UPS

I walked to the dry cleaner's today to drop off some shirts to be laundered and pressed. Along the way I saw a UPS truck on the corner of the street... Two black men in UPS uniforms were delivering packages to one of the stores... Brings a whole new meaning to "What can Brown do for you?"

EncycloPetera.

Some day all of my blog stories will be published. When I am famous and everybody knows of my awesomeness, I will write a book encompassing my life story. These blog posts are the highlights. The things I deemed important enough to be shared with the rest of the world. My book will be a collection of my view on everything. It will be called EncycloPetera. So buckle your seat belts, ladies and gentlemen. You're experiencing an important part of history!

Red Light!

There is currently a red light shining from my Macbook's headphone jack. Oh, my silly computer, you are not Roxeanne, and therefore do NOT have to put on the red light! .... It thinks that my headphones are plugged in when they are not. Apparently this happens rather often with Macs... after you unplug headphones sometimes it keeps the headphone connection on, but at the same time it realizes that there aren't any plugged in... The red light is the Mac saying "HELP! I'm CONFUSED!" Poor guy...

The quick fixes online say you need to insert a toothpick or a needle to the end and break the supposed connection... yes, it's not a joke. That's all the fix is... and surprisingly it's not even a physical fix. It's just like a quick reset. The best part is, right now if the headphones aren't in and you press the volume button it just gives you a crossed out symbol. Like, no! You can't! Now if only I had a hairclip or something to fix this with....

New Yorkers....

I saw a girl on the way to school yesterday (and by that I mean I saw a girl while I was on the way to school, not I saw a girl who was on the way to school) and I was appalled. I could not understand how she fit into her jeans. This was a stereotypical American, McDonald's-munching fat chick - so fat that using the word "obese" to describe her would be a kindness - and she was wearing skin-tight jeans... at least they would have been skin-tight if they weren't engulfed inside her thigh fat. Her hamstrings were so tightly in the jeans that they wouldn't even jiggle! It was disgusting! It was also disgraceful because one of the only perks of being fat is that you DO jiggle. It's like orange jello.... it may be nasty and taste like Triaminic, but at least it jiggles, so it can't be that bad!

I just felt I had to share that... It's a typical New York experience. More to come later when I'm less tired.... and it'll hopefully be about a more interesting topic.

Inside of Me.

I just quickly jotted down a poem in about 3 minutes, the lines of which were running through my head throughout the day. I think I managed to get all my thoughts out... I don't know, it's not really anything important or serious, just the combination of feelings I've had about life throughout my life. I am not depressed. I write depression poetically and expressively because it is often the best creative stimulant. Just ask Edgar Allen Poe or Emily Dickinson (great name she has, by the way...). This was also partly done on incentive from poetry class because my professor wants me to be able to get out of rhyming mode... which I can easily do, but I have to prove to her. For those who are stupid, this poem is from the point of view of someone who has ADD (which I've often self-diagnosed myself with having... so in that regard it is pretty personable/personal)... As such it is done in an ADD-ish style, which you will be able to see. I also do have a lot of crazy thoughts in my head all the time, as you can clearly tell from my blog... hence the first line. Enough explanation. Enjoy... (And yes, I know "tessellational" is not a word... Poetic license. Sue me).


Inside of Me

Nobody knows what’s inside me
besides bones, muscles, tears, blood.
Sweat, genius, fame, and love snuck into me
like red wine on an off-white shirt;
drank up by the cotton – and it spreads
quicker than diseases do.
But I just dyed the whole shirt red instead
To deal with my misfortune.
I just died.

Every jumble in my skull jungle
feeds into my entire soul.
My way of life, my way of being…
There’s no happy ending.
What’s inside of me is just a vision:
Figures, symbols, numbers, letters.
The same way transformations
from papyrus hieroglyphics
Yielded to the path of Biblical anomalies –
and yet harmoniously they both make sense.
There’s magic in odd-looking, colored cats
on tessellational paper,
just as much as there is faith in fright.
Just ask Saint Peter.
And what do I see?

