ndestrukt273's Xanga

Stock Market Pattern

Tue, 24 Feb 2009 23:24:58 GMT

1. Feds announce some change that's intended to aid the economy - DJI jumps a few hundred points.
2. Next day, people sell off their stocks to rake in profits returning the DJI to only a marginal gain relative to a few days ago.
3. DJI stays +/- 50 for a few days...
4. Then people are reminded that the economy sucks and the DJI plummets to new lows.

Lather, rinse, repeat...

WJ Strikes Again...

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 16:23:00 GMT

Quite recently, I signed up for an evening class put out by the Art Center College of Design - one of the most if not THE most prestigious design schools in the US. This class was an introductory course in transportation design (in other words, car design) taught by the designer of the Porsche Carrera GT supercar. One of his most recent designs is the Aptera - the 200+ mpg space pod looking vehicle.

I missed the first class because it had occurred already by the time I was reminded of the existence of this night class they offered. Luckily, I was still able to add myself into the class.

I knew that I was behind having missed the first class, so I emailed the teacher to ask him about this upcoming week's assignment as well as what materials I ought to buy and bring to each weekly class. He was kind enough to shoot me back an email furnishing me with all this information.

The assignment was to take an 11" x 17" sheet of paper and draw 100 thumbnail sketches on it. He provided a work sample for us to follow. It literally was a sheet of 11" x 17" paper filled with little drawings of cars. For the next few days, I spent time drawing my mini cars. They started out as my actual take on how cars would look a few years down the road. For instance, I'd take an S2000 and using what I thought were its key styling elements, I'd design what I thought would be the next generation S2000.

It took me a few days to complete the assignment, but it was complete by the time the next class came around.

During last Tuesday's class, the teacher had us pin our 11" x 17" assignments to a wall in the classroom. Since there were only 5 of us, 6 including the teacher, the size of the class allowed for us to closely inspect and critique everybody's assignment.

When the critiquing started, I started to notice that one of my fellow classmates seemed to hold himself and his own opinions in high regard and would constantly provide harsh though "constructive" criticism to his fellow classmates. It got to a point where he would be talking more than the teacher. I thought to myself, "Fuck... I didn't pay 7 notes to listen to this clown tear apart his classmate's work..." and it was quite noticeable that the teacher was getting a little peeved as well.

Well, the time came to critique the work of our "self appointed teaching assistant" and I couldn't have relished this moment more. His motif for his 11" x 17" sketch was BMW. Everything he drew made an obvious attempt at emulating a Bimmer's styling, but it wasn't quite there. Since he pulled no punches with his fellow classmates and they weren't too good at defending themselves, this here chigga felt a need to step in.

Ass. TA walked us through his completed assignment, and just as I thought, he wanted to draw nothing but BMWs. I, being a car enthusiast, knew a thing or two about BMWs myself. Key design elements central to all BMWs are of course, its Roundel badge (controversy between the schools who thought the badge symbolized the spinning propellors of a BMW airplane or the blue and white checkers of the Bavarian flag in the old days), the ever-present Kidney Grilles that provide airflow to the engine compartment, and last but not least, the Hofmeister Kink. The Hofmeister Kink is the inward bend the BMW's C Pillar makes as it meets with the car's beltline. These three things are styling elements EVERY BMW design enthusiast should know, but yet, Ass. TA's sketches didn't really emphasize the Hofmeister Kink - only the Kidney Grille.... so I put him on the spot.

I said, "I noticed that your sketches, obviously BMWs like you said, emphasized the Kidney Grille component common to all BMWs, but I don't see other styling elements, such as the Hofmeister Kink. Am I just missing it?"

I heard a little chuckle coming from behind me. It was the teacher. It was kind of like he said "wow... you didn't just go there..."

The Ass. TA was caught on his heels, backpeddling. His response was priceless:

"What's the Hofmeister Kink?"

internet content

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 05:49:30 GMT

I generally tend not to like to talk about stuff that could be misconstrued on the internet when taken out of context. This concern might be considered paranoia by some, but to me, especially in this day and age, I'd rather err on the side of caution.

