As fuel and food prices continue to rise, there has been much made of the economic strain placed on the middle class. Apparently many are having to trim the fat, so to speak, from their budgets in order to afford these essential line items. Tragic, I know.
Obviously the Ross family doesn't have to worry about such trivial matters. Not only can I afford to fill up our fleet of luxury and performance automobiles with premium fuel, my exorbitant wealth allows me to fly my jet and pilot my boats with complete and total abandon. Have you ever filled up a Citation? Do you know how much diesel is required to run a 100' yacht? It cost me $37,000 just to take a cruise down the Intercostal. The amount I spend on fossil fuels each month is more that most middle-class Americans make in a year, or to put it in better perspective, more than 239 Kenyans will make in their lifetimes. $4.00 a gallon gas? Pocket change.
I can't imagine what it must be like to have to decide between filling up my 1998 Chrysler Caravan and buying the family name brand macaroni and cheese. Don't worry, yours truly isn't developing a new found sense of empathy, I can't imagine it because I've never been that poor. In all honesty I've never had to choose between anything, let alone commodities.
When you're in my tax bracket you can afford the finer things in life, groceries included. Mind you, I never go grocery shopping, but our chef only shops at the most exclusive gourmet boutiques. 93% of the country can't afford what we eat and most of the time we don't even finish. I'd say on any given night our housekeeper disposes of $50 to $100 worth of unfinished lobster tails, Kobe beef, truffles and other exorbitantly pricey imported foodstuffs.
The network talking heads can talk all they want about recession. I'm sure some of you would agree with their Chicken Little antics. However, you won't hear G. Glen subscribe to such nonsense. The fact of the matter is that the reason the middle class are in such dire straits is because the middle class cannot be trusted with money and are consumed by envy. Who wouldn't want to be me? What rational man wouldn't want to live like we wealthy do? I understand why they would feel that way. However, in their Quixotic quest to live like the other half they have maxed out their Sears cards and stretched themselves thinner than the hand spun silk negligee Mrs. Ross is so fond of.
The middle class has no one to blame but themselves, and if they could afford Quicken, I'd recommend they purchase it. That being said, perhaps riding their Wal*Mart bicycles to work and cutting back on the pot roasts will help these overweight gluttons lose a few dozen pounds. After all, you never see rich people competing on the Biggest Loser.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Ross' Rules: Work is Life
Lately much has been made of the need for a strong work-life balance. The theory goes that if one is able to spend time with their family or pursuing hobbies and activities outside of work, they will be a happier employee and thus they will be a better employee.
Rubbish.
A balanced life is like sensible democrat: they're both imaginary. The need for a balanced life is the excuse of those who hate their jobs, and such people belong in welfare lines; not walking the hallowed halls of Corporate America. It is an affront to the millions of dedicated men everywhere who sacrifice their happiness and that of their family's for the good of the company.
I want workaholics. I want relentless passion and single-minded focus. My employees must eat, breathe and bleed the mission statement. I don't care that little Billy has a t-ball game or the Paige has a dance recital. The nanny can tell you how it went when you see her. Nor do I care if you haven't seen your wife in weeks. She may hate you now, but trust me, she'll love the lifestyle your substantial compensation package affords her.
Workaholics are what make this country tick. They are the lubrication in the gears of the most potent economy on Earth. While one may lament the long hours and high stress, they can rest easy knowing they are providing their families with wonderful homes, luxurious cars, high priced nannies and the latest fashions. No the workaholic doesn't get to spend much time enjoying the benefits of such hard work, but they know that happiness will never satisfy them the way comraderie and a defined sense of purpose can. And they know that defeating their children in a high stakes game of Connect Four, while intially gratifying, will never earn them a promotion and corner office.
As I approach the twilight of my working years I cannot help but envy those just starting out. My work is what gives me life. It is what will give you life. Remember, you can always start a new family, but you only get one shot at your career. Enjoy it while you can.
Rubbish.
A balanced life is like sensible democrat: they're both imaginary. The need for a balanced life is the excuse of those who hate their jobs, and such people belong in welfare lines; not walking the hallowed halls of Corporate America. It is an affront to the millions of dedicated men everywhere who sacrifice their happiness and that of their family's for the good of the company.
I want workaholics. I want relentless passion and single-minded focus. My employees must eat, breathe and bleed the mission statement. I don't care that little Billy has a t-ball game or the Paige has a dance recital. The nanny can tell you how it went when you see her. Nor do I care if you haven't seen your wife in weeks. She may hate you now, but trust me, she'll love the lifestyle your substantial compensation package affords her.
