Alec Torelli Blog

Since the end of summer I have set aside time to merge two lifelong passions of mine: food and writing. The result: www.stillservedwarm.com

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Not many things are more painful than enduring a baseball game. The activity is glacial process, like waiting for my banzai tree to grow. Fastball, slider or change up, what is the difference? Regardless, the score is only going to change three times during the entire game. The only thing I like about it is I can take a nap while watching a game and not worry about missing anything.

In the same way that Billy Beane “hates losing more than he loves winning,” I like Bennett Miller’s Moneyball more than I dislike baseball. In playing the role of Billy Beane, Brad Pitt was particularly noteworthy. “If you don’t know Billy, you get a good idea of what drives him and who he is,” says Craig Breslow, a relief pitcher for the Oakland Athletics. “From the mannerisms and conversations to temper and intonations, it was all there.”

Billy Beane possessed no shortage of eccentricities. In the opening scene, Beane sits alone in the Oakland Athletics stadium while the team is on the road. As he listens to the game on a hand held radio, veins protrude from his right hand while he obsessively flips the dial back and forth. “On” and “off.” Beane, whose failed attempt as a baseball player explains his inability to accept losing, never allows himself a moment of satisfaction. “I don’t watch games,” he mocks, surprised the thought would cross his partner’s mind.

When Beane is not obsessing over exercise, he is negotiating trades, recruiting players, throwing chairs and, as Derik Barton of the Oakland Athletics admits, “eating a lot.” Beane has a daughter, although his consumption with baseball leaves little time for her. Similar to the relationship between Becca and Hank Moody in Californication, the father often buys her a guitar instead of watching her play it.

Jonah Hill plays the role of Peter Brand, (based on the real life Paul DePodesta), in his first big drama. Despite having a background in comedic improv, his performance came with the ease of Federer’s cross-court backhand. “They both contain real people,” he says in an interview comparing the differences in thematic style. “The process is similar, it just depends on what story you’re telling.” Admittedly, I didn’t get Hill enough credit, but one does not imagine Kanye West becoming a sensational country music star.

The “moneyball” concept, formally known as sabermetrics, uses statistics to determine the value of a particular player. Bill James, who coined the term in 1994, describes sabermetrics as “the search for objective knowledge about baseball.” It attempts to answer not only who hit the most home runs but more specific questions such as: which player(s) contribute the most to the offense? As Brand confesses to Beane, “your goal shouldn’t be to buy players, your goal should be to buy wins.”

The Athletics’s board of advisors, comprised of a group of borderline seniles, are not exactly what you call objective. “I like Perez,” one particular advisor remarks. “But he doesn’t have a girlfriend,” argues another. “No girlfriend means no confidence.” When Beane questions their prehistoric thought, they dismiss his mathematical approach as nonsensical. As Breslow said: “baseball is very much an old timers game and this is a radical change.” For Howe and the board, they make their decisions based on emotion and they value those decisions based on the results. It is tantamount to the poker fish who says, “I feel lucky this hand,” in defense of drawing to a gut shot, and “it was a good play” because he got there.

The movie sheds light on an even more absurd notion: how a billion dollar industry could show disdain for the assistance of mathematics? Moneyball, like 21, is a notable story about inefficiency. As an economics graduate from Yale, Peter Brand’s understanding of economics was the catalyst to change an entire industry. Beane’s trade negotiation with Cleveland are rejected, mainly because of Brand’s advice. When he interrogates Peter about his identity, expecting him to reveal a secret, Brand looks confused and says, “I’m just Peter Brand.” Perhaps the reason for casting Jonah Hill to portray an affable Peter Brand was merely to make him appear trivial.

When the movie ended, I held the exit for an elderly couple. While the man pushed his wife through the door, she remarked: “it was good honey.” He shook his head solemnly: “if only that baloney were true.” Art and the board never did come to terms with the fact that the game had changed. As the Red Sox manager expressed to Beane: “Whenever you try to flip the switch on the people holding the reigns, they go insane. It’s threatening the way they do things.” “We are card counters at the Blackjack table – Beane tells the board – and we’re going to turn the odds against the house.” What Beane and Brand set out to prove, is that sometimes, even the house can lose.

