Growing up reading the Guiness Book of World Records,”I currently hold two world records” is a phrase I never thought I’d be able to say. But, as of last week and the official verification from judges at RecordSetter, it’s true. I now hold two world records, both having to do with Pocket Squares.

The very kind folks at Eton of Sweden were nice enough to let me use their gorgeous boutique at 58th and Madison for these record setting attempts as well as supply the Pocket Squares (my favorite place to add to my Pocket Square collection. Eton has some amazing new things coming this spring and fall.) Being surrounded by that much classy fashion, there was no way I could fail.

The first record: Most Pocket Squares Worn in 30 Seconds

The second record: Most Pocket Squares Worn At Once

Now that I’ve taken the plunge and have two of my very own world records (until someone breaks them), my mind has started to race with other records I can create/set/break.

What about you? Was set/break world record on your 2012 resolution list? Is it now?Tweet

Some might say I have an opinion about the downfall of my generation as a result of the toxic and unfounded self esteem enforced by the participation trophies that were a part of our growing up. Others might say that I’m overreacting and a tad bit cynical.

But, Saturday Night Live seems to agree with at least the sentiment as seen in this past weekend’s sketch called “You Can Do Anything!”

Completlely hit the nail on the head. Bravo.

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One of the longest relationships I’ve been in is also one of the most abusive. There are some incredible moments mixed in amongst the angst and tears, but in general, it is a total beat down that puts my my self esteem in peril. But after each round, I find myself saying “Golf, I wish I could quit you.”

When I was asked to play in the South By Southwest Golf Tournament this year, I jumped at the chance. But as the day of the event got closer, I stalled finishing my registration and tried to think if there was a creative way to back out. I love *the idea* of an afternoon on the links, but in reality often find it to be an afternoon of wallowing in self pity as I trudge into the rough and sand traps looking for yet another errant shot.

So when the morning rolled around, and the insanity of SXSW had caught up with my immune system and sent me into a pretty decent allergic reaction to the storm system of urban hipsters smoking hand rolled cigarettes on the streets, I though that I perhaps had an out.  But, not wanting to miss out on the chance that “things would be different this time” I went back to my tormentor with my hat in hand.  The first three holes were just what I remembered: hooked tee shot, sliced fairway wood, divot exploding 8-iron, faster-than-I-though greens…. repeat.

But then, just as I had resigned myself to being the course’s whipping boy for the day, it happened.

*Plink!*

My tee shot launched itself over 260 years down the dead center of the fairway.  The rest of the guys in the foursome give me an awkward collection of fist bumps, high fives, and the very strange in between fist/hand. There was talk of me sandbagging them on the first few holes. I was feeling good.  Especially, because I hadn’t swung a golf club in about 18 months.  The rest of the day was a mixed bag of shots, some more wonderful and some more awful. But, there were enough good shots that made it look like I knew what I was doing. Just enough to have me looking for another chance to deepen my abusive relationship with the sport of Golf.Tweet

Last fall, I was struggling with finding some tangible motivation for hitting the gym hard. Then the fiasco with the TSA and the body scan machines kicked in.  So, on the chance that I would be selected for a random full body pat down, I hit the gym hard.

Today it happened.

And it wasn’t that random.

Expecting the cab out to JFK to take a long time because of morning traffic, I left earlier than I normally would.  And perhaps that is the reason that we hit no traffic.  Arriving at JFK a full hour ahead of my flight’s boarding time, I was feeling adventurous and a tad bit snarky.  When I was pulled out of line for the full body scanner (which I have done a million times, no problem) I decided it was time to see the fruits of my gym regimen.

“I’m opting out.”

“Really? You want a full body pat down?” The TSA women looked at me and asked.

“Yes I do.”

“Male assist!” she barked out with a slight snarl.

Then, all the sweat in the gym paid off.  Two male TSA agents, that I have no doubt played defensive end earlier in their life, looked at each other, back at me, and then back at each other. Saying nothing to each other, they each put out their right fist in front of them and locked eyes.

“One, two, three…” and they began a best 2 out of 3 match of rock-paper-scissor.

My morning, no, my week, was made in that exact moment.  Two huge TSA agents farkling over who had to pat me down.  The winner, raised his hands in the air, did a little dance, and went back to sitting around.  The loser, looking like someone just told him that he had to go on a diet, wandered over and with sad eyes and gave me the full treatment, blue gloves and all.

Moral of the story for the general public: the TSA hates patting you down as much as you hate being patted down.

Moral of the story for the TSA: if you keep entertaining me like this each time, I’m going to keep opting outTweet

To say that I am goal oriented would be an understatement of epic proportions.  If I don’t have some kind of bigger objective in mind, I tend to lose interest and my motivation stalls.  Recently, I have been in search of the bigger motivation for going to the gym.  At a certain point, the sacrifice of early mornings in the gym outweighed the hint of vanity that keep me going.  Especially going into the winter season in New York City. My aspirational six pack abs and rippling biceps probably would not make many public appearances when the snow is pilling up and it’s below freezing outside.