Workaholics are what make this country tick. They are the lubrication in the gears of the most potent economy on Earth. While one may lament the long hours and high stress, they can rest easy knowing they are providing their families with wonderful homes, luxurious cars, high priced nannies and the latest fashions. No the workaholic doesn't get to spend much time enjoying the benefits of such hard work, but they know that happiness will never satisfy them the way comraderie and a defined sense of purpose can. And they know that defeating their children in a high stakes game of Connect Four, while intially gratifying, will never earn them a promotion and corner office.
As I approach the twilight of my working years I cannot help but envy those just starting out. My work is what gives me life. It is what will give you life. Remember, you can always start a new family, but you only get one shot at your career. Enjoy it while you can.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Things I can afford that the middle class cannot
There are few sounds as seductive as the the deep throated purr of my Aston Martin Vanquish S. This 520 horse, 200 mile an hour piece of engineering perfection set me back over 300 grand. That's more than the this country's median home price. And while she'll punish you when you're bad, when you're good she'll satisfy in ways that would get you beheaded in most Middle Eastern nations.
Oh, did I mention I have two of these? One for each coast.
The Aston is my preferred supercar. Sporty yet refined. Exquisite yet unpretentious. Much like myself, I should say. Many of the nuevo riche insist on parading around in their gaudy Italian monstrosities clamoring for the world's attention. They of course get it, though only from middle class gawkers from Iowa or other sheltered locales. Those who know, like myself, openly scorn such trivial material displays. The Aston, on the other hand, oozes sophistication and class, much like its owner and her sultry curves, much like those of the woman undoubtedly riding in the vehicle's fine calf-skin leather passenger seat, demand your attention.
I understand how envy can posses those who do not. I see the looks on their defeated faces as I rush by, a sophisticated glorious comet of carbon and polished chrome. I imagine their self-loathing growing with each strained RPM of their Honda's meager engine. They get good gas mileage. They pollute far less. They are safe and practical. But you know what? Those things mean nothing if you have enough money.
Every so often, when I feel the need to connect with my employees, I take a drive down to the Saturn dealership and test drive a car. As I economically plod along I pretend I am like them. I tune into the local radio station and roll down my window and imagine myself commuting to work or home to greet my loving family. I think this is a nice daydream, until I realize that there is nothing nice about being poor.
Oh, did I mention I have two of these? One for each coast.
The Aston is my preferred supercar. Sporty yet refined. Exquisite yet unpretentious. Much like myself, I should say. Many of the nuevo riche insist on parading around in their gaudy Italian monstrosities clamoring for the world's attention. They of course get it, though only from middle class gawkers from Iowa or other sheltered locales. Those who know, like myself, openly scorn such trivial material displays. The Aston, on the other hand, oozes sophistication and class, much like its owner and her sultry curves, much like those of the woman undoubtedly riding in the vehicle's fine calf-skin leather passenger seat, demand your attention.
I understand how envy can posses those who do not. I see the looks on their defeated faces as I rush by, a sophisticated glorious comet of carbon and polished chrome. I imagine their self-loathing growing with each strained RPM of their Honda's meager engine. They get good gas mileage. They pollute far less. They are safe and practical. But you know what? Those things mean nothing if you have enough money.
Every so often, when I feel the need to connect with my employees, I take a drive down to the Saturn dealership and test drive a car. As I economically plod along I pretend I am like them. I tune into the local radio station and roll down my window and imagine myself commuting to work or home to greet my loving family. I think this is a nice daydream, until I realize that there is nothing nice about being poor.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Reader Question
Q: I was just wondering, where do you stand on recycling? Carbon offsets?
-Andrew B.
A. Well Andrew, as apparently it is Earth Day I will answer your question. Though I'll make it quick because I'm sure the hippies wouldn't appreciate the CO2 such long winded answers would emit.
This may surprise you, but I very much encourage my housekeeping staff to recycle. I myself cannot be bothered with the trivialities of separating my waste, but I see to it that they pick what can be recycled out of the trash and put it in the proper containers. As for carbon offsets, I think they are nothing but smoke and mirrors, but Mrs. Ross insists on purchasing them to mollify her conscious. We purchase ours from Africa. Seeing as they have no industry to produce pollutants, the offsets come cheap.
-Andrew B.
A. Well Andrew, as apparently it is Earth Day I will answer your question. Though I'll make it quick because I'm sure the hippies wouldn't appreciate the CO2 such long winded answers would emit.
This may surprise you, but I very much encourage my housekeeping staff to recycle. I myself cannot be bothered with the trivialities of separating my waste, but I see to it that they pick what can be recycled out of the trash and put it in the proper containers. As for carbon offsets, I think they are nothing but smoke and mirrors, but Mrs. Ross insists on purchasing them to mollify her conscious. We purchase ours from Africa. Seeing as they have no industry to produce pollutants, the offsets come cheap.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Ross' Rules: Let money be your scorekeeper
Question: Why do you do what you do?
a) Because your job makes you feel good about yourself.
b) You enjoy the responsibility your career affords.
c) You make an obscene amount of money.
