to make it.  If I had left straight from the NHP, I definitely would have made it.  I took comfort in the fact that pipe show and the Derby are probably always on the same weekend, so it would be easy to do a trip to combine them both another year.  I got to where my GPS said the KFC was, but it was just a cemetery with no KFC in site.  I parked across the street and checked my phone.  No KFC, and I was starving.  I was reminded of a joke from Seinfeld.  A dying guy goes all the way to Germany for a slice of Bavarian Cream Pie.  They are sold out, so he just orders a cup of coffee.  I considered going to a Wendy’s or something and just getting some fried chicken there.  I decided that I could hold out until I got to Frankfort, but I saw a Wendy’s along the way.  Knowing that the joke would be too good not replicated, I pulled in, but I saw a more local fried chicken chain.  They had all the same stuff as KFC, and it was definitely Kentucky fried chicken, but it was not KFC.

As I left, I recounted all the steps I had taken that would allow me to say Kentucky Complete, needing only the Capital and the Cuban.  I then reminded myself that I needed gas.  Soon enough, I was at the Capitol.  I parked, grabbed my water bottle, and announced, “Let’s do this, bitch.”  I took my picture and lit up my Partagas.  I announced, “Kentucky Complete,” adding, I think, “And how about that?  Too bad about Indiana.  Next time, though.”  When I first planned the trip, I had not accounted for the time zone difference, which meant that I had to eliminate the non-Lincoln NPS in Indiana, so I would not be saying Indiana Complete this trip.  I made my way to Indianapolis, getting there just as it got dark, lighting up a Heisenberg en route, which I finished just I arrived.  Indianapolis is a big city with big city traffic, in addition to the fact that the Pacers’ Game 7, my fourth passed up opportunity, was letting out.

I asked for a smoking room with a view of the Capitol, but I was told they had neither.  They upgraded me to a suite.  As I was checking in, I realized that I had, again, forgotten my suit, so I raced to the driveway, and the car was still there.  I got to my room, and it was freaking huge.  The living room was bigger than most hotel rooms, and I did not see the bedroom.  There was a nice couch but no bed.  For a moment, I thought that there was no bed at all, but there was a separate bedroom with a view of a glimpse of the Capitol.  I ordered room a burger from room service, which was overpriced but less than I would have spent on dinner if I went out.  I checked in for my flight, upgrading again to first class for the same modest price.  I was going to do some work, but the food came quickly.  It was absolutely delicious.  I made some coffee, sealed off the bedroom, set up a station in view of the Capitol, such as it was, lit up my Avo, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish, upload photos, and get some sleep.

Lincoln: The Experience - Day 0 - What is Love?

5/2/14

Aboard United 1422, En Route LGA-ORD

Philosophy is the love of wisdom, and wisdom is all well and good, but it needs to be useful.  For a large percentage of the population, there is one decision you make in life that matters for more than every other decision you make.  It is the decision of whom you marry.  To me, for the past 15 or so months, the most important aspect of philosophy has been the study of love.  Before I get married, before I even think about getting married, I need to have love so well defined that I will not hesitate for a moment when I find it.  Some people may argue that love cannot be defined, that love is irrational, even that love does not exist.  I reject those arguments and refuse to offer them any kind of validation.  Last night, Amelia (a very pretty girl from my philosophy class whom I fancy myself to love when I’m toasted enough and quickly remember how irrational that love would be when I sober up), called me a pure rationalist.  She meant it half as an insult, but I have never been so complimented.

The blog is called the Travelling Philosopher, which means that the philosophy needs to be restricted to travel days, which can include Day 0.  I will allow this line of discourse, since we discussed it a little at work this morning.  The basic argument from last night had been whether you (should) love someone for who they are or what they are.  I explained my argument as my rational approach to love.  To love is to value.  I love someone because I respect them, because we share values, because they embody what I value.  All of that is well in good.  I hold X, Y, and Z as my primary values.  I meet someone who meets those values.  We fall in love and get married.  Sounds wonderful.  Then, I meet someone who exemplifies X, Y, and Z even more so than my wife, and she also has W.  I have no arrangement with my wife to engage in any kind of extra-marital affairs.  To pursue this new women would be to deceive my wife, whom I love and respect.  Where is the rationality there?