But this week, while traveling for the holiday, I found my new motivation for hitting the gym hard when I get home. The potential of a TSA pat down.  I have a pretty decent amount of traveling coming up between now and the end of the year, and the chances are pretty good that it is going to happen to me.  So, when those blue latex gloves gingerly makes their way across my chest and then up my inner thigh until it “meets the resistance,” the last thing I want is Officer Smith judging me for finishing the turkey leg and that second helping of stuffing on Thanksgiving day.

Hoping to get to second base with the TSA: my new motivation for going to the gym.Tweet

The Social Network only came out this past weekend, but alarming statistics have begun pouring in from legal firms located near Ivy League schools.  This huge spike in inbound document requests likely stems from the fact that the geniuses of each campus were just introduced to the term “Lawyer Up.”

Rewind to just last week and picture this: 3 roommates in a dorm room, beers in hand, Dorito dust caking their fingers, all attention focused on their whiteboard.  On the white board is an idea that has the potential to change their lives and the world for forever and for good. The toast themselves, their idea, and the friendship they’ve enjoyed that led to this discovery and they then set about making it happen.

But, this week, the week after The Social Network, things have looked different.  Still roommates, beers, Dorito-dusted fingers, and a white board, but the beers are untouched and the white board is blank.  (The Doritos still dusting the room, you can’t get rid of the Doritos.) The conversation is cagy and the big idea, that is right in front of them, is yet completed.  You see, there are also 3 lawyers in the room.  Each has advised their client to not say anything but just observe what the other “co-founders” might do next.  Each lawyer has a drafted LLC, LP, buy-sell, and golden handcuff agreement in their leather folio waiting for the moment that genius happens and their client becomes the next Zuckerberg.

Across the nation, Lawyering Up is finally giving the excess of law school graduates something to do after graduation. The daycare for mid-twenties something that many law schools have become truly has prepared this new crop of opportunistic “next big things.” Mimicking Justin Timberlake, they’re taking their geek friends to clubs and reminding them that a million dollars isn’t interesting as they inviting their cute paralegal friends to join the party.  With pizzazz and gusto that their litigation class taught them, they’re declaring “this is our time!” as they order another round of shots.  Passing the bar has a whole new meaning for these hangers-on to these soon to be ‘accidental millionaires.’

So, if you have an amazing idea, the first thing you need to do is not work to make it a reality, no, you need to get yourself some representation.  Don’t be the Winklevosses of this story, be the guy that has suited men falling behind him as he wanders the computer lab.  Take a queue from the movie that defines your generation, get out there with your whiteboard and Lawyer Up.Tweet

Excited about being up and showered and ready to kick start this week before my alarm had even gone off, I quickly grabbed a little breakfast to take with me on my walk to the office this morning at 6:15. I quietly grabbed a bagel and silently spread on some peanut butter and wrapped it up in a paper towel, ready to go. It was shortly there after that I found out that our jar of Peanut Butter looks a lot like our jar of Curry Paste, but Curry Paste doesn’t taste that great on a bagel.Tweet

Facebook knows when we are going to die. It is the newest feature of the site.

I logged into Facebook this morning, as has become the usual, there was a new alert at the top of the screen about some of the new changes that have been added to the site and my account. As a curious connoisseur of social media, I clicked the “more info” button to see which of my privacies had most recently been breached.

I scrolled through the usual tweaks and notifications that corporations were now keeping tabs on my Facebook likes and status updates. I read about my place on the “open graph,” the continued authorized fishbowl life I was agreeing to, and how it would help Mark Zuckerberg make my “web browsing experience even better than before.” All things that I am okay with as I have been continually numbed to my privacy needs and now feel the need to live in public.

But then I saw it. The last item on the list was simply labeled “Profile Expectancy.” The brief description was vague and required me to follow the link to “Read More” to understand what exactly the new “Profile Expectancy” feature entailed.

“Facebook has teamed up with the best Actuaries around the world to accumulate and process the ever increasing understanding of who each Facebook Profile represents, the lifestyle and habits they have, and based on this information, calculate their expected date of death, or as we refer to it, their Profile Expectancy.

A User’s Profile Expectancy can be shared or kept private, completely in the control of the User.  Understanding our Users’ Profile Expectancy has been extremely helpful in our forward looking bandwidth and server planning and will save the company billions in years to come. Additionally, should a User choose to make their Profile Expectancy public, they will be able to use their customized link to streamline their approval process and receive discounts for life, health, and disability insurances from our list of approved providers. To see your Profile Expectancy, click HERE.”

I have never been more nervous about clicking a link in my entire life. Did I just read that Facebook, based on the information they’ve gathered from my Profile and my internet activity over the past 5 years had worked out my actuarial life expectancy.  By clicking HERE I would be faced with the my expected “Profile Expectancy” and therefore faced with a prediction of my end of my days. What a sobering thought brought to me by Facebook. With the next page load, I would be know my expiration date.