If you answered "a" or "b" you're wrong. Warm fuzzies are for 10 year-old girls and guidance counselors. You want responsibility? Join the military.
If you answered "c," congratulations, you're a big boy who doesn't have his head up his ass.
Sure, there are those who argue that one's career should be guided by principle and passion, but we know such comments are nothing more than pathetic justifications spewed from the mouths of those desperately trying to validate their five-figure incomes. We know that wealth is the magic elixir that makes life bearable. We know that nothing tempers a sixteen hour workday like a fine steak from Morton's or sinking into the supple leather of a hand-stitched calfskin loafer. We know that failing relationships can be dealt with at Christmas and Birthday's and that stress and anger can be squashed between the floorboards and accelerators of our supercars and cigarette boats.
The middle class can have their idealism and balance and nine-to-five cross-stitch circle, save the pandas careers. They can have their familial relationships and their father-son ballgames and healthy lifestyles. But you know what? They'll still lose. Because wealth, my friends, is how winners are measured.
a) Because your job makes you feel good about yourself.
b) You enjoy the responsibility your career affords.
c) You make an obscene amount of money.
If you answered "a" or "b" you're wrong. Warm fuzzies are for 10 year-old girls and guidance counselors. You want responsibility? Join the military.
If you answered "c," congratulations, you're a big boy who doesn't have his head up his ass.
Sure, there are those who argue that one's career should be guided by principle and passion, but we know such comments are nothing more than pathetic justifications spewed from the mouths of those desperately trying to validate their five-figure incomes. We know that wealth is the magic elixir that makes life bearable. We know that nothing tempers a sixteen hour workday like a fine steak from Morton's or sinking into the supple leather of a hand-stitched calfskin loafer. We know that failing relationships can be dealt with at Christmas and Birthday's and that stress and anger can be squashed between the floorboards and accelerators of our supercars and cigarette boats.
The middle class can have their idealism and balance and nine-to-five cross-stitch circle, save the pandas careers. They can have their familial relationships and their father-son ballgames and healthy lifestyles. But you know what? They'll still lose. Because wealth, my friends, is how winners are measured.
Friday, April 18, 2008
The Week in Review: 4/13-4/19
Good Friday, Rossophytes. Yes, yours truly is feeling rather dashing today, both in looks and mood. Why, do you ask. No reason other than this weekend marks the commencement of the summer sailing season. Break out the Sperry's and linen!
9/11 Conspiracy Theories 'Ridiculous,' Al Qaeda Says
My grandson forwarded me this important news story. Now, I have never heard of the Onion News Network, but my he tells me they are the most credible media outlet I've never heard of. And after watching the video, I have to agree. If you ever had any doubts as to who felled the might bastions of capitalism, you will soon be enlightened.
Pope Benedict's Historic Visit
The Bishop of Rome visited our great country this week. At an outdoor mass, he preached the importance of overcoming division and rejecting the “anger,” “weakening moral sense,” and “growing forgetfulness" of something or other in modern society. No longer a Catholic, I won't be damned to hell for not giving a crap.
CBS Knocks the Democratic Debate Out of the Park
Mrs. Ross insisted on watching "Real Housewives of the Big Apple" so I didn't get to watch the democratic debate on CBS. Not that I would have. Empty promises of hope and prosperity do nothing when you already have everything. Though from what I hear, Charlie Gibson and Stephie-opolis did the expected and pushed the democratic party and CBS further into irrelevance. Great job boys!
9/11 Conspiracy Theories 'Ridiculous,' Al Qaeda Says
My grandson forwarded me this important news story. Now, I have never heard of the Onion News Network, but my he tells me they are the most credible media outlet I've never heard of. And after watching the video, I have to agree. If you ever had any doubts as to who felled the might bastions of capitalism, you will soon be enlightened.
Pope Benedict's Historic Visit
The Bishop of Rome visited our great country this week. At an outdoor mass, he preached the importance of overcoming division and rejecting the “anger,” “weakening moral sense,” and “growing forgetfulness" of something or other in modern society. No longer a Catholic, I won't be damned to hell for not giving a crap.
CBS Knocks the Democratic Debate Out of the Park
Mrs. Ross insisted on watching "Real Housewives of the Big Apple" so I didn't get to watch the democratic debate on CBS. Not that I would have. Empty promises of hope and prosperity do nothing when you already have everything. Though from what I hear, Charlie Gibson and Stephie-opolis did the expected and pushed the democratic party and CBS further into irrelevance. Great job boys!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: 16 ft tall security walls
As I sit with Mrs. Ross on my favorite of the seven decks that surround my palatial ocean side estate, exhausted from a day spent espousing the virtues of values and ethics in Corporate America (however, false they may be), I take comfort that we are able to sit undisturbed and topless, away from prying jealous eyes. For as much as they may desperately seek a glimpse into a life of luxury, my sixteen-foot tall, imported Costa Rican lava rock privacy wall prevents their envious middle-class eyes from doing so.
