Part II

A part II in my life here is in order.

I had previously given the title of "part II" to a previous blog, but I was mistaken.

This is a midway point for me. I've been here for a little while now. I guess NY isn't new to me anymore. I'd love to walk into work and quit tomorrow, but I can't.

WHY CAN'T YOU?

How will I survive? How will I pay my bills? What will I do?

YOU'VE GOT BY JUST FINE SO FAR.

My subconscious is right. Now I'm not crazy and there's no way I'm going to quit my current job . . . at least not without finding a new job. It's not the act of being jobless that bothers me, it's my fear. Why do I begin to crumble when I'm faced with fear.

And why? Fucking WHY! Did I have let myself get like this when I came here with such hope and confidence? I'm not feeling like all is lost. I spoke with a wise man of 24 years of age. I asked him, "When do you call it quits on your dreams and start settling on the life you have?"

"Never."

"What if it doesn't work out for you, ever?"

"I'll be trying even when I'm 80."

"What if I told you that you have terminal cancer?"

"Then that's when I'd start enjoying life."

It's not that life he has isn't being enjoyed right now, it's just that there's no reason to put out the fire that's in you until it starts to fade away. Everyone fears being average. Everyone wants to be special. I don't know if it's human nature but I feel it's a sentiment commonly shared among the most revered, the most spited, and the most hated, even your neighbor, their kids, your family, etc.

Truth is, only a few of us end up being extraordinary. We want to enjoy those small things that used to make us happy as children. When we were children we looked up at the stars, grasping a life we felt was within our reach. I'm not sure if I ever want to let my dreams die, but I shouldn't ever give up.

I wonder if one day when I wake up and look in the mirror, that the man looking back at me isn't one filled with regrets, wondering if his life was fruitless in the pursuit of his dreams, feeling robbed of his youth with his gray, balding hair looking right back at him; Eyes weary from sleepless nights of tossing and turning in the midst of feelings of uncertainty. Fearing nothing but yourself. Fearing nothing more than a life of being average and never living your dreams.

I want to enjoy my life by living my dreams . . . that's something that will always be mine.

IT'S JUST BEGUN.

As I type this . . .

I'm listening to Polyphonic Spree's "Fragile Army" as I type this (it's on repeat). I thought it would be appropriate if I pasted the lyrics on here as well:

Oh! How we miss - they're so far gone.
Will they move when the valley explodes?
We'll make no mistakes - if they move too late,
Will we wish they never called you home?

Hold the line, please be right
You left them on the floor
Hold the line, caught the strike
You left them on the floor
(oh no, oh no!)
We left them on the floor

Design a black note
You type on your keyboard
You swallow the very words you called your own

You tighten your backup - ooh, you're so psychic!
We all wanna know
Did you marry the witch you've come to know?

You're lying back now; you totally found out
We follow the scary words you learned to grow

So slow and stall now; prepare for a countdown!
We all wanna know
If we marry the ones we love the most!

The ticking, the tocking
The losing - how shocking!
The world wants to know
If we're ready to put you on the floor

It's time for you to lose your excitement
It's time for you to lose your excitement
It's time for you to lose your excitement

We left him on the floor
Oh no, oh no
We left him on the floor
Oh no, oh no
We left him on the floor

As I type this at 5 am, I realize that I have a job interview at 12pm in Midtown . . . but I don't feel like going to it. It's not what you think. It's one of those insurance sales positions . . . I think I'm going to pass. I'm better than that.

As I type this, I finished reading Lynyrd Skynard's Wikipedia's entry, sadly, I didn't know the members died in a plane crash the year I was born . . .

As I type this, I'm wondering if the app I sent will do me any good. I better keep a copy of my resume in my pocket at all times.

ok, I'm going to bed.

I feel sorry for anyone who read this expecting something prolific (it might have started like that in my head, but ended up differently).

Where do I go from here?

I've always felt as though I was supposed to come to New York. I'm not sure if I believe in fate or not, but I always felt this is where I'm supposed to be in life. Some may call it fate, others may call it a subconsciously conceived ambition.

I'm at the break room at work one day and this co-worker of mine starts talking about their messed up life. He was spilling out his life, goals, and current hindrances. He kept talking about locations in Brooklyn and asked me a question and I answered:

"I have no idea, I'm from Michigan."

"What are you doing here?"

By the tone of his voice, he seemed more bewildered by my choice to come here rather than an expression of enthusiastic curiosity.