Inside of me
there’s this confusion in the randomness,
oxymoronic as it may seem.
Double Ds – that’s one example,
and I’m not talking plus-sized breasts.
I mean the two Ds after the A,
that’s what this is.
It’s not confusion or allusion,
not even a cry for help.
…And there goes my imagery, right down the drain
with all the five-o’clock-shadow microscopic hairs…
Let me swim!
I will find the rainbow in the deeps,
where there’s no sunshine to even make or see it.
And the angler will guide me.
I’ll follow him.
Down. Into the dark.
It’s dark inside of me…

Still Tired.

Sooo, I thought tonight I would write up the the recap from my weekend in Rochester, but I got caught up watching Leaves of Grass. It's a movie starring Edward Norton, twice! That's pretty much the greatest thing ever. He plays his own twin brother.... basically they're both geniuses, but one is a college professor and the other grows weed back home. Very funny and dark movie. A must-watch!
Anyway, now that I finished the movie I'm tired... and I have to get up early tomorrow to go to work. I realize that right now I could be typing up about that weekend, but it's gonna take a while. I do have another story from this previous week.... here goes!

My first day of work at Esprit was last Thursday, and there was another kid, Andrew, who started working a few days before. Well, this is the story of how I found out Andrew is gay...
The way clothing stores work, for those who don't know, is that someone gets assigned to each section. I was in the back section, and Andrew was assigned to "float," meaning he went around through each one, wherever customers were needed. So I'm covering my section, and a girl walks up to me and goes "HEY! Do you have a boyfriend named Drew?!" I weirdly and confusedly responded, "ummm, what?" to which she goes "Oh, is there an Andrew who works here?" ... I said "yeah, he's right there," (he was like 15 feet away) and she asks him (in a much more polite way than she asked me) "do you know someone named Drew?" He responds, "Oh, my boyfriend?"... then they continued talking... and that's how I found out Andrew was gay.

Turns out that girl is good friends with Drew and he told her Andrew works there... whatever. When I was talking to Andrew later I recapped this story and he started laughing, saying "Who does that?" ... I mean it's not really that it was awkward, more like I was taken aback as to the context and pretenses of the question. It was, nevertheless, funny. The only thing that bothered me was that she had come up to me first, meaning she thought I looked more gay than Andrew. Ah, pity.

wow

Alright, wow. It's been way too long. I'm sorry, loyal followers of mine! I just started work at Esprit last Thursday, so I've been either too busy or too tired to post anything. I feel terrible. I need to keep in mind that I still need to update everything about my previous weekend with Meri, because there's a lot of good reading material in that. That I can do tonight because I have no work and I'm not too tired. For now, however, I have a few good stories from the past few days. Read on!

Last night, I went out with Pavel Roudenko to get some food and beer at a corner shop on Lexington and 93rd, one block from Synod. As we go into the shop we hear some screaming outside... I totally ignored it, as I'm used to the late-night shenanigans of New York City, but Pavel's still new here and actually noticed it. So we walk out of the store and all of a sudden there's an ambulance and three cop cars outside. A pretty woman walks by with her dog and starts talking to us and the other little shop owners, who at this point have come outside as well to observe. Turns out this woman was the person who dialed the cops... She said she saw and heard a naked guy outside screaming from her apartment while she was getting ready to walk the dog. She said he clearly seemed either unwell or on something crazy like crack. So we're standing there and I walk over a little closer to check it out, and this guy, who is now clothed, is sitting on the curb with his hands cuffed behind his back while the cops are talking. Most of them are laughing. This is when it gets awesome. The guy rolls off the curb, turns onto his side, and starts attempting to kick the plainclothes officer from the ground. He lightly swipes the cop's knee and one of them starts lightly smacking him to get him to stop. It was great stuff to watch, just him slowly letting loose a feeble kick while he's attempting some ninja ground-swipe attack.

At this point more cops show up, in an NYPD van! A good 4 of them get out, the driver is laughing, as he clearly had heard what was going on over the radio. He starts talking to us, we're laughing that they need so many for one crazy, whacked-out guy, I guess they had nothing better to do at 11:30 PM on a Wednesday, but there really was no point of these guys showing up. After they show up, the EMTs put the crackhead on a gurney and start wheeling him to the ambulance, all the while he's kicking and screaming something indistinguishable, but along the lines of "I'll kill you! Let me go! What the fuck!" They put him in the back of the truck and drive away, and the cops lingered and kept talking and laughing. All that for one naked druggie. How is it I always happen to experience things like this? Just another day in the life...