Bitterness

Thu, 30 Oct 2008 04:30:04 GMT

For the most part, my parents didn't really fuck up raising me. They were strict and I of course always found ways around the rules they laid down. There are many things they could have done different, however.

The reason why I'm blogging tonight is because I harbor a deep sense of resentment towards my parents when it comes to their inability to recognize and grow my talent(s) while I was growing up. I thought I had forgiven them but all feelings resurfaced when I watched a mom and her son on the golf range. The son was practicing hard. The mom helped her son tee up the balls one after the next on the rubber tee so that her son didn't have to bend over, pick up a ball and tee it up before swinging again. His job was simply to hit the drive. Also, it looked like they just bought a $400 range finder, new golf grips and new shoes. This is talent and passion recognized. The parents recognized an interest and a talent the child had and proceeded to develop that talent appropriately. They provided both moral and monetary support.

My parents raised me different. I'm not sure if they ever knew that the reason I wanted to play the violin was so that I could use the bow as a sword - that was it. I wanted a sword. They mistook that as interest.

While I could carry a tune as a preschooler, they correlated that with musical talent. So they took me to get violin lessons, for 13 painful years. There were but few days when I actually enjoyed playing the instrument, the rest were filled with tears and pain ridden. Mom was constantly nagging at me to practice and God forbid, when she had the time to watch me practice, she would always have a black plastic stick in hand so that she could "correct" my posture. She'd either poke my left elbow so that I would hold the violin higher or tap my right hand to remind me to pull the bow parallel to the bridge at all times. If I were to protest, that black plastic stick conveniently became a switch and I'd get hit with it. I ended up bending and breaking that damned plastic stick, but posture-reminding-aides/disciplinary tools were never too far out of reach since my mom pretty much could pick up anything at all and use it for those two purposes. At one point in time, she's use wire coat hangers. To this day, wire coat hangers still ignite a "kill" reaction within me which I need to consciously suppress.

My true passion was in sports. My dad played some recreational basketball in his day, so he was able to give me some points. There were a couple memorable practice sessions on the playground blacktop over at Sugarbush Park, but his style of coaching was consistent with his brand of discipline, namely, if I wasn't able to get it within 5 minutes, his temper would flare. These practice session became fewer and farther between because he felt that I should be studying instead of practicing basketball and I'll bet the fact that he didn't feel like getting mad over basketball might've also had something to do with it.

For my 10th birthday, my parents bought me a ping pong table. I got pretty good at ping pong to the point where I could routinely stay competitive with my dad and his friends. My dad and I would go to the basement and hit a few balls from time to time, but not long thereafter, the ping pong table became my dad's art class table which never got cleared off after class. Also, once again, he'd rather I study or read a book than play ping pong.

I also picked up tennis, but rather late. Nonetheless, I developed a serviceable forehand and a serve that was pretty fast if it were to go in. My lessons were once a week, however - not nearly enough to get good. Also, with Michigan winters and rainy summers, the only way to play consistently was at the indoor tennis club. No real support was ever invested into tennis - my parents stopped my lessons due to expense and scheduling conflicts with the must dreaded hour-and-a-half long violin lessons. I would try as best I could to practice tennis on my own, but that only helped so much.

Today's instance at the range really struck a nerve. It was a known fact that I didn't care to practice violin, I just happened to be decent at it. It was also a known fact that I was interested in other extracurriculars, but the effort my parents put forth to grow and support these interests were minimal, sometimes even destructive in order for them to get me to sit at my desk and study. That didn't really work either because I'd only pretend I'm studying when they checked on me periodically.

It's unfortunate for me to have been the first child in this aspect. My sister was more fortunate since she was able to quit violin and pursue her true interest to the fullest in synchronized swimming and ballet. She had to give up ballet, however, due to an ankle injury. She eventually made captain of her synchro team.