To the world, New York is everything. Whether people want to admit it or not, New York symbolizes so much to so many people that the mere mention of the city to outsiders immediately brings to mind, "THE CITY," The International Capital of the World. The place where everyone is no one and people that are "someone" are nothing amongst everyone else. The American Dream. I carefully recollected my thoughts and the only thing I could was:

"I haven't figured that out yet . . . "

I left it at that. Talked some more (off topic) and went about my day in a blank stare. The same blank stare my face has when I look at my computer monitor at 4 am in the morning. The same look I have when I try to ignore the fact that everyone is in a mild panic over the economy. The same look when we all try to forget that America has been in wartime now for far too long. For better or worse, there's been a change.

I'd like to believe 9/11 made people here lose hope and optimism for THEIR city, but I don't know if that's the case. It's a life of uncertainty that continues to follow me and everyone else around me. We have our thoughts, our memories, our past, and it makes us. Is my life so dismal that getting a job straight job working 9-to-5 is all I can aspire for?

I think of the happiest moments in my life and wonder, "Can I go back?" I'm not sure if I would if I could. I'm thankful for what my life is but I don't understand the mechanism that drives me.

I can't go back, that's one thing that I do know for certain.

Random Pics and One Sentence Stories . . .

I haven't updated in a while. I'm working on a NYC vs. Michigan entry, but it's not done yet. Rather than let another week go by without a new entry, I decided that a post with pictures and words might be nice.



Bright lights and tourists in the big city!



I had to take a picture of this weird shaped building.



Rocking it out in the subway station while my drunk roommate (who took the picture) nearly passes out (he has a small frame).



Sneha and I riding the train back home from Battery Park.



A modern day palace in Times Square.



Justin's favorite band on vinyl at the Virgin Mega Store.



I went to Coyote Ugly with Sarah and her boyfriend Rob.



A man at a kebab stand trying to get me to buy some food when I was half drunk (hence the crappy quality) leaving the bar.

That's it for now, I'll try to get back to writing. I'm working on finding a real job and such at the moment.

Stories from the F train. Pt II The F train appears . . .

A light at the end of the tunnel . . .

. . . the rustling sound of the train approaching the station . . .

The F train pushed it's way into the train station releasing a bevy of uncertainty from my shoulders. There was a slight hop in my step. I'd never felt so relieved to step onto a train. I sat down and turned on my iPod. I took a look around and a bit of reality crept in (life's way of letting you know the oasis is an illusion).

On the trains in NYC, everyone is sad and quiet. Much of life in an overpopulated city like NYC can be devoid of emotion. I turned my iPod down to listen for something . . anything. To be quite honest, I'm not sure what I was listening for.

When I got to my connecting stop, I figured a simple transfer to the R and I'll be on my way. The train stops, I hear an announcement (spoken in NYC train gibberish), my heart sank. I knew something was wrong. I walked (NYC speed walking, a combination of walking and running) towards the R track entrance, on my way I see that it's closed off. I walk over to the booth to the talk to the attendant, but an Asian woman in her mid-20s had beaten me to it.

"What happen to R train, please?"

"Da train no come here [he's Jamaican], you have to go round up dere, den turn, den go back down to dee oder train."

(My jaw dropped.)

I start to walk away slowly, confused (a common sight if you see me in the subway). The Asian woman seemed innocent and nice, almost out of place in this somewhat shady Brooklyn stop. There's an unspoken rule in NYC of avoiding strangers (which is everyone!) on the subway. I decided to test if there's an exception to this rule.

"Excuse me miss, what did he say?"

"I don't know."

"How do we get back to the R?"

"I think he mean take the train back to Atlantic-Pacific."

"Where is that at?" She points in the direction of a set of stairs then hangs back so I can walk ahead of her. I suppose anyone would look creepy at 3 am.

I make it to the platform and it's over loaded with stranded, quiet, sad-looking weary people. I took a seat and blasted my iPod again. The people beside weren't the usual tired late-night workers I'm accustomed to on the weekdays, they looked like drained bar hoppers. Strangely (to me at least), the only sign of humanity were two gay men embracing each other.

I looked away and spotted the Asian woman looking at a map. Working a new job, struggling to pay bills, and trying to adjust to life in a new city has taken a bit out of me when it comes to dating. Perhaps I use these as excuses to not take a chance. I've used them before to fall into my comfort zones, but I end up more miserable than ever (hence the life of a writer!).

I had no idea which train was going to show due to construction, the track's signs misrepresented what stop it actually was.