As my mouse hovered over the link, I began thinking: Did my Gowalla check-ins at the gym offset the pictures from my friend’s bachelor party? Where the late night log-ins and early morning status updates evidence of my lack of sleep and therefore responsible for a shorter Profile Expectancy? Could I tweak by User behavior going forward and increase my Profile Expectancy? Was it too late to mend my ways or could I still live a better life? Did I even want to know what my number was?

And then I woke up.

And then I vowed to quit reading Mashable, TechCrunch,  and Robert Scoble before going to bed.Tweet

Last night was the first (and hopefully only) time that Annie or I had ever got on the wrong subway, and of course the one time we do, we take a family of Russian tourists along with us.

Annie and I were celebrating a great friend’s birthday in Brooklyn. I over indulged in the incredible lasagna and followed that up with a big slice of ice cream cake. It was a good night but the gym is going to be a beast tomorrow. As we said our goodbyes and made our way back to Manhattan, Annie and I compared notes and continued the conversation from the birthday dinner: schooling choices. Needless to say, there were a lot of different opinions voiced by those at the party.

So as we swiped our MetroCards and briskly walked down the stairs to the C Train, we were still deep in conversation. So deep in our conversation that I was completely startled when a stranger stepped into my personal space and in broken english with a thick Russian accent asked which train he and his family needed to take to get to Times Square. Fortunately, both Annie and I have the NYC Subway map on our iPhones (there truly is an App for everything) We pointed out to him that the C train would take him to 42nd and 8th and they could walk the rest of the way. He nodded and said thank you.

Just as he turned to translate our brief conversation to his father (a Vladimir Putin look alike), the C train pulled up. Annie and I hopped on and waved our hands for the Russians to follow us. Putin and his wife and their two sons smiled graciously as they sat down and again thanked us for our help. Annie and I got a warm feeling knowing that we were helping some visitors to our city have a better experience.

A few stops later, that warm feeling disappeared. A few stops later, the names of the subway stations were unfamiliar. A few stops later Annie pulled out her iPhone to indeed confirm that we had jumped on the wrong train. Instead of the Manhattan bound C train, we were on the way-the-heck-out-in-Brooklyn C train. We had passed more stops in the wrong direction than the number of stops it would have taken us to get home. And we had taken the Putins along for the ride.

As we approached the next stop, with fear and trepidation, I walked over to the son who spoke English and informed him of the news. His eyes got wide and and he quickly passed along the news. This is the part of the story where I was really hoping that Mr. Putin didn’t also have a pet Siberian tiger or an obsession with guns. In a flurry of Russian and wide eyed glances, the family followed Annie and I off the train and through the station, up an elevator, and down a couple flights of stairs to the correct Manhattan bound C train. As we arrived on the platform, our Russian friends stood a little further down from us and entered the subway car through a different door.

As we rode this C train back past all the stations we had just passed, Annie and I wondered how we could have thought that Hoyt/Schermerhorn was on its way to Manhattan. We had to laugh a little at the way things had turned out and could only hope that when the Putins return home, they’ll tell the story of how some crazy people in New York took them on the wrong train home.Tweet

I knew I should have paid more attention in Spanish class. As I causally conjugated verbs and learned the tenses, I knew that there would be a real world situation that I wouldn’t be prepared and would regret not taking class more seriously.

That was of course before I got an iPhone.

This morning when I got the gym, I realized that I had unintentionally left my pad lock hanging on the locker door yesterday. I had already packed all my stuff into one of the premium lockers you only get if you arrive at the gym before 6:30 and there was a small Jewish man eyeing me to see if I was coming or going. I didn’t have a lock to put on my door, so I was just about to roll the dice and leave it unlocked when I saw the janitor come around the corner to collect the used towels.

“Excuse me. I left my lock here yesterday, do you have a lost and found?”

“I don’t…”

“Or maybe down at the front desk?”

“I don’t… I don’t speak english.”

All of a sudden my Tuesdays and Thursday zoning out during Churros y Chocolate II in high school came rushing back to me and slapped me upside the head. “I should have paid attention!” I thought to myself. “How do I say ‘padlock’ in Spanish?” Grrr, very frustrating.

Not wanting to leave my things unattended for any longer than I had to, I went back to see that the little man had stopped staring at my locker and had found a premium one of his very own. I didn’t want to leave my locker unlocked, it had my laptop bag, my wallet, my iPhone…

My iPhone! I flipped through my 5 pages of Apps to my back page (the page were Apps go to die) and found the “Free Translator Lite” App smiling up at me. I quickly pecked in “I lost my lock. Do you have a lost and found?” and it spit back “He perdido mi cerradura. Tiene usted un perdido y encontrado?” To ensure that I didn’t butcher the pronunciation, I tracked down the janitor and held up my phone to him. He looked down and then looked back up at me and raised his hand in the air, one finger raised.

“Ah-ha!” (Translates well in English and Spanish)

He walked me over to a closet, smiled as he enter, and when he emerged, had my lock in hand.

The moral of the story? Sometimes it isn’t always about working harder when you can work smarter. Especially when you have an iPhone.Tweet