In an interview with Craig Breslow, we discussed some of the inefficiencies in baseball. Hadn’t I known better, I could have been listening to a professional poker player. Misconceptions about poker and baseball were easily translatable, particularly that there is a huge difference between the way people think things are done, and the way they actually are. Breslow put it best: “Any sport like baseball that one can attempt to quantify, should be making a move towards a strategy that completely removes intuition or hunch and statistically put yourself in a favorable position to win.”

The idea behind sabermetrics does not only pertain to baseball, but to every facet of our society. Companies like Ticketmaster, a ticket sales provider with millions in annual revenue, exists only because of the inefficiency in the primary market. A Taylor Swift ticket retails at $89.00. Thirty seconds later, when the show sells out, tickets are immediately purchased on Ebay for $400, a mark up of 500%. Just like the fans who want to see home runs in baseball and fights in hockey, the agents focus on immediate sell outs and hype instead of maximizing returns. To make a call from California to Italy costs $1.69 per minute with Verizon. Skype, which recently sold for $8,500,000,000 to Microsoft, made their fortune by cutting this rate down to 2 cents per minute, a decrease of 8,450%.

Sabermetrics changed my view of baseball. An experience that once seemed painful became a challenge to find flaws in a teams strategy. As Breslow stated: “teams are only running at 50-70% of their maximum potential.”

Like baseball, poker was once an inefficient game. However, with the implementation of statistical programs such as holdem manager and pokerstove, it has become saturated with information. Fortunately for us, billions of dollars are bleeding away by a society that is what Annie Duke refers to as, “scared of math.” Our job is to find it. ♠

If anyone has comments, suggestions or questions shoot me an email at alectorelli@gmail.com. For all my blogs, pictures and videos, check out my website www.alectorelli.com. You can also follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/alectorelli

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Objective: Live in the moment
Priorities: Writing and Working
Poker Goal: Focus on cash games; Play less tournaments
Habit to Break: Biting my nails
Habit to instill: Budgeting
A Sight to See: Danali, Alaska
A Hike to Do: Mount Whitney
A Place to Eat: Sage in Aria Hotel, Las Vegas
A Person to Meet: Billy Joe Armstrong
An Experience to Have: Feel content doing nothing
Do More: Listening and Yoga
Do Less: Complaining
Be More: Patient
Be Less: Flaky
Spend More Time: Writing
Spend Less Time: On my computer
Random Wish: Make travel videos
Bucket List: Write a book
Word of the Year: Breathe
New Year’s Resolution: Not to make one ♠

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If you were given a button that tells you exactly when you are going to die, would you push it?

My vote is yes. Even if the information is painful, I’d like to know what could be the single most valuable factor in altering my immediate future. To illustrate, let’s take the following scenarios:

1) The hopeful and most likely scenario: I die ~ 50 years from now. Daily life doesn’t change at all. Business as usual.

2) Still very possible: I die ~ 25 years from now. Daily life remains the same, but future plans are altered. I consider not having kids or having them immediately. Vacations are taken more readily. Liquidate 401k. Why save for retirement?

3) I have ~ 10 years to live. Huge changes are made. Travel much more frequently. Put bucket list in full effect. Skew goals toward immediate changes and influence. Commit more time to writing. Hold off on the little ones.

4) I have ~ 1 year left. Drop everything except two or three activities: write a book, visit Paris, eat at Noma. Spend more time with closest loved ones. Abandon all long term plans.

The closer we get to our expected death, the more important the information becomes. The most effective strategy for action packed living and increased quality of life is when we assume we have little time to live. It seems the optimal course of action is to live our daily lives as if we only have five years left. (This still allows for long terms goals: kids, retirement, etc).

Remember the semester long homework assignment your teacher gave you? Almost everyone does two things:

1) Assumes the assignment must be hard because they give you so long to complete it
2) Doesn’t start working on it until the last week

When we deal with abstract amounts of time we become overwhelmed. As a result we under perform. We believe that it’s too hard to realize our goals. And like the long term project, we procrastinate until there is no time left.

Time is our most precious commodity. I would love to know when I’m going to run out. In fact, I would propose a trade: Give away a fraction of the time I have left in exchange for the information I want. That is, of course, assuming I still have time left to give. ♠

 
For more blogs and to contact Alec, visit www.alectorelli.com

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Hey Guys!