Sometimes, when my driver erroneously steers the Maybach into yet another neighborhood brought to you by Shea Homes or Richmond American, I laugh to myself at the matchstick fences that pathetically try to hide the dead sod and cheap plastic toys that litter the yards like discarded trash. For if any neighborhood demands fortification it are those of the middle-class. Though, such walls would protect the eyes of the innocent as much as they would the egos of the hyper-extended, paycheck-to-paycheck homeowners.
My walls (and yes I have many, all literal) isolate me from the realities faced by the average. The moment I cross the gate's threshold I am transported to an idyllic paradise designed and created especially for me. My walls afford Mrs. Ross the tan-line free look she demands and allow our child to play, free from predation and the jealous, thieving bullies that permeate suburban playgrounds.
There are those who argue that such defenses scar the landscape and further isolate the rich from the poor. While I disagree that such walls scar the land, I agree fully that they isolate the rich from the poor. For that, my acolytes, is the primary reason God invented stone.
Sometimes, when my driver erroneously steers the Maybach into yet another neighborhood brought to you by Shea Homes or Richmond American, I laugh to myself at the matchstick fences that pathetically try to hide the dead sod and cheap plastic toys that litter the yards like discarded trash. For if any neighborhood demands fortification it are those of the middle-class. Though, such walls would protect the eyes of the innocent as much as they would the egos of the hyper-extended, paycheck-to-paycheck homeowners.
My walls (and yes I have many, all literal) isolate me from the realities faced by the average. The moment I cross the gate's threshold I am transported to an idyllic paradise designed and created especially for me. My walls afford Mrs. Ross the tan-line free look she demands and allow our child to play, free from predation and the jealous, thieving bullies that permeate suburban playgrounds.
There are those who argue that such defenses scar the landscape and further isolate the rich from the poor. While I disagree that such walls scar the land, I agree fully that they isolate the rich from the poor. For that, my acolytes, is the primary reason God invented stone.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
On values
For those of you expecting Wednesday's regular column, as much as I enjoy regaling you with the luxuries in my life, I am attending a conference on values and ethics and between preparing my speech and dining at Denver's finest eateries, I simply do not have the time to write.
In the mean time, go read the Robb Report and check back Thursday.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Ross' Rules: Banish Humility
Of all the hateful criticism lobbed my way from jealous competitors and scorned lovers, perhaps the most amusing is that of my perceived arrogance. Arrogance? Are simple statements of fact arrogant? Is awareness of one's own excellence the mark of hubris?
For the failed and failing the answer is yes.
Humility has no place in a successful man's world. Sure, the experts will tell you that such a trait endears one to his co-workers and management team. But I ask you this, do the experts travel to their multiple vacation homes in their luxuriously appointed Gulfstreams or Citations? Unless Southwest has upgraded their fleet, I think we all know the answer to that.
Arrogance has every place in society because arrogance is the body projecting success. And to paraphrase the famous saying, "it is not arrogance if you can back it up." In the gladiatorial arena that is Corporate America, arrogance is the first defense and best offense one has against detraction. In fact, I like to think of it as advertising. And while some might say that humor and emotion are the hallmarks of successful advertising, it is the repetitive loudmouths who are remembered. The humble wallflower may not have enemies, but the only people who know they exist are their families and the secretarial pool.
Humility makes me sick. In my mind the word is synonymous with weakness and failure. Last week I interviewed a VP candidate and when asked what his greatest weakness was, he actually answered, "I tend to overextend myself." I was shocked. Surely he had to have known that the successful have no professional weaknesses. Needless to say, the interview ended shortly thereafter. I believe he now works for his father-in-law.
To accuse the arrogant of being self-absorbed blowhards is to sell its impact short. Arrogance is part of the deception. Success begets success and you must become its magnet. Espousing your success lets the world beneath you know that you are better than they, and alerts the few above you that you are nipping at their heels. And while you may not willingly embrace arrogance, once you become accustomed to its warm bosom, you will never let it go.
For the failed and failing the answer is yes.
Humility has no place in a successful man's world. Sure, the experts will tell you that such a trait endears one to his co-workers and management team. But I ask you this, do the experts travel to their multiple vacation homes in their luxuriously appointed Gulfstreams or Citations? Unless Southwest has upgraded their fleet, I think we all know the answer to that.