Do I really hate my parents? No. I do resent the way I was raised though in more ways than one. This blog talks about how they failed to let me develop my true interests. It's unfortunate the way things went, but what can I really do about it? What can *they* do about it? If I were to be utterly unreasonable, I could require them to subsidize the cost of a golf coach and regular lessons I'd take from this point onward. They might actually oblige it due to guilt, but this kind of retributive payment would tarnish the whole experience - I just wouldn't feel right about it.

I guess the only way for me to be at peace with my past is for me to learn from my parents' mistakes. In more than a few ways, I really fear the idea of being a dad one day because I would hate to be responsible for raising a human being and to later find out that I had ruined a part of his/her life. It'd be something I don't think I could live with. But in the event that I do have kids, I'll allow them to pursue their interests and encourage, even help them develop their talents to the best of my abilty.

Means and Methods

Sat, 27 Sep 2008 16:25:14 GMT

Recently, during a conversation with my good friend Mike, I equated his microanalysis of his poker game to my golf practice sessions. This was following a bit of a downward swing (not to be confused with a downswing and a follow through...) so he decided to put his game to the test and scrutinize the results in order to plug up an holes. His goal was apparent - this man meant business.

He took exception to my comparison as he felt that my practice sessions were much more leisurely than his charts and graphs approach to his poker game - not his fault - he never knew my intentions. My plan is to give it one good shot at the circuit at age 30. I was late off the starting block to begin with, picking up my first golf club at age 19, so I know that if I was serious about this goal I had set for myself, there's not time to be messing around.

Those who have seen me practice are usually bored to tears. Instead of charts and graphs, my best friend at the practice tee is my video camera. The camera doesn't lie, nor does it add 15 lbs. Over the top, open clubface, under-rotation of the hips, shoulders outracing the hips, outside in swing path, the JVC doesn't hesitate to tell it like it is. Whenever I make a minute swing change or make a swing that produces an acceptable ball flight, I put down the club and review the video in slow motion. This way, it helps me equate the results to a visual as well as a sensation.

It's said that Tiger Woods spends upwards of 11 hours at the range. It's no wonder why he's #1 in the world. He doesn't need a camera, he's in tune with his swing and when Hank Haney's in town, Haney's eyes are better than my JVC and his understanding of the golf swing is leagues beyond my own. I spend roughly 4-5 hours at the range per visit. It's really not the length of time spent, but it's what has been accomplished over that time period. In all honesty, if I didn't have other commitments in life, I would probably meet the sun at the range and greet the moon and the crickets as I send off the last of my range balls that evening.

People see me with the video camera and the tripod set up behind me and often watch my swing through the camera's LCD display as I analyze my swing. Their response is the same across the board:

"That's a great idea - I'll bet it helps a lot. I should probably start doing that."

But they don't, probably shouldn't and never do. Just like if Mike were to offer up the software he was using for hand history analysis, the everyman wouldn't have a chance to fully comprehend the data it's producing whereas Mike would be able to extract valuable knowledge. So even if the everyday range goer who'll never see the day they break 90 on the golf course did just that and bought a video camera, I doubt they'd know what to look for in their swing.

Now the funny part is... after knowing full well that I've got my video setup, people will still try to contribute in the effort of helping me better my swing:

"What you did there, was you lifted your head - keep your head down."

So on the next shot, I'd implement the appropriate adjustments after analyzing that particular video (and yes, my head was where it was supposed to be the whole time), put a good stroke on it and send the ball off on a draw-flight.

"See? You kept your head down, now look at that beautiful high draw you just hit!"

I just kinda smile, never saying much back in response. I might come off as a bit of an asshole when I'm on the practice tee, but this is business for me - pleasure is in the results.

getting hungry...