I felt lost. Lost in my thoughts, lost in the train station. Catching the Asian woman in my peripheral view was starting to mess with me a bit. I still had no idea how to get home. I was hoping the forthcoming train would take me to Atlantic-Pacific straight up so I can forget about this night.

When your stranded, minutes rolling by seemed like hours. I looked at my cell phone and saw that it was now a bit after 3 am. There were a few people looking down the tunnel waiting to catch a glimpse of the coming train, a common sight in most subways around the world. The R train passed by on the opposite side of the tracks without stopping, merely taunting the tired, impatient people standing by.

I tried to relax, but I was restless due to being in an unfamiliar situation in an unfamiliar setting. The uneasiness of this stop was developing into anxiety. Thoughts of my decisions and their outcomes were racing through my mind. I don't want to admit it, but I missed my family and friends back in Michigan.

In that one moment, I felt more alone than words would possibly be able to express. Somewhere in my heart I knew this path was inevitable. I had a case of self-inflicted arrested development. My destiny has always been in my hands. I used to think it was Michigan holding me back, but it was always ME holding ME back.

The small vibrations turned into a thunderous roar indicating that the train was pulling in. I gathered my mind and myself and saw that the M train was pulling in. Everyone boarded the train in a seemingly orderly fashion. I decided not to stray away too far from the Asian woman who was my only guide back home.

It felt like I was thrown from one station to another. Trailing behind one stranger to the next with the Asian woman being the only indicator that I was heading in the right direction. At one point, I felt like I might be unintentionally stalking her, so I approached her and explained that I'm from out-of-town. Come to think of it, that was probably the worst idea I had that night, besides listening to drunk people. Explaining my aloofness was a worthless cause which probably further alienated me from her.

My trip back to home was filled with one last surprise, I ended up in a coach by myself. I decided to take this happening with stride and I walked around and twirled around the pole once or twice. I felt some relief come over me.

I arrived in Bay Ridge eventually, stopped by the B Stop Deli and ordered a Turkey Club (no cheese this time), walked into my apartment and crashed . . . it was 4:15. I couldn't help but think it was a "smart" phone that took me on this wild trip. A "smart" phone is only as smart as it's user and it's definitely not drunk proof.

Stories from the F train. [Part 1]

"Ok, so what does it do again?"

"It's awesome, it tracked my entire jog around the city.  The route.  Where I ran.  Where I stopped.  Where I walked.  The altitude "

"Really?" I said with a bit of disinterest.  "What use does knowing the altitude serve?"

"Yeah, my phone can track anything," he said enthusiastically failing to acknowledge my quesiton.  "Do you like Thai?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I can find any Thai restaurant in a 10 mile radius."

"Can it tuck you in bed at night and read a bedtime story to you?" I said sarcastically.

"Ummm . . ."

"Well?"

"YES!"

This little exchange may have seemed meaningless at the time.  Buddy (his blog given name)  was revealing his geeky techie side which he tries to hide from most people.  I'll admit it though, the phone's capabilities seemed limitless, but that's not my point.  The most seemingly menial conversations show their worth later on.  

Later, we went out and had a few drinks with some of his friends at bar in the Lower East Side (saying we had a "few" is a gross an understatement.)  Time passed, drinks flowed, and I decided to cut back earlier than most of the people I was with.  It was now a quarter to 2 am and nearly everyone I was with couldn't stand straight (one man went missing).  

"Buddy, do you think you can help me get back to the R train?"

"Ha ha ha ha, what?"

"I need to get to the R train.  I have to be up for work tomorrow."

"What?" he was all smiles, I started to get the feeling this was going to be tougher than it seemed.

"The R train, you know, so I can get back to Brooklyn.  Buddy?" 

"Hey man," he begins to fight with his balance, "ask this guy right here, he knows more than I do."  He points over at a co-worker of his who's in worse shape than him.

"He's more drunk than you!"

"Oh yeah!" laughter erupts.  Trying to talk to drunk people was beginning to be a chore.  I can see why some people appear to be more humorous or charming than they actually are when your audience is inebriated. 

"Listen, can you use your phone to find the subway for me?"

"What?"

"Your phone, you know, the one that can do EVERYTHING."

"OK, OK, let me see."  He messes with the phone and says, "The F train is nearby."

"No, I need R, W, Q, or N." (It's crazy, but this would've been gibberish to me a couple of months ago.)

"OK . . . um . . . well . . . " he continues to mess with the phone.  I've never seen him so lost.

"I got it!  Head down here until you come to Chrystie, make a left, and you'll be at the N train."