Here’s an interview I did recently with a friend of mine from Florence. He published it in Italian, but we recorded the entire audio conversation in English. It’s a two part interview and the links are below! Hope you enjoy. I’d love to hear your thoughts… so shoot me an email at alectorelli@gmail.com

http://www.assopoker.com/poker-news/intervista-esclusiva-ad-alec-traheho-torelli-1-parte-7392

http://www.assopoker.com/poker-news/intervista-esclusiva-ad-alec-traheho-torelli-2-parte-7424

Ciao
Alec

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Your internet disconnects in a poker tournament when you have Ace King of hearts. You reconnect and the very next hand you’re dealt two aces and double up. Four hours later, your sitting heads up with a 8:1 chip lead and shortly thereafter, you go on to win the tournament. You find out later that your opponent had two aces when you timed out with Ace King suited, meaning you would have probably gone broke. It’s a blessing in disguise and experience them daily; not just at the poker table.

Since I have recently moved to Parma, Italy, its been quite the change of scenery. The quaint town of Parma resides an hour south of Milano and is home to Parma ham (prosciutto)
and parmesan cheese. As you can imagine, the city boasts some of the worlds best food. While my experience here has been quite an adventure, it has taken me quite some time to adjust to the contrast in lifestyle. Sometimes, the things that frustrate me most about America I end up missing, and the things I thought I loved about Italy, I resent. To help illustrate, I have complied a list of the10 best and worst things about life in my new home town!

The 10 Best Things About Living In Parma, Italy

1) Italians are in absolutely no rush allowing for a more stress free existence.
2) It’s a toss up between the women and the language.
3) It’s home to the worlds best food.
4) Without a stable internet, I am forced to try new things and experience the culture.
5) Sitting in coffee shops is a required pastime.
6) It’s quaint and charming.
7) Walking and biking are the preferred methods of transportation
They practice “siesta.”
9) I haven’t met a single American in the past month.
10) Parts of town are 2,000 years old and it has a ton of history.

The 10 Worst Things About Living In Parma, Italy

1) It takes forever to get anything done.
2) With amazing food and no gyms, you have to be prepared to gain 15 pounds.
3) They don’t have many familiar foods that I’m used to such as: sweet potatoes, pancakes, soy milk, smoothie stores, almond butter and oatmeal.
4) The internet is entirely too unstable to work consistently.
5) Productivity suffers when every meal takes 3 hours.
6) Everyone smokes.
7) You can never buy more than you can carry, so I run out of groceries everyday.
Nothing is open when you want it.
9) It’s hard to make friends in a different language.
10) Because everything is so old, Parma lacks many conveniences such dryers, dishwashers, microwaves or air conditioning.

It’s ironic that what can sometimes be the worst part about the city, is also the best. During a discussion with my friend Luke “Redline” Kim, he said it plainly, “you can’t have it all.” The little things that give the city charm such as the historic buildings means that you’re going to wait five days for your jeans to hang dry. On a cold rainy Sunday when all you want is to curl up and watch movies, you literally have no choice because everything is closed. On the other hand, when you’re hungry at 3:00 pm on Monday and request to eat, the Italians look at you like you’re from Neptune because nobody eats until 8:00 pm. Life in America is completely different than Italy. While it thrives on conveniences and service, in turn it lacks culture and history.

The best part about living and experiencing a new country is just that; it’s all new. You are forced to live outside your comfort zone and to learn and understand another culture. Since moving here, I have learned more about myself and have become better at adapting to unfamiliar situations. Whenever I’m having a culture breakdown, I always try to keep in mind that the Italian way of life isn’t necessarily better or worse than my decadent existence in California, it’s just different. I can choose to perceive these culture differences in a positive or negative light, and how I do determines the experience I’ll have. So instead of bitching when the concierge at my hotel tells me that a city with a population of 500,000 people has no gym, or when you ask when the internet will be working and they don’t know because the engineer is sleeping, or when you walk twenty minutes to the fish shop only to find its closed because the owner didn’t feel like coming to work today, I’ve learned to smile, take a deep breath and say, “you know what, it’s Italy.”

Perhaps this telling adage is most relevant when we travel or experience something new.