The solution I had proposed was that I gave my commitment to my wife, that I hold honor and commitment as primary values that surpass the difference in how the new woman exemplifies W, X, Y, and Z.  I know people who have not placed honor and commitment as a primary value, along with people who have been on the other side of the equation.  However, they are people who chose sex over love.

When I woke up, I hurriedly packed, forgoing the suitcase and just shoving the necessary clothes and tobacco products into my computer bag and sleep machine bag.  When I showed up at work, I explained the debate we had been having last night.  The first response was that, at our age, the better debate would be the difference between love and lust.  I explained that we did that debate but that we first needed to figure out what love was before we could differentiate from lust.  When I explained to him my aforementioned views on loving someone for what they are and the apparent paradox it created, he came up with a brilliant reply.  He said that you have a history and a familiarity with that person, which trumps the possible better values of the new women.  If you have started a family together, even more so.  He is not a philosopher.  He is an architect with people skills that I could never hope to achieve.  It made perfect sense.  It made my resolution of the paradox no less valid, but it was a fascinating answer that none of us so-called philosophers had considered.  If you asked me 10 years ago what I was, I would have said a mathematician.  For most of the past decade, it would be an engineer.  Now, the answer is a philosopher.  That’s how I define myself.  Sure I have mathematical skills were once empirically measured at one-in-a-million, and I can create great wealth with my capacity to think, but my true passion lies in philosophizing.  There’s just no money in philosophy.

I will not discuss the love versus lust debate, as that is far beyond the scope of the Travelogue.  If any of my readers wish to engage in that debate, they know how to reach me.  I am saying that love is the most important aspect of philosophy to me, and it will be thoroughly explored in this entry.  The second most important aspect, freedom, will be perfectly within the scope of tomorrow’s entry, as I tour the Lincoln historic sites.  I think anyone who knows my philosophy understands, even if they don’t agree with, how I define love.  It is a purely rational desire, the greatest reward for the mutual respect and shared values we enjoy with another human being.  Whether it a girlfriend, a friend, or a boss, I look for the same thing.  With a girlfriend, there also needs to be a physical attraction (or lack of repulsion).  With a friend, shared interests.  With a boss, a professional working relationship.  However, the core is the same.  I define respect in the same way.

Lori, my co-worker who had engaged in this morning’s conversation with Andrew and I, asked me pointedly what I consider those values.  I answered intelligence first and foremost.  In fact, I think maybe 60-70% of my emotional attraction would be based on intelligence.  In intelligence, I also include rational thought process in addition to raw intelligence.  I know people who are extremely intelligent but fail to possess that rational thought capacity, and I find that an unattractive quality.  I also know people who are the opposite, and I think I find that more attractive.  So, then, maybe we have 40% rational thought process and 25% raw intelligence.  Where then is the other 35%?  Moral values would probably make up the bulk of the balance, maybe another 25% there.  After that, the remaining 10% would be what I call opinions.  Putting yourself (and those about whom you choose to care) first would a moral value.  Your position on government spending would be an opinion.  I would be far more interested in an Objectivist who voted Democrat than a Libertarian who did not live up to said Objectivist values.  These numbers are off the top of my head and cannot be considered any kind of formula upon which I could build a relationship.  I will now pause for dinner and continue this line of discourse, along with the rest of Day 0 afterwards.