Arrogance has every place in society because arrogance is the body projecting success. And to paraphrase the famous saying, "it is not arrogance if you can back it up." In the gladiatorial arena that is Corporate America, arrogance is the first defense and best offense one has against detraction. In fact, I like to think of it as advertising. And while some might say that humor and emotion are the hallmarks of successful advertising, it is the repetitive loudmouths who are remembered. The humble wallflower may not have enemies, but the only people who know they exist are their families and the secretarial pool.
Humility makes me sick. In my mind the word is synonymous with weakness and failure. Last week I interviewed a VP candidate and when asked what his greatest weakness was, he actually answered, "I tend to overextend myself." I was shocked. Surely he had to have known that the successful have no professional weaknesses. Needless to say, the interview ended shortly thereafter. I believe he now works for his father-in-law.
To accuse the arrogant of being self-absorbed blowhards is to sell its impact short. Arrogance is part of the deception. Success begets success and you must become its magnet. Espousing your success lets the world beneath you know that you are better than they, and alerts the few above you that you are nipping at their heels. And while you may not willingly embrace arrogance, once you become accustomed to its warm bosom, you will never let it go.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Reader Questions
From a Mr. Coltrane:
I'd appreciate reading your answers to questions posed by your faithful but how do I know you will answer questions truthfully and with the same tact you always display?
Mr. Coltrane,
I appreciate your concerns, however unfounded they may be. As you know, my goal is to help my readers achieve success by any means necessary, and as a result you can expect that each answer will be answered with utmost sincerity and honesty. As for tact, well, I don't make promises I have no intention of keeping.
Sincerely,
G. Glen Ross
I'd appreciate reading your answers to questions posed by your faithful but how do I know you will answer questions truthfully and with the same tact you always display?
Mr. Coltrane,
I appreciate your concerns, however unfounded they may be. As you know, my goal is to help my readers achieve success by any means necessary, and as a result you can expect that each answer will be answered with utmost sincerity and honesty. As for tact, well, I don't make promises I have no intention of keeping.
Sincerely,
G. Glen Ross
The Week in Review: 4/6 - 4/12
I got a busy day ahead of me so I'll make this quick. If you can't keep up, go read USA Today.
Airlines take a crap
By last count three airlines ceased operations this week, a fourth filed for Chapter 11 and American cancelled 900 flights. Of course this means nothing to me as the only airline I give a damn about is Ross Airways and we're doing fine, thank you.
Protesting the Olympics
Human rights activists rioted in France in protest of the upcoming Chinese Olympic games. Aiming fire extinguishers at the torch, they managed to extinguish it five times, forcing organizers to transport it by bus to its final destination. Personally, I don't see what the big deal is. During my career I've managed thousands of people, so I know how essential it is to maintain order and discipline. If subjugating a few dissidents under the guise of national security means a safe Olympics, then so be it. Of course, rounding up terrorists won't prevent your lungs from melting after breathing in the fine Beijing air.
Polygamist compound raided
Last I checked, Texas was nowhere near Utah, though it seems that the Republic has a thing for harboring polygamists. Authorities were tipped off to what was really going on at the 1,600 acre religious compound when a teenage girl called to report she was being abused. Apparently she'd been forced to marry a 50-year-old man and gave birth to his child at age 15. Authorities raided the compund and removed two hundred women and children from the premises. Warren Jeffs, the father of this happy little place, is currently in an Arizona jail.
Of course the story itself is not humorous. What is, however, is Texas getting yet another black eye. Personally, I think Mexico should thank us for taking it off their hands.
Airlines take a crap
By last count three airlines ceased operations this week, a fourth filed for Chapter 11 and American cancelled 900 flights. Of course this means nothing to me as the only airline I give a damn about is Ross Airways and we're doing fine, thank you.
Protesting the Olympics
Human rights activists rioted in France in protest of the upcoming Chinese Olympic games. Aiming fire extinguishers at the torch, they managed to extinguish it five times, forcing organizers to transport it by bus to its final destination. Personally, I don't see what the big deal is. During my career I've managed thousands of people, so I know how essential it is to maintain order and discipline. If subjugating a few dissidents under the guise of national security means a safe Olympics, then so be it. Of course, rounding up terrorists won't prevent your lungs from melting after breathing in the fine Beijing air.
Polygamist compound raided
Last I checked, Texas was nowhere near Utah, though it seems that the Republic has a thing for harboring polygamists. Authorities were tipped off to what was really going on at the 1,600 acre religious compound when a teenage girl called to report she was being abused. Apparently she'd been forced to marry a 50-year-old man and gave birth to his child at age 15. Authorities raided the compund and removed two hundred women and children from the premises. Warren Jeffs, the father of this happy little place, is currently in an Arizona jail.