“We see as we are.”
- Buddha

A typical meal in Parma, Italy

The Cavor Cafe, where I spend three hours a day

The historic piazza outside my apartment

The T-Cafe where I enjoy writing and cappuccinos

As always, you can email me at alectorelli@gmail.com. You can follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/alectorelli

Ciao,
Alec

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“Hey Redline, can you pass me the sweet potato fries?” she said with a sheepish smile. She had grown quite familiar with the crew. It seemed like forever since she used first names when referring to any of the boys. We sat comfortably around the terrace of StripBurger, admiring the tourists as they walked the Las Vegas strip. We indulged in one of our favorite social activities by playing “Lodden Thinks” (a game that involves betting on what people think of an arbitrary topic).
“How much would you have to be paid to permanently change your name?” I asked Cassie. The group erupted as everyone fought to speak their mind.
“Who gets to chose her new name?” clarified Redline.
“Hmmm. Me!”
“Jesus, that’s crazy” retorted Robls.
“Lock it in,” I told Cassie. She paused for a moment to think. The sun made her hair glisten, brightening her golidlocks. A smile crept over her face, like a little kid who saw Disneyland for the first time. She scribbled something on the paper white napkin before looking up; “I’ve got it,” she exclaimed! We bid furiously on her answer, insulting each other jovially in the process. When it was all said and done, the line was set at “$47,600.” Redline took the over while Robl and I took under. We wagered $100 on her answer. She turned the napkin over apologetically. On it were three numbers scribbled down.
$200 was crossed out at the top. Below it, $300 was blurred in similar fashion. At the bottom of the napkin read $500 in bold blue ink, circled several times. “Wait so you’d would literally change your name legally for $500?” Redline protested as he passed Robl and I each $100 bill.
“Ummm, yea,” she said.
I pulled out $500 and placed it on the table in front of her. “When we get back to Orange County, I’m going to give you this and we’re gonna make it happen. I’m going to give you some ridiculous name,” I joked.
“At least you’ll have a good story,” said Robls.
“What, like Bambi?” she said with a giggle. If she wanted to see me smile, all it took was her laugh. Her face lit up as she made a high pitched two syllable sound. Something between a hiccup and a giggle.
“Bambi!” I said excitedly. “Its perfect.” And it was. Just as a dear prances around her environment, there was Bambi, bouncing through life. The group burst out laughing.
“Bambi,” we said in unison.
“What is it you guys say?” She said with a smile. She was always smiling.
“What do you mean?”
She paused…”Booked,” she said.

*******

We sat around the terrace of the Wynn’s renowned restaurant “Bartolotta.” The cushioned seats of our booth better felt more like a couch than a dinner table. Our friend and waiter Alessandro (aka “Chef Bean”) brought out our first course consisting of fresh oysters paired with Muscato. The moon shined off the restaurants built in lake, illuminating the patio. Several hours later, empty white plates and wine corks littered the table. Antonio suggested we all take a much needed double shot of espresso in anticipation for the night ahead. “Guys, tonight is going to be epic,” he said as he put down his glass. He was usually right.

We followed our hostess as she led through the madness of the Encore’s premier night club, XS. Positioned outside, away from the chaos of the dance floor, we could talk freely while enjoying the surrounding decadence. We made conversation with passing drunkards, making silly bets such as who will be the first to fall in the pool. The consequence for being wrong; Patron with lime. I looked across the booth to Antonio. His right leg was crossed perfectly over his left, forming a square. His right arm contained a glass of Patron and pineapple and was spread proudly across the top of the cushion behind him. He shot up. “To you, Torelli!” he said with an endearing smile. “Ahhhh C’mon. How about to Bambi!” She blushed. We raised our glasses. The sound of clanking was lost to the music thumping in the background. Distant shouts could be heard from the madness that surrounded us. Bambi turned to me. “This is one of the best weekends I’ve ever had. I’ll never forget this.”