"Are you sure?  Can you double check for me?"

"Yeah, wait, go this way," he points in the opposite direction, "You'll go past a park, then make a left at Chrystie."

"HEY!  You can't keep changing your mind!"

"No, I'm sure."  At this point I grabbed his roommate and had him double check, it seemed right to him, but remember, I'm dealing with drunk people here.

"Ok, then I'm off.  I'll talk to you tomorrow."  

"Be safe."  He hugs me (a man who rarely hugs) and tells me how much of a good friend I am ("I love you Ray, you're the best, dude. Seriously, etc. etc. etc.).  I never quite pinned him as being a drunk lush, but I guess endless beers will do that to someone (we were celebrating his birthday, he was never without a beer the whole night).

I started walking on the path he directed me to.  I cross by Delancey, then Broome St., everything thus far has seemed very typical:  busy streets littered with drunk bar patrons, 24 hour delis, and countless ethnic slop houses lay before my eyes.  Typical.  I can't stress that enough.  

Eventually I came to Grand St.  Suddenly I was the only person walking down the road.  Computer shops and coffee shops had Mandarin writing underneath or above the English written on the signs.  I was in Chinatown.  Everything was quiet.  No drunk people, no slop houses, no lights . . . 

I make it to another street and it's Hester.  I figured in a little while I'll reach civilization and things will be back in order.  Once again, another block of silence, solitude.  

Strange.  

Finally I hear some chattering.  It looks like drunk people smoking cigarettes outside a bar (a typical scene since NY has a smoking ban in bars and restaurants).

I reach the corner, look up at the street sign, it's Canal St.  It's not the street name that told me I was in trouble, it was the fact that I was at a dead end.  Ludlow ends here.  I pull out my cell phone and call Buddy (stupid me!)

"Hey!"

"Dude, I'm having a great fucking time, fuck I'm so wasted . . . "

"I'm at Canal Street."

"What the fuck are you doing there?  You must've missed Chrystie."

"This is where I ended up after taking the directions you told me.  There wasn't a Chrystie in sight.  The road ends here.  Can you help me out?"

"Dude, just take a cab or something, I'll pay for it."  I thought about this for a second.  I could pay for it so money wasn't a problem, but looking around the area, it was obvious this section of town was asleep.  Asking a cab driver to take you to Brooklyn at bar closing hours was going to create some hurdles I think would be tough to cross, if I was lucky to find one.

"I'll figure it out, don't worry."

"Wait . . . " I hung it up before he could continue.  I saw a man sitting in front of the bar.  He was too small to be a bouncer and dressed conservatively.  

"Can you tell me where the subway is?"  He points to his left and says it's right down street.  I might be OK, after all.

I sign above the subway entry stairs had a giant F (which I took for "FUCKED")

I took a look at the subway map to see if I can get back to the right set of tracks before I swipe my card and spend my balance.  It seems that it does cross over to the R at the 4th Ave-9th St stop.  No biggie, I suppose.  

Click!

My MetroCard registers and I go in.  A couple of women are walking out.  The weary look of their faces told me they'd seen death in eyes.  I went down the stairs to wait for the next train.  There wasn't a sound.  It was really odd.  There wasn't a single sound being omitted from anywhere.  I was in the subway alone.

Was I really in New York CIty, the city that never sleeps?

I couldn't believe it.  Here I am, in the city that never sleeps and I was alone at the subway station.  I had such a hard time believing it that I took a picture with my camera phone to make sure I wasn't going crazy.  It was 2:25 am and I had been waiting for 10 minutes.   Ten minutes alone in a subway seemed like an eternity, especially considering the city I was in.

I paced around the waiting area and saw a sign for a 24 hour booth.  A black woman with a very stoic, emotionless face responded to my questions with the same emotions her face showed.  I was reassured they were all still running and somehow I felt as though I pestered this lonely woman, in a desolate subway station, from finishing her work . . .

I spent another ten minutes pacing, waiting for the train to Brooklyn, hoping for some kind of human interaction.  Eventually I heard some voices.  Sounded like drunk girls.  They came in from the other side of the station.  I slowly crept up to get a glimpse and perhaps eavesdrop.  It was three women overdressed in black, with candy apple red lipstick, and laughing about random things.  I decided to keep my distance.  I didn't want them to think I was stalking them (well . . . )

A couple minutes roll by and I heard the train coming in.  I didn't see an F in front of it.  Wait.  Is it?  No way.  A garbage train?  It had one passenger cab in the front and the rest were loads of garbage.  The one man in the passenger cab opens the door and looks around.  I'm thinking, Do I get on train with garbage freight? 