Without making it a numbers game, we have established that I consider rational thought process to be my alpha characteristic, the most important thing I can find in someone, anyone.  Everything else flows from that.  My beta (or primary) values are intelligence (really a characteristic) and moral values.  There are far too many moral values to count.  Then, there are the gammas, the opinions and interests, again, too many to count.  Do I value someone who thinks that private industry can better construct infrastructure above someone who will smoke a cigar with me?  Do I value someone who prefers to travel north than south above someone who wants to abolish all forms of government welfare?  These are all good questions, but they pale in comparison to what I call the alpha question.  Can I engage with a rational discussion or debate with her about any issue?  Is she the person with whom I want to sit at the dinner table for the rest of my life?  Is she the person whom I went to help let me kids discover to how think for themselves?  There are all reformulations of the same question, and they so trump her ability to solve a differential equation or her willingness to always put herself (and the people about whom she has chosen to care) first.  Of course, I want someone who not only can engage in that rational debate, but can also outsmart me from time to time and who shares my moral values.  I also want someone who views the world in the same way I do and likes doing the same things.  Reader, I challenge you to tell me how a pretty a face or a “nice rack” compares in the slightest to the ideal I have spent close to the past hour describing.  I challenge you to tell me how feeling some kind of irrational, unexplainable love for someone can match this ideal.  It cannot, and I cannot continue any further along this line of thought.  If anyone is interested in continuing this debate with me, feel free to do so in any form, any time.  It is the debate I have spent the past 15 months preparing, and I am absolutely confident in my ability to defend.  Now, I just need to put it into practice.

This trip is a very minimalist trip.  I have all the sites memorized, and I did not feel a need to prepare an itinerary (or even pack a suitcase).  I had all my information prepared, and I slowly printed it out one piece at a time.  I checked in to my flight, saw that I could upgrade to first class for a very modest fee, and I did so.  Totally worth it.  I arranged for a car to pick me up at the cigar store, giving them the number of the cigar store.  I met my mother at Hop Won for my traditional pre-departure meal.  She spent the entirety of the meal complaining about the intricacies of her company retreat.  I didn’t really care, but I listened intently, not just because I was getting a free meal out of it.  I often use my parent’s relationship as an example in debates on love.  I have come to realize just how rare and special that relationship is.  People either don’t believe me when I describe it, or they call it out as an exception.  I don’t have any Oedipal Complex, and my mother exhibits gross flaws in her rational thought processes, not to say she is unintelligent, but I am not afraid to admit that I want what my parents have.

My father, who was the ultimate Objectivist for decades in the way he led his business, did not make the same choices in his personal life.  He had too much Nathaniel Branden in him and not enough Ayn Rand, too much of the fake Francisco D’Anconia and not enough of the real one.  I will not explain these analogies and refer my reader to “Atlas Shrugged” and “The Passion of Ayn Rand.”  That is what allows him to get along with someone is not Dagny Taggart, who does not embody Objectivist beliefs.  They have different core values than I do, but they share those core values.  That is what matters.  That is why I am willing to listen to her go on, not because she is my mother, not because she is buying me lunch, not because I find it interesting, but because I find analyzing what she values to be profitable.  That is not to say I disagree with her opinions, but we have different core values.  That’s okay.  As I mentioned, I am not looking for my mother, but rather someone with whom I can have the same relationship my parents have.

I went back to work, got caught up on what needed to be done before the end of the week, and then tackled a very large hospital project for which we had physical drawings.  The manager of the hospital division, someone who has known me since before I was born, my father’s most trusted employee, and the lifeblood of the organization for 30 years, give or take, had marked up the drawings.  I give him that long list because I want to emphasize how much I value his opinion.  He has my absolute respect when it comes to this business.  In a previous entry, I mentioned about blind judgment and listed a few people who had earned that from me.  When it comes to things like this, he falls in this list.  It’s ironic, since, more often than not, he defers to me on these matters.  That was the mindset with which I reviewed the roll of drawings he had marked up.  I looked through all of them and got a handle on the project.  I went to look at our electronic folder and saw that there was a link to an electronic set of drawings, which I downloaded.  I wasn’t sure how long it would take, so I went to the bank to get some cash for my trip.

I had set myself a budget for expenses and, allowing to use my card for gas and the hotels, I withdraw the rest in cash, knowing I would want to buy a couple of pipes.  The first ATM did not have large bills for that withdrawal, so I tried another one.  I got an error message, tried again, and then was able to make my withdrawal.  I got back to the office, and the drawings were nowhere near ready.  I went on with my work, finishing up what needed to be done today before leaving.