June 12, 2009. Las Vegas, Nevada

===========

I logged onto twitter to see the following message. “Hey you! I’ve missed you too! I’m sorry that I was being a flakey friend. I was going through a really rough time but I’m doing a whole lot better now. How are you? How’s italy? Call me on this number.”
- Bambi

I called her over Skype. It had been over six months since we’ve last talked.
“Hollaaaaaaaaaaaaa Bambi!” “How you been?”
“Hollaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.” I missed her voice. “Gooooood, I’ve been doing much better. I’m living with my parents now. Been distancing myself from people back home cause I got into some trouble. But I moved up north, finished rehab and things are looking good.”
“Good I’m proud of you!”
“How’s Italy? Tell me everything! I’ve always wanted to visit there,” she remarked. “I’m thinking of coming in spring!”
“I’d love show you around. Besides you’ll be the only American blonde; they boys are going to love you!”
“I like the sound of that,” she joked. “Alright well I have to run, I’m driving and I’m lost right now, but can I call you later?”
“Yea sure do you have Skype?”
“No but send me your info and I’ll make an account tonight.”
“You got it, talk in a few. Ciao Bambi!” “Miss you.”
“Ditto, ciao!”

1:00 am, February 18th. Parma, Italy

*****

I scrambled to get to the computer in time to answer the incessant of my Skype phone. “Ciao,” I said jovially. “Hello?” “Hey.” “Yes, this is Cassie’s mom.” “Hi, how are you?” I asked as I sat up straight. “I don’t know if you heard. I’m just calling everyone in Cassie’s phone.” “Heard?” “I found Cassie in her bed this morning. She overdosed.” I was speechless. “Wait that’s impossible, we talked less than 24 hours ago.” I composed myself. “Jesus, I’m so sorry,” I said. “It’s okay. She mentioned something about you being in Italy, I just thought you should know.” “Thanks for calling.” I didn’t know what to say. What could I say?

11:00 pm, February 18th. Parma, Italy

*****

I’ve been extremely fortunate thus far to have only lost my grandma. However, one anticipates an 87 year old woman to die and I had plenty of time to say my goodbyes. I could only imagine how her mom must have felt walking into that room and finding her helpless daughter laying there. I wish there was something I could do to make it change. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something I could have said on the phone the night before to perhaps alter the decisions she made that night. Sometimes however, we are left helpless. Like in poker, you can’t change the past, only how you react to them.

Through every tragedy, there is room for learning and growth. Her death was presumably unintentional but regardless of the cause, it begs the question; in a world of uncertainty, what can I count on? We all indulge in risky situations from time to time and the potential consequences can be higher than we anticipate. Like most people, I’ve always maintained the ideology that I’m somehow exempt from the harsh realities that life can bring. Sadly, it often takes an event of this stature for us to reflect on what’s really important and to reconnect with the people that are close to us. Life is like a poker tournament, one minute you’re chip leader, the next you’re out. And all it takes is one little mistake. Sometimes, you can do everything perfectly and still lose. Such is life. No amount of insurance can save us from catastrophic accidents. We drift through life with the expectation that tomorrow will greet us with open arms and unwavering certainty. Yet we have no guarantee. One of my favorite quotes provides some further insight.

“The clock is running. Make the most of today. Time waits for no man. Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That’s why it is called the present.” – Alice Morse Earle

I wish I had the chance to go back to that moment we were together in the booth and tell her, “Bambi, I’ll never forget this either.” Let’s not wait until someone dies to tell them the things we should while they’re alive. And let’s not wait until we die to do the things we want to do while we’re alive. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the only thing we can’t get more of, is time.

There is no future,
There is no past.
Thank God this moments not the last
There’s only us
There’s only this
Forget regret
Or life is yours to miss
No other road
No other day
No day but today

Finale, Rent

Feel free to email me at alectorelli@gmail.com with thoughts!

Cheers,
Trah

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I peered out the window as the pilot made the final announcements. Small white pellets fell from the sky like bullet shells from a helicopters machine gun. I hadn’t seen it physically snow in four years. As we touched down the pilot came on the intercom, Välkommen till Göteborg. I felt the snowflakes kiss my face as I stepped off the plane as if to say, “we missed you.” I paused for a moment to inhale the fresh Swedish air. After a wedding in Atlanta for New Years, a weekend in Amsterdam and a layover in Munich, “I made it.” I let myself say it out loud to make sure it was real…

I counted the bags on the conveyor belt as I waited in anticipation for my backpack. When it finally arrived, I walked through the large double doors toward the passenger pickup area. She would be there waiting. What seemed like a distant fantasy for months was becoming a reality. My heart raced. I felt the butterflies begin to race up from my stomach. I sped up. I felt her presence like a magnet searching for its opposite. Time slowed as I approached the final turn. “Excuse me,” I heard out of the corner of my ear. They might as well have been a grasshopper as I ignored them completely. My disregard proved unsatisfactory. “Excuse me sir,” they pestered. “This way please. We need to check your bags.”
“Ahhh I’m sorry,” I said. “No problem.”