One more quick story before I have to go to class...
You may have seen my status update yesterday about my argument with my poetry professor in class. Well here's the full story. She's an accomplished playwright and poet by the name of PJ Gibson, and she is a very good professor, but she's kind of quirky (For those who want a little background on her, here is a list of her plays, and here is a quick summary on her professional career). Anyway, she spent the better part of this semester making sure we knew how to do exact-end rhyme. As someone who's been writing poetry/lyrics (mostly lyrics) since I was 15, writing it comes relatively easy and natural to me. And I am great at rhyming. I am infatuated with the lyrical ability of artists such as Eminem (as I mention all the time), Shawn Harris (The Matches) and Stephan Jenkins (Third Eye Blind). Before this class, I found it repulsive to read or write poetry that didn't rhyme. I think it's a lot more beautiful when you can get the point across while making it flow rhythmically and making it rhyme. I've since learned that you can, in fact, have great poetry that is free verse, but I still think nothing compares to a true rhyming ability.

That said, lyrical rhyming is very different from exact-end rhyme. With exact-end rhyme, as the name suggests, there cannot be poetic license... It has to be a perfect rhyme. You can't rhyme, for example, "months" with "once," as I've often done and seen because the ending sounds are not exactly the same. So, the type of poem we were doing last week was a villanelle, which has two repeating lines and the other lines must have exact-end rhyming (the most famous villanelle is "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas). She asked yesterday if anyone wanted to open a poem on the computer so we could read and edit it as a class. I thought my poem was awesome and volunteered. Basically, we went through it, and she didn't want to change anything 'cause she said it was very well done (which is a HUGE step, because she's very critical)... but the one thing she said was wrong was that the word "fussed" did not rhyme with the other words it was supposed to rhyme with (lust, trust, must, etc...). I was like, "umm, why?" and she said because it ends with "ed" it's pronounced "Fuss-duh." At this point I, of course, got angry because fussed CLEARLY rhymes with all the other "-ust" words, because that's how it's supposed to be pronounced. She said no, it was because of my bad pronunciation, and as an example said that she's from Pittsburgh and people from Pittsburgh pronounce "water" as "war-ter," but that does not make it the correct way. I said that's ridiculous because it's not a change in dialect, it's the normal way the word is meant to be pronounced by the rules of the English language, and if any word ends in the soft "s" sound and is then put into the past tense via the "ed" ending, it is pronounced "ust," with a soft "t" sound, not a hard "d." She then became frustrated, as I always argue poetry points with her and she usually proves me wrong, but in this case I thought it was such a ridiculous point she was making that I was not backing down...

She asked a student to take out the rhyming dictionary we were supposed to buy for the class (which I, of course, did not buy because I'm smart and have my very own rhyming dictionary in my head), and asked the kid to look up the rhymes for "-ust." The way the dictionary works is that it gives certain ending sounds numbers and lists every word in that rhyme sound. Well "-ust" was number 443 or something in the rhyme dictionary, and it gave a list of all the words and then in parentheses it said "(also 307 +ed)." So if you go to rhyme number 307 it says "uss" and lists words such as fuss, cuss, bus, etc. So clearly what the dictionary was saying is that besides all the "ust" words, any "uss" word in the past tense also rhymed with "ust." The professor, however, being a little quirky, didn't understand that that was what it meant. She thought that the "+ed" part meant that you add the ed to words like trust, and then "trusted" would rhyme with "lusted." At this point one girl who sits next to me in class goes "professor, I hate to ever agree with Peter, but I have to say that he's right in this situation."

When the profesor STILL didn't understand that she was wrong, however, she went to dictionary.com to use the pronunciation guide that it has... needless to say, she didn't know that it only pronounces the root word, and not the past tense word, so that was a dead-end, as it only pronounced "fuss." (I'm sorry this rant is going so long, but as annoying as it may be to read this, it was infinitely more annoying in class, so you're kind of experiencing what I was experiencing). FINALLY, we asked her to go on a rhyming dictionary online, where when you type in any word it gives all the exact rhymes it has. I directed her to rhymezone.com, and we typed in "fussed" and finally, when it shows all the words ending in "ust" she accepted that I was right and she was wrong.... So there we have it. I don't know how she was being so not-understanding in that situation when it was so clear, and I wasn't just arguing for the hell of it like I often do... I was legitimately upset. But I won!

