And yes, I realize that Keyboard Guy probably looks nothing like this.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Keyboard Guy
The guy who lives above me is very musical. He plays drums. He plays piano. He plays keyboard. I really like most musicians, but this guy is an exception. Keyboard Guy manages to find the perfect time to play keyboard that gets me the maximum amount of pissed. It’s a skill, really. Over the past three months, he’s kept me up at 3am on a Tuesday, he’s woken me up at 8am on a Saturday, he’s ruined my studying time, and he’s ruined my music time. Of all the rooms you could have lived in, why the one right above me? And why the hell is your keyboard so loud? It’s like his amp is pointed right into my room.
And yes, I realize that Keyboard Guy probably looks nothing like this.
And yes, I realize that Keyboard Guy probably looks nothing like this.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
What is with you people?
I'm tired of seeing penises drawn everywhere whenever I'm in public bathrooms. What is it with you people? The last thing I think about when going to the bathroom is whipping out a pencil (why do you have a pencil on you in the first place?) and drawing a penis on the wall. Here are my rules for when it's ok to draw penises:
1. Never draw penises.
This doesn't happen in girls' bathrooms, right? Or are there vaginas drawn everywhere?
1. Never draw penises.
This doesn't happen in girls' bathrooms, right? Or are there vaginas drawn everywhere?
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Costa Rica Trip, Summarized
I have been putting this off so long, so I'm just going to post this video that I made, which covers a portion of my Costa Rica trip. I'm also currently working on a website for my final project for the class. You can check it out at http://crfrogs.chouco.com. It's still in the works but feel free to poke around.
Some key words that might help capture my Costa Rica trip:
- Frogs
- Monkeys
- Sea Turtles
- Bar Amigos
- Mark Wainwright
- White Water Rafting
- Night Hiking
- Cloud Forest
- Caving
- Surfing
- Chilero Sauce
- Cattle Truck
- Beach
- Bats
- Volcano Eruption
- Ziplining
- Tarzan Swing
- Salsa Dancing
- Solar Ovens
- Canoeing
- Friends
- Paradise
How to Identify the Coolest People on Campus
Often when walking around a college campus, you may find yourself asking, “Who is the coolest kid here?” I know that I do for sure. Here are a few ways to help you figure out who’s cool. You may not know it, but the signs are right in front of you!
- If one is playing music at excessive volumes, especially during the night, he is most likely very cool. You may overhear this music, typically of the hip-hop genre, blasting from a car or through someone’s headphones or even through the wall of your dorm room! If you can hear music from the privacy of your own room, the culprit is probably awesome and has many friends.
- Another way to identify the coolest kid on any given day is by the amount of daps and/or shout-outs given to acquaintances in the quad. This is a sure sign of a cool cat. If you walk through the quad and don’t see anyone you know, you are probably a loser and in the math club.
- When I see someone texting in class or in line for lunch, I usually feel bad about myself because of how much cooler this person is than I am. Texts are often followed by laughing and shaking of the head, as if to say, “Oh Rob, you’re so funny! And I’m so cool right now with all my connections!”
- There is also a direct correlation between coolness and speed of walking. The slower you walk, and with the least concern for other pedestrians, the cooler you must be.
- Alcohol is always an indicator of coolness as well. Cool people can often be overheard talking loudly and purposefully about what type of beer or liquor they enjoy and how many different parties they hit up last night. This is typically followed by a description of how “shmammered” one may have gotten on a particular weekend.
- The last, but definitely not least, sign of a cool person is if he or she accelerates very quickly on campus roads, especially when driving past students. Loud exhaust systems essentially seal the deal when it comes to a cool dude. Everyone knows that the faster and louder the car, the cooler the driver.
Friday, September 3, 2010
EZ Pass
Yikes, it's been a while since my last post. I've been meaning to write a big post about Costa Rica and all the awesome stuff we did, but I've been really busy lately. I will get to it soon though...I hope.
Anyway, today I noticed that I have this crazy fear every time I go through a tollbooth. I'm afraid that my EZ Pass tag won't read correctly, and the bar won't raise as I'm speeding through the tollbooth, resulting in the bar being ripped violently off its hinge while a flashing red light reads "Don't Pass."
I guess I don't have much faith in technology. Or maybe it's some underlying paranoia that I have about everything of mine being faulty.
Anyway, today I noticed that I have this crazy fear every time I go through a tollbooth. I'm afraid that my EZ Pass tag won't read correctly, and the bar won't raise as I'm speeding through the tollbooth, resulting in the bar being ripped violently off its hinge while a flashing red light reads "Don't Pass."
I guess I don't have much faith in technology. Or maybe it's some underlying paranoia that I have about everything of mine being faulty.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Costa Rica
So...I've been in Costa Rica for the past few days and will be there until August 27. I promise to post plenty of pictures and stories when I get home and have time!