Some confusion arose when they came across several unmarked pill cases. “Can you please explain?” asked the guard politely. His accent was heavy and his equipment consisted of a handgun, club, Leatherman knife, flashlight and a wide array of other gadgets. He was roughly 45, balding and carried a gentle demeanor.
“Yes. These are Guarana and those are Willow Bark. It’s a natural caffeine supplement I use for working out.”
“And these?”
“Excedrin. It’s for headaches.”
“This one?”
“Vitamin C.”
“Why aren’t they in their original containers?”
“Well I’m doing quite a bit of traveling and the pill boxes are quite cumbersome. These are much more portable.”
“I see.” Said the officer. “Moment.” He went into the back room. About a minute later, four officers came out. Apparently they didn’t get much action. It reminded me of the police department in my hometown of Irvine. One speeding ticket and three officers show up because it’s more exciting than driving in circles.
“We need to search the rest of your bags. Come with us please.”
“Whatever you want,” I said calmly. After all, I had nothing to hide. A different guard whom looked more Turkish than Swedish, led me to a small, barren room with an uncomfortable metal bench. The door held a tiny glass window which was the only connection to the outside world. We entered together and he shut the door behind us. He said nothing. Time seemed to move as if we were in a dream from the movie “Inception.” One minute in the real world was sixty in this cubicle. Only this was no dream.

Just as I felt I was losing what little hair I have left, the former guard came into the room. “What are these?” he inquired as he held up a small pill bottle from my toiletries bag.
“Adderol. It’s similar to Ritalin.”
“What is it for?”
It’s given to people with A.D.D. to calm them down and help them focus. They spoke briefly in Swedish before the balding guard said, “I’ll be back. Moment.”

The Turkish guard informed me that they had to strip search me. Tilting. He began to inquiring about my travels, as a loose form of interrogation. I explained that I was coming from Amsterdam, visiting a woman in Sweden and moving to Florence. One could see the confusion looming over his head. We sat quietly for thirty seconds and I watched him agonize like a chess player contemplating his next move. “So what do you do? For work? How do you live?” he asked with vigor. Normally, I’d use this as an opportunity to live vicariously through one of my alter egos. They have recently ranged from writer to emerging rockstar but in light of the situation, I decided honesty was best.

“I play poker.” His face lit up. He started to pace. Now the real interrogation began. “I love poker!” he began. One thing led to another and thirty minutes later, we were discussing traveling, marriage and family, his dreams to visit America and the political differences between our cultures. I learned about his job in the field (customs agents in Sweden were also trained police officers), his love of tai kwon do and our mutual passion for food. When the other guard finally came back, they spoke briefly in Swedish of which the only word I could understand was “smuggling.” Not good.

They led me a different interrogation room, this one equipped with a computer and some grim pictures on the walls. The guards and I discussed the procedure for being caught with an Amphetamine in Sweden without a prescription. In short, he told me I was being convicted of smuggling narcotics. “How do you plea… plead… plea?” I laughed. “Plea.” Is this a joke? I thought to myself. Pablo Eskobar was a narcotics smuggler. “Isn’t that a little aggressive?” I asked him. I tried to explain the severity (or lack thereof) of this charge in America. After gaining no ground I plead “not guilty.” I had a bit of trouble understanding the language barrier, which dragged out the process. During the confusion, several other guards came into the room. I could sense their curiosity of the situation. They would ask several questions about my interrogation before getting to the point; “So I heard you’re a poker player…” At one point there were four guards and a first officer in the room with me discussing preflop strategy in Texas Holdem. After a brief lesson, I intervened. “Guys I’d love to talk all day, but can I make a call to my girl really quick? She’s been waiting outside for two hours and is probably going to kill me.” “I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to do that until the interrogation is over.”
“Are you married?” I asked the guard intently. “Well yes, he said proudly. We just had our twelve year anniversary last week,” he said in his broken english. “Then you know how your wife would feel if you flew across the world to see her and she couldn’t get a hold of you. She sat there worrying for your safety, wondering where you were. We had dinner plans tonight as well…” but before I could finish he raised his hand to signify that he understood. “Do you need my cell phone?”