Thanks for sticking with me even though I let you down for a whole week with no posts! As a reward for your patience, you get to read the now-infamous poem that was the cause of this poetry class controversy! Peace!


Golden

You shine so golden when you lust.
Your lying tongue can taste so foul –
But gold was never meant to rust.

I am immune to all your trust,
You’re a disease inside my bowel.
You shine so golden when you lust.

So go on and do the things you must,
I spot a shimmer in your scowl.
But gold was never meant to rust.

And so you sit there in the dust,
Horny and wet – without a towel.
You shine so golden when you lust.

Inside his bed you sometimes fussed,
And like a dog let loose your howl
But gold was never meant to rust.

Oh, there’s your face, your hands, your bust.
At night you are just like an owl…
You shine so golden when you lust
But gold was never meant to rust…

An Editorial-esque Response to Father Serge Ledkovsky’s Symposium Lecture

At the recent Synod Youth Symposium, Father Serge Ledkovsky gave an insightful talk about the past and future of the Russian Church Abroad. The specific point in his talk that drew my attention (and the one I disagree with) was when he mentioned that events such as the annual St. Herman’s Conference are wandering away from spirituality and focusing more on entertainment and socialization. He believes the most successful events are those that are more religion-oriented than those that are socially oriented. I agree, of course, that our Orthodoxy is - and should always be - the main focus of conferences and symposiums, but there a necessary balance required in order to keep youth and adults alike interested. This brings me to my point.

I cannot deny the fact that in the recent future our conferences and events have veered away from being completely religious and have become more and more “fun,” however, look at the results. The 2008 St. Herman’s Conference in Montreal was the most successful one I have attended, and it had a huge turnout by recent St. Herman’s standards. And here’s the thing: it was fun. We, the youth, knew this. We liked the idea of road-tripping it up to Montreal along I-87. We liked the idea of spending a week in Canada, 5 days of which were to be spent attending Conference functions. We liked the fact that the clergy and Conference organizers were understanding of the fact that we are young adults and we showed our gratitude for their fairness and understanding by attending the Conference that was designed with us in mind. And I genuinely feel that we benefited from this. I have highlights from this conference in my mind of the presentation about Russia done by the ROCOR youth who attended. Everyone enjoyed seeing Andrei Mouravieff receiving a blessing from Patriarch Alexis. Everyone enjoyed the question-and-answer session with Bishop Gabriel; the fact that we can interact with any Bishop at these events, knowing that they themselves enjoy hearing us express our opinions, love to see us praying in church, and love to laugh while they avoid answering our (my) stupid questions. That’s the way it should be.

I’m not going to continue droning on about one conference, but I think my point has been made. Just look at the situation this year (and keep in mind that I raised this point to Father Serge at the symposium). This year the St. Herman’s Conference will be back where it first started, in Jordanville, and, as someone with a little inside knowledge of the situation, I can say that it was at first expected to have the lowest turnout of youth attendees in many years. (I am extremely happy that I’ve since been informed that this is not the situation at all, and that, in fact, a very large turnout is actually expected!). Generally, however, for those who choose not to attend because of a lack of entertainment value, I’d like to say that I don’t think this is right because I wholeheartedly agree with Father Serge when he says “we must always remember that we are Orthodox Christians and not be afraid to show faith,” but I’m pointing out what is often the harsh reality of the situation. As someone who tries to attend every event possible, no matter the connotation, I hate that the situation is so, but the fact of the matter is most youth will not attend a conference – no matter where it is – if there is seemingly no possibility of having a good time in the process. Therein lies the rope - a balance is needed between the spiritual and earthly aspects of these events.

I am a bit nervous that this article may be taken the wrong way by some, and I am by no means worthy enough to be lecturing others on Orthodoxy, but I do believe I am expressing the opinion of most of my fellow youth with what I have just said. I’d like to thank Father Serge for the great talk that sparked this little response, and Father Andrei Sommer for organizing the symposium, and I hope to see and be a part of a continuing rise of youth attendance at the multitude of functions every year. I just think that, realistically, we need to have stability between religion and socialization.

More filler before the killer (the killer being the updates from this past weekend).