I decided to ask him, "Is the train to Brooklyn coming through here?"  At this point, the girls all turned their head in sync.  They just realized I was lurking in the station near them at that point.  

"It outta be through here at any time."  He seemed distant and continued doing what was he was doing and eventually the train took off.

I walked away and a train to Queens sped by on the other side.  The girls boarded it and disappeared as fast as they came.

I was alone, waiting for train I wasn't sure was going to come.

To Be Continued . . .  

Small Update

I don't live in a cave anymore!  Here are some updated pics of my room.

What More Could a Man Want Who Seeks a Complicated Life filled with Small Pleasures?

"I blew everyone's mind!" I said with excitement.

"Really?" my friend replied.

"Yeah, they couldn't believe the words I was spitting it out.  It was like I had everyone under my spell there."

"Listen," he paused for emphasis.  I knew what was going to proceed was going to be prolific coming from him, in the sense that someone who is usually reserved to making wise cracks, tries to push someone to understand the insignificance of their perceived accomplishment.

"Yes?"

"No offense, but you blew away a bunch of people in a sales position."  DAMN.  "It's not that you're not smart, it's that you have so much potential and being complacent is something you don't want.  Look at it as a short term fix."

He meant well.  I took no offense to any of it.  Why should I?  I know he's right, I knew this before he opened his mouth, but I might begin losing sight of why I was here..  The night ended and I can see he was somewhat distant.  He spent the greater part of the evening describing what he had to go through to get "where" he was.

Where was he?  

Living a lifestyle he wants.  Being paid his worth.  Being appreciated.  I believe he felt my excitement over my current "revolving door" job underscored the point he was trying to make to me.

"You need someone to give you a chance."

The night went on, we pounded a few beers (I think I might have had 6) and I said my good byes and began my walk to the subway to journey back to Brooklyn.  

What makes someone change?

It was all I could think of while I walked.  I looked at the magnificent buildings around me, wondering to myself what would it take to get here?  Do I need to change?  Does someone have to give me chance?  Can I will this into happening to me?  Is there a means to the end?

I wasn't depressed.  I don't get depressed anymore.  I spent too many years of my life feeling sorry for myself.  Even my friend's empathy was clawing inside me and turning into guilt.  Guilt because I don't want empathy.  Nobody should feel sorry for me.  I need to get to where I want to be on my own.  I still appreciate the encouragements and the votes of confidence.  If no one believed in me, then I don't know where I'd be.

I know what needs to be done, but I don't know the "how."  

I kept walking.  I sat on the train and meditated on the night which transpired.  I might have even sulked about it as well.  I made it this far.  I refuse to give up.  No more living in theory, now it's time to apply.

Taking a Stroll in the Rough Streets of Bay Ridge or the Streets Are All About Survival

I wake up.

My phone was ringing, I didn't bother picking it up. What time is it?

9:49 PM

Lame. I would've been better off staying asleep. God, it's nearly ten. I must've passed out after work. All I know is the day before I went to Manhattan, had a few drinks (okay, more than a few), almost got into a fight at the bar, wiped my roommates puke from a cab window, and got into a small argument a vocally challenged subway employee because I bothered to ask her what she said on the microphone. You see, in NYC, all of the employees who make announcements suffer from a physical condition called your-mouth-is-too-close-to-the-mic impairment.

It would probably have made for an entry on it's own, but instead it sets me up for the events that follow. I came home from that mess, slept for 3 hours, drank a red bull, walked into work dragging my feet (4th day on the job, mind you). Thankfully it was slow and I didn't have to wait on people much. I was still a little hungover and hungry. I got a slice of pizza from one of NYC's generic pizzerias on my way home, inhaled the slice, sat on the couch, blinked once, blinked twice, and now it's 10 o'clock.

I pretty much did nothing but watch TV for the next couple of hours. After wasting some time, I finally found the motivation to go shower. I finished and realized I was really hungry. I only ate one meal all day. I looked in the fridge for something, anything, to eat or drink.

The following items were in my fridge:

-beer

-mayonnaise

-mustard

-ketchup

-lemons

(If someone knows of a way to combine these into an awesome meal, let me know or leave a comment.)