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 13:19:26 GMT

A few months back, my Shanghai chigga and I made a bet. The bet was that when the next Honda/Acura supercar (NSX or otherwise named) is released, it will be faster around the famed Nurburgring Nordschleife than the Nissan GT-R (v-spec included) as well as the Lexus LF-A which would make it THE fastest production car around the ‘Ring. All these cars must be timed in factory form – no TRD, Nismo or Mugen tuning. Since the GT-R v-spec is a trim level available to consumers, it will be allowed to “compete” in this bet. In addition, a wheel to wheel bout among these three cars is not a decisive form of victory. The format is Time Attack – each car on the track by itself, fastest clocked lap wins. A lunch in fabulous Las Vegas is on the line.

Lately there have been spy videos showing the camouflaged Honda supercar lapping the ‘Ring – IN TRAFFIC and clocking in at an unofficial 7:37. That means that there are only a handful of cars that can hang with or better the Honda. While the GT-R was still in preliminary testing phases, it clocked a 7:38 before it was dialed in completely. The GT-R’s clean lap time is recorded at 7:29.03 while the v-spec variant ran a 7:25 (unofficial). The Lexus LF-A registered a 7:24 (also unofficial) – currently the fastest time around the ‘Ring for a production car.

Who will it be, Lexus with the new racer appeal, Godzilla or the NSX? Let’s see what Honda can pull off. I’m rooting for them… and I’m getting hungry…

Friday, April 04, 2008

Fri, 04 Apr 2008 17:45:02 GMT

In response to MYH’s latest blog, let me append to his blog by saying this:

I have dabbled in more than a handful of hobbies. I used to play a lot of basketball with my friends. I also had my stint with soccer especially during the summer of 1998 - I practiced dribbling, juggling and shooting and even got to the point where I could bend a corner kick into the goal. I played on my high school’s junior varsity tennis team – my record was 6 wins and 1 loss the last season I played. I learned how to catch, cradle, shoot and throw in lacrosse. I can throw a pretty tight spiral and most people are pretty surprised how far I can throw a football for someone my size – I also have pretty reliable hands and run pretty sharp routes. I practiced with the University of Michigan Table Tennis Club team during my senior year of high school and held my own against most of their players during rallies, but my lack of a service game and service return game killed me.

Despite all this, I’ve decided to seek out sports/hobbies I can do whenever I want and not have to schedule around anyone else’s time, be it 5 other people for a game of 3 on 3 pick up or just one other person to play catch with. This has led me to sports such as golf, snowboarding and high performance driving. All three of these things are expensive hobbies and of the three, two of them pose high risks of bodily injury. This has left me with golf as my pastime of choice. A byproduct of my interest in achieving my highest potential in golf is weight training. The gains are noticeable.

One dimensional focus isn’t so bad in my book. Buckshot or laser beam? I’ll choose the laser.

Just me versus the golf course…

A Page Out of MYH's Playbook

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 15:19:26 GMT

As usual, I was at the range grinding out my golf game. Rancho Park is a fairly busy range especially around quittin' time at work (5:00 pm) so a lot of times there will be people waiting to take over the mat once you're done hitting.

I was down to about 10 balls when a fellow golfer stepped up and asked if I was going to be done hitting after I finished what was left in my ball tray. I told him that I was done and didn't plan on buying more balls. He stood and watched patiently as I teed up a few more drivers to round out my bucket.

As I finished and started pack up, he says "man... you swing good, 300 yards?" and offered me a cigarette.

I replied, "thanks man, I'm still working on it though. If I get a hold of one, I can send it about 290... and no thanks, I don't smoke..."

In hindsight, I should have declined his cigarette offer by saying,

"No thanks... I only smoke my driver..."

thug's mansion

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 13:35:57 GMT

Come this Friday, I'll have a place to call my own. Not exactly a thug, not exactly a mansion, but chiggas need a spot where WE can kick it. A spot where WE belong, that's just for us chiggas ain't gotta get all dressed up and be Hollywood, know what I mean? Where do chiggas go when we die? Ain't no heaven for this chigga, that's why we go to Shyu's mansion. That's the only place where chiggas get in free and you gotta be a G

... at Shyu's mansion

(this blog was for you, myh) :) Next time you're in Cali, you and TY gots a place to stay - no ifs ands or buts.