Of course the story itself is not humorous. What is, however, is Texas getting yet another black eye. Personally, I think Mexico should thank us for taking it off their hands.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Per your requests
Due to increasing interest, I've made the decision to accept questions from my readers. Each week I will answer as many as I deem relevant and impart wisdom gleaned from over forty years in Corporate America.
For most folks this unprecedented access comes at a steep price, but for you, it's free.
Questions should be submitted in the comments section.
For most folks this unprecedented access comes at a steep price, but for you, it's free.
Questions should be submitted in the comments section.
Things I can afford that the middle class cannot: A long and luxurious life
As you may recall from last week’s Week in Review, the wealthy live, on average, approximately five years longer than everyone else. So, in honor of this fact, allow me to espouse yet another benefit of being fabulously wealthy.
Now, the study may be rooted in medical fact, but I believe we live much longer because we have much more to live for. Yes, being able to afford the best doctors and medical treatment is nice. As is not having to drive to Canada to get my cholesterol medication. I love the fact that Medicare is something I partake in only because I’ve paid so much into the system. Of course I don’t need it, but that won’t stop me from using it.
I love the security of knowing that if I should be stricken with cancer, I’ll actually have treatment options and won’t be relegated to receiving treatment at some sub-par HMO cancer center. How one deals with such a prospect is beyond me. In fact, I don’t see much difference between receiving “normal” treatment and simply letting the disease spread.
Being wealthy means I can receive the most advanced preventative care available. Yearly, I undergo a barrage of tests designed to identify any and all afflictions that may be present in my perfectly maintained body. I have at my disposal a dedicated team of physicians whose only purpose in life is to keep me operating at peak capacity and I have chef, personal trainer, massage therapist and relaxation expert at my beckon call. If my eyesight goes, laser surgery will fix it. If my skin begins to sag, plastic surgery will tighten it up. If my heart fails, I’ll buy a new one.
Of course, my dedication to living is predicated on the fact that, unlike much of the poor and middle-class, I have something to live for. Actually, I have an abundance of things to live for. I know that as I age, my body will not break down and I will be able to sail my boats, drive my cars and love my wife with equal vigor. I know that unlike the poor and middle class, my golden years will not be spent in casinos and bingo halls. I know that the stress of living on a fixed income won’t slowly erode my will to live and that my grandchildren will still love me because I’ll be able to give them more than five dollars for Christmas.
Unlike the poor and middle class, I know that my wealth allows me to endlessly sip at the fountain of youth and I know that when death comes, I won’t welcome it with arms wide open, grateful that it has rescued me from a life of premature decay. Instead, I’ll make it sit in the fine Italian leather seat of my Aston Martin as I slam into a concrete retaining wall.
Now, the study may be rooted in medical fact, but I believe we live much longer because we have much more to live for. Yes, being able to afford the best doctors and medical treatment is nice. As is not having to drive to Canada to get my cholesterol medication. I love the fact that Medicare is something I partake in only because I’ve paid so much into the system. Of course I don’t need it, but that won’t stop me from using it.
I love the security of knowing that if I should be stricken with cancer, I’ll actually have treatment options and won’t be relegated to receiving treatment at some sub-par HMO cancer center. How one deals with such a prospect is beyond me. In fact, I don’t see much difference between receiving “normal” treatment and simply letting the disease spread.
Being wealthy means I can receive the most advanced preventative care available. Yearly, I undergo a barrage of tests designed to identify any and all afflictions that may be present in my perfectly maintained body. I have at my disposal a dedicated team of physicians whose only purpose in life is to keep me operating at peak capacity and I have chef, personal trainer, massage therapist and relaxation expert at my beckon call. If my eyesight goes, laser surgery will fix it. If my skin begins to sag, plastic surgery will tighten it up. If my heart fails, I’ll buy a new one.
Of course, my dedication to living is predicated on the fact that, unlike much of the poor and middle-class, I have something to live for. Actually, I have an abundance of things to live for. I know that as I age, my body will not break down and I will be able to sail my boats, drive my cars and love my wife with equal vigor. I know that unlike the poor and middle class, my golden years will not be spent in casinos and bingo halls. I know that the stress of living on a fixed income won’t slowly erode my will to live and that my grandchildren will still love me because I’ll be able to give them more than five dollars for Christmas.
Unlike the poor and middle class, I know that my wealth allows me to endlessly sip at the fountain of youth and I know that when death comes, I won’t welcome it with arms wide open, grateful that it has rescued me from a life of premature decay. Instead, I’ll make it sit in the fine Italian leather seat of my Aston Martin as I slam into a concrete retaining wall.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Ross' Rules: Ride the Winning Horse
By this point, if you have not recognized that G. Glen Ross is a winner, then I question whether you should be reading this in the first place. I appreciate that you may aspire to greatness, but lacking the deductive reasoning skills to surmise, based upon previous journal entries, that yours truly is the Secretariat of the corporate world, I recommend you focus your attention on more attainable goals. Perhaps with a little work and lot of luck, someday you may be a HR manager.