I knew it was time to get out and scope the city for something to eat. It was time to walk the rough streets of Brooklyn. The streets don't intimidate me. I've been to the rough streets of Detroit and Flint plenty of times, behind the wheel of my car (doors locked, windows up). I can handle this. People don't know! People don't fucking know! I have an alter-ego named Rolo (I'm cashing in on the "candy bar" name fad) and I have a rich history of dealing with the streets through my viewing of rap videos and mafia movies.

I began my journey by walking up to 5th and 86th Street. I gotta get my paper (money) before I can get my grub on. After doing some hustling and throwing away my ATM receipt, I walked up to the Pizza Wagon. There was this tall Italian kid (about 20, maybe) spitting on the sidewalk giving me dirty looks. I held my ground and kept walking to the order window, about 20 feet to, he turned around to get his order. He must've had second thoughts (smart guy).

-I had to take this photo during the day, I would probably get whacked for taking pictures of the usual Italian patrons at night.

I was beginning to have second thoughts about walking in because I ate pizza earlier. I almost walked in there, but as I walked by I noticed the place was loaded with Italians. Usually I wouldn't give a fuck, but I had a feeling if I walked in it'd be like one of those scenes in the movies where the music stops and everyone turns their attention to you.

"Whatever, I already had a slice earlier today."

I continued onward, back toward 4th, where I noticed the B-Stop Deli still open. The "B" had to stand for "Break" as in breakdancer (B-Boy). I knew this might be a shadier place to walk in. I've seen Breakin' and Breakin' 2: Electric Bugaloo. This was going to be my biggest test since coming to Brooklyn. I had several outcomes projecting in my mind of my mother finding out about fate by a headline that read, "Man Beaten to Death by Well-Choreographed Street Thugs."

-Again, had I taken this picture at night, I wouldn't have came back alive.

I got on my cellphone walking up to the establishment to make it seem as though I was calling up my crew. I had to let these suckers know I meant business. Unfortunately no one picked up. After leaving a voicemail on my mom's cellphone ("Hi Mom! I'm just calling to see if you guys are up. I guess you're not. I bought a silk comforter today. I love you and tell Dad I love him, too!"), I decided I was going to walk in. The man in front of me ordered a sandwich really quick, "Pastrami, lettuce, tomato, on rye, swiss cheese, with mayo and mustard."

They must know him. Because he ordered it really swift and when he was done making the sandwich for the man, he tossed it to the cashier.

Now it was my turn.

"Can I jelp you?"

Lights, Camera, Action. My heart stopped. I knew I had to do this.

"Sir?" he asked again.

"Yes, I'd like a Turkey Club."

"What kind of bread you like?"

"Rye." He began making it. I knew it was almost over. It was too early to call this outing a success, but I knew the worst might be behind me . . . wait! I forgot to tell him what kind of cheese I wanted.

"Sir, can I have provolone with that?"

"There is no sheese on de club!"

"Can I add it?"

"No sheese. He does not come with sheese."

Damn. These streets ARE tough. I had a feeling, but I had to experience it first hand to know what Puff Daddy, MC Hammer, and Ice Tea were talking about. There was no way to change the rules of the game. The sandwich was going to made as specified by the menu and this Hispanic gangster sandwich maker controlled my fate.

I pulled my Ace. I gotta use street smarts.

"I'll pay extra for cheese."

"No sheese on the club. Does not include."

I started my way to the cooler to grab a Diet Coke. I felt defeated. Then he turns his head to me and says:

"You want sheese? You pay extra?"

"Yes, that's fine. Provolone please."

Finally, RESPECT. I got my street props. I grabbed some chips and walked over to the counter, but before I can pay for my the order, the sandwich maker signals something to the cashier.

I decided to play it safe. The last thing I need was to get hit by a drive-by on way back home. I announced to the cashier after he rang up my stuff:

"I added cheese to my sandwich."

"Is okay, he say no charge."

BOO-YA, I run the streets. I thanked them and walked back to my apartment. No broken bones or bullet wounds to mend. I survived another day. That's what life on the streets is about, survival.

Grind Times in Brooklyn

Somehow I ended up in Brooklyn. I spent the weeks prior to coming to NYC wondering where I'd live and somehow this is where I ended up. I live in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn.  It's a nice neighborhood.  If I had to take a guess, I'd say it's a mix of Arab, Italian, and with some Asian and Hispanic people.  Overall it seems predominately Italian.  I see plenty of the caricature "tough guys" we get exposed to on a daily basis on TV and they have names like Sal, Vinny, etc.