Everybody's an Expert

Fri, 29 Feb 2008 19:16:06 GMT

When it comes to golf, everyone’s an expert – or so they think. “You’re picking your head up”, “You’re swinging from out to in – that’s why you’re slicing”, “You’re reverse-pivoting”. Everybody’s got a fix to everybody else’s swing flaws that will magically fix their golf game. This false pride is even more evident when it comes to pseudo teaching professionals who troll your local driving ranges offering unsolicited advice. Suckers and or beginners who don’t know any better are then lured into paying them $30 per half hour or more in order to hear some more of their nuggets of golf wisdom.

The truth is, everybody who’s played for a few years know the common key phrases that will perk up the ears of any other golfer within earshot. “Magic triangle”, “weight shift”, “swing plane” just to name a few. These are all fundamentals of golf that all golfers seem to know, but very few can actually execute correctly – pseudo teaching pros included. They’ll guide their pupil’s club into the “hitting slot” in order to set them up to be “square at impact” but throw a club in their hands and they can’t hit the broad side of a barn with a golf ball and their form looks like some clown performing yoga. These pseudo teaching pros disgust me.

The other day at the range while I was video taping my swing, someone said,

“Everything’s coming over the top.”

I look back and it’s this middle aged black gentleman. So I look back and he tells me to come watch the video of myself in order to point out to me where exactly I was going wrong. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint my problem despite my camera having a slow motion playback function. “I’d have to really look at your swing to tell you where you’re going wrong, but trust me young man; you’re coming over the top.” I thanked him for his input and attempted to return to hitting my golf balls, but he wasn’t quite finished.

“Have you ever taken a lesson?”

I was pretty annoyed at this point. I was trying to hit golf balls but instead he questions my mechanics and whether I’d taken any lessons.

“Yes sir, I’ve taken a few lessons. My last one was at the Harmon School in Vegas,” in hopes that it'd shut him up if I revealed that I've been instructed by the best in the business.

“Oh… at Butch’s?”

“Yup. He wasn’t there though, plus I can’t afford him, so his senior staff pro gave me the lesson.”

“Oh... those guys take a back seat to me.”

At this point, I know he’s full of shit, so I ask him how much he charges a lesson just so that I could take a lesson from him and deconstruct him one fallacy at a time.

“Too much man.. don’t even ask. I charge too much – only the real serious players take lessons from me. You seem like a nice kid though, so I’m gonna tell you – you want to act like you’re gonna reach for your back pocket on your downswing OR you want to release the club HARD when you’re about to reach the ball. Now I’ve said too much. I better stop.”

He goes on to say “I don’t want to be a slave to anybody and I don’t give free lessons.”

“Sir, I’m not making a slave out of anybody,” I said. “Thanks for the pointers.”

That was the first encounter.

The second encounter was with a different gentleman. Incidentally, he was also African American (author’s note: I have no racial biases against anybody of any ethnicity – if you can swing a club that’s all that matters). This guy wasn’t quite as civil.

“Not a bad looking swing man… I’mma give you some tips though. Go ahead.. grip the club.”

I grip the club.

“No.. that’s not your grip, son…” He grabs my hands and wraps his hands around my hands and my club and twists – HARD. “THAT’S your grip.”

At this point I’ve pretty much stopped listening but I couldn’t do or say much – I didn’t want a confrontation at the golf range.

“Every time you’re about to hit the ball, THRUST and GRIP the club – then straighten your legs at impact like you’re bout to jump!”

He lets go and watches me hit a ball. I revert back to my own swing. Unfortunately, I mishit it a little.

“No man! You didn’t GRIP the club AND you didn’t JUMP!”

I hit another shot, still my way – absolutely flushed it and it went dead straight.

“There you go! That’s what I’m talkin’ about! See? THRUST and GRIP!”

“Thanks for the advice sir…” I said just to friggin’ get him away from me so that I could resume hitting.

“Sure thing man… best things in life are free… I better get going, my student’s supposed to be here any time now.”