Richard Kriheli

It never ceases to amaze me that private universities in this country have the balls to ask for contributions on top of their already abhorrent, inflated tuition costs. Specifically targeting people who took loans out to eek out their educations - well, that’s just filthy. I understand that alumni contributions shape the future of some schools, but please call those jerks whose tuitions were paid-in-full by their parents while they pissed away their future doing keg stands. Don’t call me. Here is a delightful exchange I had yesterday with my Alma Mater’s semi-annual attempt to pull some more green from yours truly:

Cuse Student: We have all these exciting new developments at Syracuse University. (Student launches into speech about new facilities/buildings and organizations on campus).

Rich: Thats so cool, I have had some exciting new developments too! I am halfway done on my mortgage payments! 15 years to go. Go me!

Cuse Student: Anyway, Mr. Kriheli, would you like to donate some money to (incoherent babble about some new development)?

Rich: Donations are a fantastic idea.

Cuse Student: That sounds great.

Rich: Actually, I was wondering if you guys would like to donate some money to me. I have a ton of upcoming expenses, and I have been eyeing a sweet new receiver for my home theater system that is close to a decade old now. Your contribution would be greatly appreciated. Despite your university almost driving me and my family to financial ruin, I still wear my “real men wear orange” tee shirt proudly. Go Orange!

Cuse Student: (nervous) A-actually, Mr. Kriheli. We were asking you for a donation. A minimal donation is also great.

Rich: I agree, I will take what I can get. Should I send you my paypal address? I can’t wait to watch “The Express” in hi-def glory!

Cuse Student: Um, Mr. Kriheli, we need your donation. We don’t give donations.

Rich: You need me? That’s laughable. Let me ask you a question.

Cuse Student: Yes?

Rich: Are you at your part-time job right now on campus?

Cuse Student: Yes I am.

Rich: Can you give me your information, name, phone, email? I’d like to look you up 10-15 years from now and ask you for some spare loot. I’m sure you’d relate.

Cuse Student: (after a pause) Sorry for taking your time, Mr. Kriheli. (hangs up)

No shame. Yeah, I felt bad for the kid because he, too, will see my point of view in his future. Academia in this country is flawed. All dollars, no sense.

I’ll trade you an Aston Martin for your 10×10 “master bedroom” off Central Park West. Yep, that’s what it will take. One million dollars gets you approximately 750 square feet in Manhattan these days. That’s $1500 a square foot. Insane. The abstract science of number, quantity and space is grossly distorted if you consider purchasing real estate in New York City. Unless of course, my math is wrong.

Up until college, I was good at math. I mean, really good. Let’s put it this way: I don’t remember getting anything wrong on any math exam dating between junior high and the time I reached college. Even in my SAT’s (680 out of 800 in the Math portion), I just didnt answer everything in time. I took all those honors math courses with the graphing calculator-carrying contingency. Complex algorithms were my bitch. Though I didn’t geek over any lame trig analogies and jokes, or join any math-teams/clubs/whatever, I wasn’t exactly divided either - Har har.

Division first came in the form of a roadblock in my Freshman year in Syracuse. I took a Business Calc class I thought would be a breeze. After botching my first quiz (88/100) and learning that there was no way to make up points, I quickly realized my pursuit of an A in the subject was futile without perfection. Perfection eluded me altogether as I stumbled over and over again. I finished up the semester with a 79 average - which thanks to a very skewed curve, earned me a big, fat D!

My analytical skills either took a major nosedive, or reverting to my love of the arts compromised my attention altogether. I like to think the latter happened, but every time I peruse real estate ads and do the math, I am left wondering if I did indeed forget how to calculate altogether. It is astonishing to visualize the distortion.

Simply put, the laws of arithmetic and logic go out the door when you attempt to rationalize your shoebox existence. So, I say fuck math. I look forward to the highly prophesized (and much anticipated) dip in the real estate market - just so I can get my calculations all right again. And maybe my focus will be somewhat integral, for a change.

Standing in a grocery checkout line in Chinatown, I was not expecting to witness any acquisitions of fortune outside of those bad one-liners in bland “cookies.” But when I saw the register flash “$943.54″ with an ecstatic, grinning customer handing over his credit card to the clerk, my interest was piqued. I was carefully studying the customer’s purchase, bewildered as to what is inside the little bag sitting on the scale. I suddenly got nervous that the bag of Chrysanthemum tea I was holding was going to eat my savings.

As he was gleefully signing his name on the receipt, I learned of this coveted treasure found oddly in a little store on Canal Street. The label read “White Gold”. It’s not the gold you see peddled on Ebay or in the Diamond District in Midtown that you hope will suffice as an adequate engagement gift. The gold I am writing about is what is otherwise known as edible Bird’s Nest. Yes, Bird’s Nest - I kid you not.

Apparantly the U.S. and Hong Kong are the biggest importers of these nests. According to many Asian cultures, Bird’s Nests provide benefits such as increased sex-drive, help with asthma, concentration, digestion, voice-clarity and above all - re-invigorating a failed immune system. None of this, of course, is proven medical fact - though, it doesn’t seem to stop demand. And the prices soar around $2000 USD a pound. The White Gold variation is the clearest and most rarest kind, although the prices of the reddish, blood stained ones seemed just as steep.

Naturally, I am thinking : This is genius! Where can I get my hands on this kind of stuff so I can profit as well? But wait! Before you go climbing any trees to pad that wallet of yours and open up your new Golden Empire, be warned: these things are very, very rare. And mostly can be found in the caves of Indonesia and the islands off southern Thailand.

That said, we may be better off conjuring up some kind of belief system around something just as idiosyncratic but original - like jarring French Bulldog Saliva. We can call it something crazy like Spit Pearls. Who’s with me?