New York is the city of black people. I don't mean skin color, I mean clothes. Everywhere you go, people are wearing black... It's a way of fitting in. But it makes us stick out. I say "us" because I do it too... I have a black jacket that I usually wear with either black pants or regular jeans (another fit-in item of clothing)... New Yorkers are all the same. We are unique for our attempt at being non-unique and unoriginal. Creative for being non-creative. In San Francisco everyone wears bright colors! Miami they wear bikinis. L.A. people barely wear anything. New Yorkers wear black, no matter the time of year. It's a way of telling people to mind their own business. No one wants to ask directions from a guy wearing a black hoodie, head pointed down, cheap aviators on his face... I'm talking about myself here. I'm a nice guy, but I hate having stupid tourists ask me stupid information about stupid things. "Excuse me, does this train go stop at 103rd street?" Look at the freaking subway map in front of you, fool! I'm not the MTA. I know where I have to go, and that's all I care about. I do, of course, know where the train happens to stop (because I know everything), but don't my hood and headphones indicate to you that I'd rather you not ask me?

Back to the point... I mind my own business and blend in like everyone else... usually. I'm not a prick who walks with his head up, Armani suit emphasized by a Brooks Brothers tie, all topped off with a Tumi two thousand dollar brief case. Those are the people who step on dog crap on the pristine New York City sidewalks. I keep my head down, reflective sunglasses on, staring at the ground. I'm the one who notices the fresh shoe print in the now-flattened poop, not the one who steps in it. It works for me. Keep your chin up and your head down... That's how you get by in the robot city.

The story of Yoru Day Love.

Hello, people! It's been too long! I've got many updates coming up shortly about my weekend with Meri and many of her A-Plus quotes, but for now there is a little story that JUST happened that I want you to know about to fill the time until I get around to those updates. Here goes. (Just for those of you who are either new readers or don't know anything about me, this will explain why the first word in the title of my blog is Grammar... because it's important).

Meri and I were having a conversation about beavers via Facebook messages (don't ask... really), and I received the following message (copied and pasted word-for-word):

":) yeah cause you know so many beavers. tell me about yoru day love!"

This is what I responded:

" Yoru Day was an Asian man. I believe he was a samurai. That would make him Japanese. One day he was out fighting a battle with all his samurai friends and he spotted someone. It was not another soldier, or a friend, or anyone he'd ever seen before. But he felt, nevertheless, that he knew this person deep down. This person was also Asian. But she was Chinese. Ouch. That's not to say that being Chinese is bad, that ouch was there because when Yoru saw this woman he stopped fighting for a few seconds because he forgot the current situation he was in, and one of the Chinese wannabe-samurais stabbed him in the gut. Yoru was determined to meet this woman he just saw and because of whom he had just gotten stabbed, so he raised his samurai blade and cut off his assailant's head. Then Yoru Day ran for this Chinese woman with all the passion of a Japanese man running for a Chinese woman, and swept her off her feet. She was not scared, for she had previously spotted him as well and knew they were in love at first sight. He kissed the woman and made love to her on the spot, while the battle raged on behind them. No one cared, for they knew. They knew what was going on. It was love. Asian love. True Asian love.

And that, my friend, is the story of Yoru Day Love! (next time get your grammar and spelling correct!)"

Peter Miro AKA The Man.

Today was a great day. Why, you ask? No, it was not because I stalked Meri while she studied. Today was a great day because I Skyped with Pete Miro. For a good hour and 8 minutes. It was epic. We even took a picture as a memory. Good times. We talked about life, Bert's Market, Mountain Dew, Lucille Ball, blogs, beer and church. Pretty wide berth of material. We're just that cool. It was also pretty cute, like old times.... (If in the old times we actually had Macbooks with built in video cameras.) The moral of this story is I got a great point of view from Pete on Syezd and church... a typical Miro point of view... One that I definitely agree with a lot of the time, but can also disagree with at times. Here it is, lightly paraphrased: "I would always go to church if it was like... you know... a massive service. Like with 60 people in the choir! If it was a bigger event all the time, and people celebrated the idea of prayer and church more often, more people would come. You're standing in church and praying, but it's more than just that. It needs to stimulate the senses, that's why there's incense and singing. That's why everyone always shows up on big holidays."

That, ladies and gentlemen, is a quote I shall be using in my review of the Youth Symposium from last week. Hope you have a great night!

Rochester. AKA a quick narrative on the life of Meri.