Where was I? Right, I'm a winner. From the moment I kicked Lewis Ralston's butt across the playground, G. Glen's come out on top. I've got a bigger bank account and lower cholesterol count than every other member of my firm's executive team. My second and fourth homes are in neighborhoods so exclusive they don't show up on the tax registers and my executive assistant finished top of his class at Wharton. How many executives do you know that have secretaries with such strong pedigrees? That's right, none.
And while I could continue to list my possessions that top the "world's best," "world's most expensive," "world's most desirable," and "world's most exclusive" lists, I will not. Not because I wish not to bore you or make you envious, rather I simply have not the time or space to list such things.
However, what I will do is impart upon you this bit of wisdom: losers get nowhere. To make it in this world you must be, must work for and must surround yourself with winners. The company you keep, the teams you support and the employers you work for, all must share the common thread of success.
Why? Simple, winners attract success, wealth and beautiful spouses. And as I've stated before, all are essential to a life worth living. Through my career I've been astute enough to attach myself to some of the business world's most intelligent minds and successful companies. More important, I've been prescient enough to jump ship when the tides of success began shifting.
It's called success by association and in the business world it can be your most powerful ally. Success by association has the ability to overcome mediocrity, stupidity and a public university education. Success by association can gloss over race, gender and someday maybe even disability. By riding the coattails of success you will attach your name to the quality required of every executive. And while you'll probably never succeed to my extent, if you remember to surround yourself with winners, someday you'll be one too.
Where was I? Right, I'm a winner. From the moment I kicked Lewis Ralston's butt across the playground, G. Glen's come out on top. I've got a bigger bank account and lower cholesterol count than every other member of my firm's executive team. My second and fourth homes are in neighborhoods so exclusive they don't show up on the tax registers and my executive assistant finished top of his class at Wharton. How many executives do you know that have secretaries with such strong pedigrees? That's right, none.
And while I could continue to list my possessions that top the "world's best," "world's most expensive," "world's most desirable," and "world's most exclusive" lists, I will not. Not because I wish not to bore you or make you envious, rather I simply have not the time or space to list such things.
However, what I will do is impart upon you this bit of wisdom: losers get nowhere. To make it in this world you must be, must work for and must surround yourself with winners. The company you keep, the teams you support and the employers you work for, all must share the common thread of success.
Why? Simple, winners attract success, wealth and beautiful spouses. And as I've stated before, all are essential to a life worth living. Through my career I've been astute enough to attach myself to some of the business world's most intelligent minds and successful companies. More important, I've been prescient enough to jump ship when the tides of success began shifting.
It's called success by association and in the business world it can be your most powerful ally. Success by association has the ability to overcome mediocrity, stupidity and a public university education. Success by association can gloss over race, gender and someday maybe even disability. By riding the coattails of success you will attach your name to the quality required of every executive. And while you'll probably never succeed to my extent, if you remember to surround yourself with winners, someday you'll be one too.
Friday, April 4, 2008
The Week in Review: 3/30-4/4
Ahh yes, another glorious week has come and gone and another weekend of decadent relaxation approaches. Mrs. Ross, myself and a few friends I are off to Telluride for the last ski outing of the season. From what I hear, the conditions are phenomenal. Truly, there is no greater time to enjoy the slopes of Southwest Colorado than in the Spring.
Now, on to the week in review...
Students Write Good
While I normally don't read the New York Times, there was a copy in the executive restroom and well, I needed something to read. Communist rhetoric or not, I couldn't help but shake my head at the fact that, according to a test administered last year, only one in four high school seniors are proficient writers.
Understandably, many are blaming the educational system. However, I believe such blame is misplaced. My generation might be the greatest, but the one mistake we made was not realizing the rhythm method was ineffective. Had we known, our country's youth would not have been raised by some of the most ineffective and immature parents this great country has ever seen. So, on behalf of grandparents everywhere, I'm sorry. Mistakes obviously happen.
The Rich Live Longer
Now, on to the week in review...
Students Write Good
While I normally don't read the New York Times, there was a copy in the executive restroom and well, I needed something to read. Communist rhetoric or not, I couldn't help but shake my head at the fact that, according to a test administered last year, only one in four high school seniors are proficient writers.
Understandably, many are blaming the educational system. However, I believe such blame is misplaced. My generation might be the greatest, but the one mistake we made was not realizing the rhythm method was ineffective. Had we known, our country's youth would not have been raised by some of the most ineffective and immature parents this great country has ever seen. So, on behalf of grandparents everywhere, I'm sorry. Mistakes obviously happen.