I got to the cigar store, where three of the regulars were waiting outside, and ran across the street.  I asked if they weren’t allowed to smoke inside since it wasn’t quite 6PM.  They said that they had started earlier and stayed outside since it was so nice.  Hassan, with whom I had been planning to trade, was not there, so I lit up a Cohiba.  Jimmy, knowing I was holding more, tried to grab my cigars from me, but I was too quick.  I grabbed a Davidoff Nic Toro and asked him for a tin of tobacco.  He tried again to get the cigars, roughhousing a little.  It wasn’t malicious, but it wasn’t benevolent either.  It was just Jimmy being Jimmy.  I managed to protect the Cubans, and we all went back inside.  It was a regular Friday evening at the cigar store, and I got a couple of texts from United.  The first text said that my gate was changed.  I pretended to be upset.  Then I got a text that actually was upsetting.  My flight was delayed by 30 minutes.  With a 3-hour drive to Springfield waiting for me at O’Hare, that was not a good thing.  I’d manage but not happily.

I finished my cigar and then they got the call I had been anticipating.  The car service called the cigar store, but the guy had a bad accent and Charles, the manager, barely understood.  I went outside, but the car was not there.  It came around, and I practically had to chase it down to get it to stop.  His potential tip went way down.  The ride was unadventurous, and we soon arrived at LGA.  I was paying with my debit card, and I had to add a tip.  He then said 4 (or maybe 3) words that cut his tip even more and now might have a meaning I did not realize at the time.  “Don’t be (a) cheapskate.”  I tipped him about 15%.  It wasn’t much, but the buttons were for 20%, 25%, 30%.  He seemed very sketchy about it, but I didn’t think anything about it at the time.

I got my boarding pass and made my way through security.  Sometimes I like to be the arrogant business traveler.  Today I was the arrogant business traveler.  Finishing my text before I showed my boarding pass and ID to the TSA agent, taking my time at security, not making eye contact or greeting anyone.  I was not holding up anyone behind me, but there was no denying my arrogance.  There was an issue with my bags.  It was the water bottle.  I had forgotten to empty it.  I asked if I could drink/empty it and then rerun the bag?  No.  Could they empty it?  No.  I did my best to consume my furor with the bureaucratic procedures.  He also unpacked the main compartment of my bag and refused to let me repack it.  I had to go through the entire security process again, from the very beginning where I first showed my boarding pass, stopping to repack my bag along the way.  Meanwhile, they carried my water bottle separately like it was something dangerous.  Remembering what at Kennedy last January, I watched it like a hawk.  I went through security again with no issue, refilled my water bottle, took a much needed U, and headed to my gate.  I tried to get some work done, but the connection was shitty.  I tried to read Les Miz, but I couldn’t focus for more than a chapter.  I then checked my bank account, and was shocked to see how low it was.  I checked to see where the missing money went.  We are about to land, so I need to close, and I will explain what happened to the missing money when I get to Springfield.

Springfield, Illinois

It is 3AM back in New York, and, just as last night, I am up writing some kind of journal and looking at 4 hours of sleep or less.  Whatever possessed me to think that a night have heavy drinking would be a good precursor to a night where I would have to drive 3-hours after a flight was not my rational thought processes.  I had told Ryan that I was up for anything, so long as I didn’t miss my flight to Chicago.  I just completely forgot to calculate for the drive.  Alas, here I am in the capital of Illinois, staring out at the Capitol building, as I puff on a very nice cigar, smoking away all of the stresses of the past 7 hours.  I closed on a cliffhanger, noting that a large amount of money was missing from my bank account.  The culprit was 7 ATM withdrawals from the Dominican Republic.  I knew that Citibank would reimburse me for the fraudulent charges, but I also knew that I would be in a serious cash crisis.  I had my cash budget for souvenirs and pipes and miscellaneous expenditures, but my credit card intentionally has a very low limit, barely enough to cover the hotels and gas.  I knew that, once I called Citibank, they would cancel my card, and I would not have time to stop by a Citibank branch during tomorrow’s Munich Run (Lincoln Run?), and I did not expect the banks to be open on Sunday.  I bit the bullet and called Citibank.  They sorted everything out and asked if I would be willing to insist in a criminal investigation against the culprit?  Absolutely.  They asked if I could think I have anyone who could have done it.  Plenty of people might have access to my debit card number, but I could not think of anyone who might know my PIN.  It is a very secure number, something that no one could guess.  I thought back to the earlier withdrawal, thinking perhaps that glitch was not quite a glitch, but that was at Citibank.  If that was the issue, they would sort it out.