I'm stuck here in good old Rochester with one Meri Doubleday. I come visit her and she still has work to do. No time for good old me. The boyfriend. The one who paid 100 dollars round trip for Amtrak tickets just to visit her - the girl I equate to Halle Berry looks-wise and she responds "Who is that?" Yes. Woe is me. Now we're sitting here in a boring rip-off Starbucks while she sips some pink smoothie and alternates between keyboard strokes and T9ing it on her 1980s cell phone. "I only need to study for an hour," says she, and I wonder, does that mean we sit here for an hour and then go, or do I stop and restart the hypothetical stopwatch when she's actually focusing on typing her assignment? But I love her. And as she sits across from me, our computers back-to-back, forming an upside down T shape, she reaches for her cell phone again. I just read a few sentences from this paragraph to her and she laughs at me. Gets back to work. She is now motivated. My plan is working. She looks at the textbook. Looks back at the computer. Mumbles something about me being a jerk. Smiles. Leans in closer to the computer. "Oh my God. You have to delete that." Little does she know, that unlike her cellphone, we are in the 21st century and when I delete something I can type it right back! Aha! Take that, woman! I win! *Edit* She just sent Daria Burachek a wall post on Facebook! I caught her red-handed!

I hope you all enjoyed that little bored moment of mine. I'm sure Meri did. Anyway, time for some actual stories about my life these past 24 hours. When Meri was in class today I began reading Jim Breuer's autobiography. For those of you who don't know, he is a stand-up comedian famous for his work on SNL playing a goat-boy, his role as a stoner in Half-Baked, and (obviously) his stand-up acts. The introduction itself was a very interesting read. He explains a very weird, interesting and touching story about writing the book while on a plane to Vegas and the ensuing circumstances that involved it getting stolen from the hotel by a maid and him getting it back. I won't give much away, but it's a must read (the introduction, that is.... in the process of reading the rest of the book now). There's a great quote that stuck out to me that a security guard at a stand-up event told Jim when his wife complained about his use of the F bomb three times throughout his act. The guard said: "I can see through the cursing and still totally get Jim's message. You know, Jesus hung out with all kinds of people and never sat in judgment of them. It's good to keep an open mind. A message can be delivered in any medium. We can't ignore it just because we don't like how it arrives." I don't know, that just stuck with me... very well said and I can really relate to this (see my controversial blog post entitled Dear Old Lady)...

So I think I'm really going to enjoy this read. He's a great guy, pretty smart and really funny. Great combination. I'll keep you people posted on the book as I read it. Meanwhile, enjoy Jim's most famous and arguably funniest stand-up.

Been a few days...

Hi people, sorry!
I've been really tired the past few days and haven't really had a chance to update... But I also haven't really had anything to vent about. Today I do. Here goes.

Alright, I have good news and bad news. Good news is I finally succumbed to the fact that I do not have a job and handed in my long-awaited-and-filled-out application to Esprit, right here near John Jay. I did that last night before my first volleyball game of this season and the manager, who actually speaks Russian, told me to come back today at 2 to meet the store manager for an interview. So I'm sitting here in the craphole of crapholes (John Jay College) in a shirt and tie, waiting for my next class and then heading straight there after. I'm all but guaranteed the job because they're in dire need of employees and I have good people skills... I've just been holding back 'cause I was hoping for a restaurant job first. But I love Esprit and I can sacrifice working there for 10 dollars an hour in return for half off all clothing! Anyway, that's the first good news.

The other good news is that right after the interview I'm heading back to Synod and then grabbing my suitcase and heading to Penn Station to catch a 3:45 Amtrak to Rochester to visit Meri. Why? I don't know... Is it even worth it? xD (Note: I believe that is the first emoticon I have used on my blog. Who cares?)