This is old world New York.  Not your Sex and the City chic NYC with fashionably hip people eating brunch with their circle of friends.  No, this is real deal Old World New York.  A part of the city that hasn't aged. There are plenty of archaisms here. It reminds me of my days in 7 mile Detroit with the old style heaters (valve included, as is the hissing that won't let me sleep), solid old school bath tubs, exposed wiring, hardwood floors, and solid walls caked with 10 layers of paint. 

It blows my mind it's still like this here, even in Manhattan.  You won't find a fan in the bathroom, central air, in wall phone jacks, LAN, etc. It has a strange old world charm to a place many think (and may even consider) the height of modern civilization.  This is as European as the US will ever get and I love every minute of it.

The shops are plenty old school as well. I had to look hard for a REAL supermarket, otherwise, everything is sold in specialty shops such as, meat shops (minus fish, that's for another store), bakeries, fruit stands, discount shops for your cleaning supplies, and so on and so on. 

One of my friends from Manhattan likes to call this place "guido central". I'm not sure if that's being unfair or if it's a stereotypical.  I looked it up on wikitionary.com and this is what they had to say:

Guido

1.   A male given name of Italian origin. English equivalent: Guy

2.  (slang, pejorative) a young, lower class or working class Italian-American or Italian-Canadian male from an urban environment. Carries the connotation of a person who is humorously uncultured and has a thuggish and overtly macho attitude and an unyielding pride in his Italian ancestry. Common in Northeast areas such as Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens, Staten Island, South Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Boston.

ummmm . . . yeah, we have some of those here for sure . . . 

I went out drinking on Saturday with my pint sized Ecuadorian roommate and everywhere we went there were the tough guys with the open shirts, the thick Brooklyn accent (hey, your bustin' my bawls), nearly the same haircut and clothing style for everyone out here, it's like they're handing out uniforms.  I feel like I'm in a foreign country.  I couldn't really get comfortable out here on my first night.  Oh, and I saw a fist fight, probably my second one since I came out here.  Not worried though, seems to be only between drunk Italians near the bars.  Crime rate here is low otherwise.

My sudden introverted tendencies kind of drove my roommate nuts as he wanted to get out, get fucked up, and get a taste of the local culture (he used to live in a shitty section of Brooklyn prior to moving out to Bay Ridge).  Oh well, I suppose next time I'll try harder to "blend" (I wish I could pull up that Marisa Tomei quote from My Cousin Vinny).  

I went for a walk today.  Probably walked about 20 blocks.  I took a deep breath, got a coffee, and realized, "I'm here.  I'm not in Michigan.  WOW."  Finally for some reason, it set in today.  I'm happy with this setup so far.  I probably have the biggest bedroom I've ever had in an apartment, I have a nice sized living room, a kitchen space (enough to fit a small table there).  I don't have to have a car to get around, I have all the necessities within walking distance.  I can take a train to Manhattan to hang out with some friends (new and old) if I need a change of scenery.  Best part, there's work here . . . OK, not the best work , but I can make a living here until I find the "dream job" I've always wanted.

More Pictures:

-My Kitchen (note to self: I should invest in a smoke alarm and an extinguisher)

Brooklyn pictures are sorely lacking.  I need to kick it up and take a few more.  I guess I didn't want to look like a tourist my first few weeks here.  I might edit this post and throw some in later on.

-First paycheck:  box spring and frame

Sorry for the mess, I have a bit of a bout of insomnia so I decided to write this post.  I managed to get a nice comforter and sheet set due to being close to some major discount retailer here in Brooklyn.  Otherwise, I definitely need more furnishings in my room.  Also, I haven't had internet for while and I'm "leeching" this from the neighbors, perhaps I'll post more once I get it sorted out (soon, I hope).

"If it ain't rough it ain't right."

- Richard Hamilton, Detroit Pistons guard

Last Call for Ol' Buick City

I walk through a withered beaten road. I walk because there’s no need to run and I haven’t had to run before. I walk, because no matter how far I go, the city of Flint is always with me. There are some things you can’t bury or put away. I take that with me wherever I go. I wear like a medal for my time served in urban warfare. From drug dealers to prostitutes, to boarded up crack houses, to laid off blue GM workers who can’t make their mortgage anymore.

Flint is the case study of the downfall of capitalism in the US. Perhaps the American Dream isn’t here. I’m sure when the Buick T-model was built, the people behind it had hope. They hoped that a dream would become a reality. People of the city would see prosperous times. We did. When I was younger downtown was vibrant. There were shopping centers all around. In the winter people would ice skate in an arena downtown. It was a nice and safe place to raise children.