Three hours passed and I knew more about the guards than I did some of my friends. “You know,” I told them during one of our lighter moments, “if I wasn’t starving and being convicted of smuggling narcotics, this would actually be quite enjoyable.” “We really wish we could let you go,” one of them explained. “But if you were my brother, I still have no choice.” I laughed. “We’re almost done though,” he promised. “I’m going to call the prosecutor and inform him of your decision. I’ll be right back. Moment.”

After four hours passed, the first officer came in and informed me of their final decision.
“We have a second charge for you,” he began.
“What is it?”
“Well we don’t have an english word for it, but in Swedish its called “something I can’t pronounce.” “Basically it means that you brought the drugs in without knowing they were wrong.”
“Ahhh like ignorance?” I said. More talk in Swedish amongst the guards.
“Yes… we think,” he said apprehensively. “How do you plea… plead… plea? Which one is it again?”
I asked him about my options and retributions I could face for each.
“If you plea guilty, you pay fine and it will be wiped from your record. If you not guilty then prosecutor call you in several days with his decision. You have hearing and talk to lawyer. This maybe take several weeks because you have to face trial.”
“I’m only here four days.”
“It’s up to you,” he said somberly.
“How much is the fine?” I said with a sigh.
“In Sweden it varies based on income. For you, very expensive.”
“Fantastic.” He brought out a calculator. That can’t be good. He furiously punched in numbers for a minute or so.
“Based on our calculations you owe 33,000 Kroner (roughly $5,000 USD)!
“There’s no way.” I’d expect that if I had two pounds of marijuana, 1,000 pills of ecstasy or a kilo of cocaine but 30 pills of adderol that I use sparingly for poker? Please.
He looked at me blankly. “Can I talk to the prosecutor?” I begged.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. You can only do that if you have a trial,” he admitted. I sighed as I banged my head into the wall behind me, making a loud thud that echoed across the room. Silence followed.
“Do you take American Express?”
“Let me check… Moment.”

Another half hour went by in a futile attempt to process the charges. They only took cash and checks which meant I would have to make another trip to Gothenburg to pay the fine on a later date (I left my little 33,00 Kroner back in Amsterdam lol). Before I left, I had to sign something (which was printed in Swedish) that stated I would be contacted in the next few days by a court representative with details regarding my case. I thought back to that movie of the two women convicted of smuggling drugs in Thailand where they signed their life away thinking they were stating their innocence while secretly being tricked into admitting guilt. “You don’t have any copies in English?” I inquired. “We ran out, but I’m afraid you cannot leave without signing this.” I had been there four and a half hours, was famished and had to pee. I thought for a moment. “Can the rest of you leave the room please?” They were a bit dumbfounded but after the first officer gave the nod, they proceeded. “Can you translate this for me please?” After he finished, I asked to talk to the Turkish guard in private. He came in and translated the exact same thing. I did this with the third guard as well. Everything was copacetic. Either this was the most elaborate hustle ever (in which case they deserved to bust me) or they were telling the truth. Pen in hand, I closed my eyes and moved my hand across the dotted line…

After a week of agony dealing with the aftermath of the case (I called every legal counsel in the US Embassy Registrar but none could help me because it was a Swedish holiday, several phone calls to legal counsel in the US, my CPA and advisors), I finally settled in Gothenburg for 5,500 Kroner ($800 USD) and was convicted of “negligence” (which won’t go on my record). In some ways, I’m frustrated because of the amount of time and energy it consumed but also because I feel the punishment was a bit steep. Worst of all, I have no more adderol which is tilting to say the least. In America, they’d laugh at this because adderol can be bought anywhere except vending machines. On the other hand, had I been in Thailand or Singapore I could have been caned or possibly given the death penalty. Just like anything in life, it depends on how you see it.