Now the bad news. The MTA. SCREW YOU! Worst organization ever created. Yes, worse than PETA! And that's saying something!  Both the MTA and LIRR are tied for that position. Congratulations, New York, you now have the highest prices for mass transit out of any city IN THE WORLD. I'm sure that would even include freaking DUBAI, if they even had mass transit! I mean, come on! For those of you who don't know, here's the scenario (that sounds like a cheap line from a rap song.... but I digress... as I always do). Currently it stands at $89 for a 30 day pass. That means you can scan however times you want every day without having to pay anything extra... and that lasts for 30 days. You can buy one whenever (so it doesn't go by month, but rather by day of purchase). Now, that I can deal with. And I've dealt with it for two years. But for a college student it is still a lot of freaking money. Now the new price is $104 for that same card! I can understand having to raise it 5 or 6 dollars maybe, but they raised it a whole 15! Here's the kicker... ready? That extra 15 dollars from every person isn't even enough for these bastards! When this deal kicks in in January, EVERY TIME YOU BUY A NEW  CARD FROM A MACHINE THERE IS A ONE DOLLAR SURCHARGE. Why, MTA? Just why? Does it really cost you THAT much money printing a measly little piece of plastic that you need your extra dollar's worth? For me there is really no monetary difference between paying $104 or $105, because it's so minute a difference, but that's just my point... What is the point? They're such money-grubbers! Makes me so angry....

On that note, I've always looked for a politician who actually cares about this problem... It affects everyone, the lower class, the middle class, the business men, the suburb commuters and even the upperclass.... EVERYONE rides the subway once in a while... Yet people like Bloomberg (and I like the guy...) don't care. He's got billions, so what's a 105 dollars to him, even if he didn't have a Limo... But in yesterday's AMNY there was finally an article about a politician giving a crap. NY gubernatorial candidate Carl Paladino was quoted as saying "If I'm elected, I'm going to take apart the MTA piece-by-piece." Well, he's the winning candidate in my book. The dude wants to fire everybody (his words!) and just restart again and make it fair for the people. VOTE for him! I don't know if I can 'cause I'm not a city resident... and I don't really care to find out how the NYC voting process goes, but I know who my vote would rest with, to the point that I don't even care about his other stances or the fact that politicians always lie, I just want this stupid problem solved. The End.

Anthropological thoughts.

I just had a revelation! I'm in an anthropology class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and apparently at the end of the year we actually need to do a project involving fieldwork to create an authentic anthropological study. It can be about anything, but we must take part in the experience to get an authentic feel. The professor gave examples from previous students, like one kid went to the place where Mexicans get picked up in the morning to do work and he worked with them for the full day to see what their life is like. So, I'm on season 2 of Dexter and as I was watching the episodes a few days ago where he goes to the Narcotics Anonymous meetings I thought that doing something like that would be awesome. I'm thinking for my assignment I'll sit in on a few AA meetings and actually maybe even pretend that I'm in there for rehab myself and use that as research. I think that would be a great and very saddening experience.
Petey Dubz Out!

A poem for Liza Olhovsky.

I wrote this poem for two reasons: In honor of Liza and for my poetry class. For those who weren't there, I based this off the fact that in her coffin, Liza still had a smile on her face. The faintest of smiles, but a smile nonetheless.

For those of you who know how poetry is supposed to be read, read it that way... for those who don't, the poem has internal rhyme within the lines, but read it based on the punctuation, not the line break and you'll hear the intended rhythm and emotion I was going for.



Smile…

You were alive… Once.
And then you died… Months
and months went by.
Everybody cried.
Nobody could believe it,
Why oh why, oh why?
It felt like a lie.
Laughter in the sky,
you were talking to us like “Ha, ha, ha, surprise!”

But then you saw us sigh.
Nobody realized,
when we looked at you we didn’t see the signs.
And there you were, just lying
inside the coffin, smiling.
That typical, sly, Elizabethan smile.
The one we all adore.

The one we all adored.
But you just couldn’t take it,
life without your father – was it such a bore?
Waiting for results now, there’s nothing to explore.
I smell you in my lungs.
I see you in my pores.
And I still can’t believe you, but I just can’t ignore…
This feeling’s so unusual –
of course – it was a funeral.
And I know you were smiling
‘cause you knew you looked beautiful.

MTA

I hate the MTA. I hate the LIRR. I hate the subway system. I hate the LIRR. I hate Jamaica Station. I hate the LIRR. I actually kinda like Penn Station. I hate the LIRR.

Symposium

I'm up really early on this Saturday, about to go get breakfast, ready for the symposium here at Synod.

In other news, I miss Firefly. Hands down the best show to ever get canceled. Stupid Fox Network.... Always cancel the good shows. Just thank God Prison Break made it to the end!
For those who haven't seen Firefly, get on that!