Fast forward to 2008, most of those areas are now part of the ghetto, no one has ice skated in downtown flint for more than 20 years now, the roads are filled with pot holes, we’re one of the most violent cities in America, and our mayor is a joke beyond comprehension. It’s sad that I have to leave. Sad because I feel like a captain who’s abandoning his ship. Flint was never the Titanic by any stretch of the imagination but it’s still home.

There’s a something in me that wants the “underdog” to succeed. I’ve been here for most of my life (thank god I live outside the BAD areas), but I guess leaving home and starting anew is something my father had to do as well, but for different reasons. Flint and Michigan, I bid you farewell. Thanks for the harsh lessons of life. Now the next chapter of my life starts in NYC.

If time is my vessel, then learning to love might be my way back to sea . . .

Random thoughts . . . 

I have a lot on my mind.  I figured this wouldn't be your typical blogpost by me.  

Something I haven't really been doing lately is finding balance.  Seems I've been focusing too much on the social aspects of my life and less on other things that I need equally.

Let's summarize, shall we?  

I got into an accident two weeks ago and I still don't have a car.

• It keeps snowing.
  
• I have a Dodge Caliber as a rental . . . :(
  
• I miss my car.  Although it seemed to attract women in minivans (soccer moms), it was a hell of lot more spacious and I have somewhat of an attachment to it.  Granted, if I was given an Acura, I'd soon forget about it.
  

I will be out of a job in 3 weeks.

• My uncle is coming back to work and they want to cut my ENORMOUS paycheck out of the mix (please don't tell me that I have to point at the sarcasm in that sentence.)
  
• I have to look for a job in a city where job growth is nonexistent.  I'm just looking for a job after all, it could be Starbucks, Applebees, the local watering hole down the street, etc.
  

I need to work on making the best resume ever.

• Am I leaving Michigan again?
  
• NYC sounds like a good plan again.
  
• Kitty is a sweetheart, I hope she's my neighbor if I move to NYC.
  
• Maybe I should look into that South Korean job, but do I really want to spend a year in a foreign country only to come back to a country that I still have no footing in?
  

I need to put working out on hold for now.

• Funny how lack of job security can make you think twice about things.
  
• Who said I need a body to make me more attractive?  NO ONE.  I just want to be at peak physical condition, that and I can feel my hunger of old returning.  I was hoping my "diet" was more of a lifestyle change, and in a lot of ways it has changed the way I eat, but I'm scared if I bump my caloric intake, my weight will go back to the 180 range.

Conclusion:

I have to react different to this situation than I have in the past.  I'm not going to crumble and let the weight of the world come crashing down.  I have to remind myself I've come a long way and "burying" the old me was a good thing.  I haven't really changed.  I told someone the other day that this "new" (I hate using that term) me is more of an extension of my personality made mostly of what I repressed all those times.

There's nothing wrong with ego.  There's nothing wrong with being confident.  I'm damn smart and capable of so much more.  When I started to believe in that, things changed for me and life continues to give what I put into it.  I'm looking at this in a positive way.  I have another chance to "take over" the world.  Shifting my perspective was only one step, my next step is to apply what I've learned.

Somewhere inside, the old me is clawing to come back.  The person who took the easy way out.  Nothing in life is easy.  I try to deny to myself that I have a hole to fill, but it's more about making your life complete.  

I strive to find balance in life.  Come full circle.   I hope I didn't babble.  I'm not even going to proof read this.

Enjoy!

Never finding perfect

I had this epiphany the other day.  When you date someone, you're engaging in a test to see if she validates you and you validate her.  Whether we want to admit it or not, what we look for in a person is someone who is a reflection of ourselves.  On some level, there have to be similarities.  Sometimes unconsciously we draw what we know of someone and project their image back to them.  

All this came to me as I feel I'm more comfortable dating now that I've ever been in my life.  I remember nervously thinking I was going to mess things up or feeling I wasn't good enough for a person when I previously dated someone I was interested in.  When I projected that back at a woman, I would say 99.9% of the time a connection wouldn't happen.

I also came up with a theory about never finding perfect.  I believe we're always looking for someone that embodies all those traits which we deem are for the perfect mate.  Whether it's qualities we have or qualities we strive to have, we endless drift from one person to the next hoping that those things click for us.  I'm not about finding perfect, I'm about making a connection with someone and finding passion and emotional release in someone that can be as intense as I can.  To do this, you have to realize that people can connect on more than just words or ideas, sometimes emotion and body language can play a big part.