After I hung up, I then thought back to the shady driver, but he would not have had my PIN.  I can only imagine someone watched over my shoulder or with a camera or something, but I am always very mindful of that, entering my pin with all four fingers and moving them randomly to confuse any onlookers.  I went back to my seat and prepared for takeoff.  I think I am becoming addicted to flying first class, which is a very expensive habit, one that would seriously eat up my travel budget, even if I were able to constantly upgrade at this discounted rate.  I had a Bacardi silver as we waited to take off.  The minute we were in the air, I started my entry, which took the entire flight, only pausing to eat.

We landed, and I made my way to the rental car shuttle.  When I got outside, I saw a Hertz shuttle, so I ran after it, and he waived me away.  Apparently, the stop was a little ahead, and he gave me a dirty look when I got on at the stop.  Then, this crazy woman and her husband got on.  The first thing she said was that she wasn’t going to give the driver that much of a hard time but that it would be a lot more environmentally friendly if the rental companies shared buses.  Reader, you will notice that I am the type of person who says the things people often think but do not say.  I asked her if she really thought the bus driver, who was ignoring her, had any control over that and told her to take it up with the City of Chicago.  She said that the City of Houston had figured it out.  I told her to get their mayors to talk to each other, which she said was impossible since they were of opposite political parties.  A bit later, the woman said to her husband to pay attention to her and stop using his phone.  If he didn’t, she would embarrass him.  He said exactly what I would have imagined my grandfather saying: “You already are.”  Next thing I knew, she was lying down in the aisle of the bus.  Hilarity ensued.

I got to my car, a beautiful, black 2014 Chevy Impala with 61 miles on it.  I looked very much forward to breaking it in.  I put on the 2000s channel, realizing that I had forgotten my Avril Lavigne CD at the office, and got the GPS set up.  It would be 3 hours to Springfield, and I already felt spent.  I lit up my Davidoff Nic Toro as soon as I left the rental car facility, and I was on my way.  As I was finishing the cigar, one of my favorite songs came on, “1000 Miles.”  I was refreshed and awake. I put on cruise control for 13 mph above the speed limit.  I had one of my Atkins meal bars and lit up an Avo from my new box after about 30 minutes with just over an hour to the destination.  I took a sip of water, and I saw a cop car sitting at the median.  I put my foot on the brakes, but it was too little too late.  He started to follow me.  I kept it below the speed limit, but he put on the sirens.  The whole process took about 10 minutes, and the Avo kept me calm.  I was most upset that my streak was over.  9 months with no accidents, no real tickets.  The fine was modest, and I was glad I got clocked at 82 in a 70 rather than going 100.

I was awakened and refreshed from that experience, but that did not last.  With less than 30 minutes to my destination, I felt that I was falling asleep.  I tried every trick in the book to keep myself awake, and, then I saw it.  The Springfield population sign.  I was heartened.  A few more minutes in town, and I was at the hotel.  I requested a smoking room with a view of the Capitol.  He said it was one or the other, and he couldn’t even guarantee the view with a non-smoking room.  I chose the smoking room and went to park the car in a garage around the corner.  When I got to the room, sure enough, it had a nice view of the Capitol, the perfect view for me to write this entry.  I settled in, changed, lit up a Padron, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will close and publish after bringing up one revelation I had during the drive.  I would be far more interested in someone who can rationally and fully defend the opposite side of an issue than someone who would blindly agree with my side of it.