I take adderol an average of once a month, which is obviously not incriminating. Furthermore, I think the drug is absolutely terrible for our health and prescribing it to innocent children is a far worse crime. I clearly had no intention of selling the pills or causing any disruption in Sweden. Customs was fully aware of that, yet punished me anyway simply for possession. But what message does that really send? That I have to follow the system or I’m somehow a criminal? That If I don’t do it their way I’m condemned. If I don’t let someone else dictate how I will live my life then I’m somehow a worse citizen or I must pay for my actions? Who are they to tell me what I should do in my free time? I don’t tell anyone else how to live.

I know you’re thinking one of two things?
1) Why not just get a prescription?

I didn’t get a prescription for the same reason that you jaywalk; it’s entirely too convenient and you’re not really harming anyone. Adderol is easier to find than my favorite brand of cereal. I don’t follow rules or laws that I don’t see fit, simply because it’s “the law.” Some examples include rolling stop signs at 2:00 am when nobodies around, speeding on an open road because it makes me feel alive, or smoking a joint after a long day of work. Similarly, I don’t follow any of societies “unwritten rules.” I didn’t graduate college, I enjoy a long distance open relationship and I gamble for a living. More importantly, I don’t think any of these things are wrong. On the contrary, I wouldn’t conceive of committing certain atrocities regardless of their legality, such as murder and rape.

2) How arrogant of you. Who do you think you are? Alec Torelli or something? We all have to follow the rules or face the consequences.

Face the consequences, fine. But follow the rules, never. For its this blind obedience to authority that allowed Hilter and Stalin to massacre millions of innocent people. The Nazi’s were just following the rules laid out for them. If it’s the law, we must enforce it, right? It’s this “negligence” that allows wars to occur and our rights to be seized from our fingertips. It’s only for the tenacious work of few brave souls who’ve stood up to law makers that has resulted in slavery to being abolished, granting women the right to vote and corrupt empires to cease. Hundreds of years later, we’ve established national holidays such as Martin Luther King Day to commemorate these heros. But how were these revolutionaries perceived during the time which they lived? If they were lucky, these liberators were ridiculed, hated and persecuted. Most of them such as Martin Luther King, Joan of Ark, John the Baptist and John F. Kennedy were assassinated.

These visionaries all had one thing in common. They envisioned a world which had not yet existed. How can one be revolutionary if his ideas are the same as the masses? Yet despite this we still ridicule those who defy the system. We punish them for being out of place and herd them into being sheep. But being a sheep is dangerous. Power corrupted entities can be the shepherd to sheep. But what if you have the courage to think for yourself? They can’t control a free thinking individual. They can’t control me. While it is true I may not be able to change the rules that others lay down for me, but I can choose which ones I will follow.

“If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.”
- Lina Knuthson, Sweden

How do we change the system? Abraham Lincoln once said, “the only way to change a policy is to enforce it completely.” Perhaps if everyone guilty of jay walking in San Francisco and NYC was given a ticket, people would see how silly the law is and change would follow. Perhaps if everyone who “sped” driving 80 mph instead of “following the rules” and going 65 mph were issued speeding tickets, law makers would see the speed limit is symbolic of life in 1970 and increase it.

Here’s some food for thought. If marijuana was legalized tomorrow and alcohol made illegal, would you then allow your kids to smoke weed but not drink alcohol? How sad if our morality and actions are based on the rules other people set for our lives. At what point do we draw the line? Is the above really any different than being the defying college student that tells his parents he doesn’t want to become a doctor because he is passionate about poker? After all, you’re breaking the “rules” set by your parents. Just because there is no legal penalties does that somehow make it okay? Whose rules do we follow and at what cost to our lives? The ambiguity makes it impossible to be consistent, unless we live our lives the way we want to. (Of course this means without imposing on others). Again, this means that we face the consequences. You’re going to disappoint people. You’re going to deal with morons. They’re not going to understand. You know what I say? As long as you’re doing you, who cares what they think? The real question is, who are you going to let affect how you live your life? I know my answer. Nobody. I use this quote as a healthy reminder to keep myself focused on what really matter. Doing me.

“50 told me go ahead switch the style up and if they hate then let em hate and watch the money pile up.”
- Kanye West

Disagree? Agree? Thoughts? Email me at alectorelli@gmail.com. You can follow me on twitter at www.twitter.com/alectorelli

Cheers,
Alec@justdoingme.com/fromSweden

(just a silly signature)

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