The Rich Live Longer
Of course it'd be stating the obvious that we rich lead far better lives than the middle classed and poor. Finally though, studies have confirmed what we've always suspected, we uncommonly rich live longer than the commonly not. 4.5 years to be exact.
I'd have thought the figure would have been higher though. How one can tolerate living surrounded by want and mediocrity is beyond me. But I'll save my thoughts on euthanasia for another day.
Ted Turner Proves Again That Wealth Can Only Do So Much
Personally, I've always thought Ted Turner was a twit. When he married Hanoi Jane, I knew he was. Admittedly, I am neither a fan of his politics or his baseball team. However, the fact that he is a fellow member of the plutocracy does not immunize him against my scorn.
According to Tedly, if we don't take action, in 30 to 40 years the Earth will be eight degrees hotter. Plants won't grown and everyone will either die or have to resort to cannibalism. First I'll say this: Ted, you're an idiot. Your argument has no merit because it is grounded in shoddy science and false assumptions. Second, I'm sure most people would welcome such climate change. Third, I'll be dead by then so it doesn't really matter.
Enjoy your weekend everybody. I'm sure Chili's will be a great time.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Things that I can afford that the middle class cannot: a complete and total disregard for the opinions of others
When you finish reading this post, I'd appreciate it if you would take the time to comment on what you thought of it. Oh wait, you can't. Why not, you ask? Answer: because frankly, I have no use for your opinion. And no, I don't care that such disregard on my part might hurt some feelings or wound a few egos.
After publishing last week's post-Easter Rule, I received a few pathetic comments that were so absurd that any and all vitriol was replaced by humor. Now, I’m well aware that the ability to form logical thoughts and coherent arguments are skills not deemed necessary in hippie communes, California and much of the Northeast, but even had these simpletons somehow managed to present a point that flirted with validity I would not have cared. The rich and powerful do not have to care.
I recall the early days of my career when I was only an associate. My co-workers and I would be working on projects and they would always be mindful of other’s input, frequently uttering such things as, “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes” or “What are your thoughts on this?” It was pathetic, but I would play along so others would think of me as “part of the team.” Though, having never known anything but wealth never had the need for anyone’s opinion but my own.
The middle-class might argue that such egocentric narcissism has no place in today’s society. Of course, the proletariat would believe such nonsense. They cling to the hope that consideration will solve the world’s problems, but fail to comprehend that consideration clogs the wheels of progress and impedes the decision making process.
Sometimes, to humor myself, I solicit members of my staff for their opinions. Their eyes light up and their thoughts spill from their mouths like Mrs. Ross’ cleavage in a Versace cocktail dress. I nod politely and smile, all the while thinking of something more meaningful. When I no longer hear their voices I move on to the next topic, never acknowledging what the person said. From the highest high to the lowest low, their faces drop with the realization that their thoughts have been discounted - a beautiful sight indeed.
Being a man of wealth and power is to be a man without care. Consideration is a debt shouldered exclusively by the middle-class. How they live with such a burden I cannot comprehend. Fortunately, I’m not obligated to care.
After publishing last week's post-Easter Rule, I received a few pathetic comments that were so absurd that any and all vitriol was replaced by humor. Now, I’m well aware that the ability to form logical thoughts and coherent arguments are skills not deemed necessary in hippie communes, California and much of the Northeast, but even had these simpletons somehow managed to present a point that flirted with validity I would not have cared. The rich and powerful do not have to care.
I recall the early days of my career when I was only an associate. My co-workers and I would be working on projects and they would always be mindful of other’s input, frequently uttering such things as, “I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes” or “What are your thoughts on this?” It was pathetic, but I would play along so others would think of me as “part of the team.” Though, having never known anything but wealth never had the need for anyone’s opinion but my own.
The middle-class might argue that such egocentric narcissism has no place in today’s society. Of course, the proletariat would believe such nonsense. They cling to the hope that consideration will solve the world’s problems, but fail to comprehend that consideration clogs the wheels of progress and impedes the decision making process.
Sometimes, to humor myself, I solicit members of my staff for their opinions. Their eyes light up and their thoughts spill from their mouths like Mrs. Ross’ cleavage in a Versace cocktail dress. I nod politely and smile, all the while thinking of something more meaningful. When I no longer hear their voices I move on to the next topic, never acknowledging what the person said. From the highest high to the lowest low, their faces drop with the realization that their thoughts have been discounted - a beautiful sight indeed.
Being a man of wealth and power is to be a man without care. Consideration is a debt shouldered exclusively by the middle-class. How they live with such a burden I cannot comprehend. Fortunately, I’m not obligated to care.
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