Monday, July 26, 2010
Guidelines To Not Look Like A Douche
Welcome to "Guidelines to Not Look Like a Douche," the first step you can take to help yourself be a better person. If you follow these simple rules, you can minimize your chances of looking like a douche. However, due to many unknown variables in your lives and in your surroundings, merely following these rules may not completely protect you from looking like a douche. My advice is to think before you do something that will make you look like a douche, and then don't do that thing. Just as a disclaimer, these rules pertain primarily to males, as I haven’t the first clue about female fashion.
*If you find yourself wearing two collared college shirts with the collars popped and a college hat or something, I'm going to pass out.
- Never shall one wear a collared shirt underneath another collared shirt. Frankly, this is completely unnecessary and makes people want to injure you.
- Never shall one pop the collar of his or her collared shirt unless for the purpose of protecting one’s neck from the sun. Under this exception, one must proclaim openly that he or she hates himself or herself for said collar-popping.
- Never shall one wear two collared shirts with the collars popped. EVER. If you do this, just stop. Look at yourself in the mirror, and just stop.
- Never shall one wear or use at any given moment greater than two articles of clothing or accessories with the logo of his or her respective undergraduate university. This includes, but is not limited to: headbands, socks, underwear, ties, cuff links, umbrellas, earrings, flip flops, handbags, sweatshirts, shorts, and foam fingers. Check yourself now! Are you wearing too many?*
- Never shall one wear an unbuttoned or minimally buttoned button-down shirt without an undershirt. This is mainly as a courtesy to others who may happen to see you in public.
- Never shall one wear a flat brimmed hat on top of another flat brimmed hat, especially facing in opposite directions. In fact, let this apply to all hats.
*If you find yourself wearing two collared college shirts with the collars popped and a college hat or something, I'm going to pass out.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Look How Self-Sufficient I Am!
Having lived mainly off Hot Pockets, Lean Cuisines, and Nutri-Grain bars for the past few days, I have realized how ill-equipped I am to live on my own. My excuse, though, is that I’m out of my element here in New York. It seems odd to prepare an entire meal in some random dude’s house. I think that when I’m in my apartment at school, I will be able to succeed in real cooking. That and I’ll have the dining hall to fall back on.
But in case you didn’t get enough of my fake cooking from before, now there’s more! Tonight I decided to treat myself to a nice home-cooked gourmet hot dog dinner.
After researching the recipe online, I was able to discover how to make hot dogs without a grill. Turns out you just boil them for five minutes…
Anyway, I think at this rate I will either die of a clogged artery or my body will simply wither away from the lack of nutrients. Luckily I will be back home in a week, where I can mooch off my mother’s cooking.
But in case you didn’t get enough of my fake cooking from before, now there’s more! Tonight I decided to treat myself to a nice home-cooked gourmet hot dog dinner.
After researching the recipe online, I was able to discover how to make hot dogs without a grill. Turns out you just boil them for five minutes…
Anyway, I think at this rate I will either die of a clogged artery or my body will simply wither away from the lack of nutrients. Luckily I will be back home in a week, where I can mooch off my mother’s cooking.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
You Suck, Brain
I had a very odd dream last night. Actually, it was more of a calm nightmare. A few of my friends and I were sitting in an outdoorish food court. I got a cup from McDonald’s or something and filled it with water from some other restaurant. After drinking it for a while, I looked inside the cup and noticed that there was mold and fungus growing everywhere inside the cup.
I went up to the cashier and demanded a free sandwich because of the disgusting cup I just drank out of. This seemed like an appropriate request at the time. He looked at me and explained that the cup was from McDonald’s, so he doesn’t owe me shit.
Stumped, I went back and sat down with my friends.
That’s all I can really remember, but I can definitely identify some of the real-life occurrences that may have resulted in the creation of this dream.
I think the cashier incident resembles my run-in with the manager at Wendy’s. In both cases, I was publicly humiliated and accomplished nothing.
The outdoorish food court must have been from when I ate at Chipotle last weekend. Or maybe it was from when I ate at a food court at the Palisades Mall. I’m not really sure.
What I am sure of, however, is that the moldy cup was definitely a manifestation of the fact that last week, I ate mold. I was sitting in my room, happily eating Tostitos with queso and surfing the net. After a while, I looked into the queso jar and noticed a green, fuzzy, coin-sized patch of mold growing inside the container. I gagged a bit and died a little on the inside.
I proceeded to wipe my tongue with a paper towel, as if that would change the fact that I probably swallowed numerous colonies of fungus.
This dream must have been my brain reminding me of an incident I tried to repress deep within the inner workings of my mind. And for that, you suck, brain.
I went up to the cashier and demanded a free sandwich because of the disgusting cup I just drank out of. This seemed like an appropriate request at the time. He looked at me and explained that the cup was from McDonald’s, so he doesn’t owe me shit.
Stumped, I went back and sat down with my friends.
That’s all I can really remember, but I can definitely identify some of the real-life occurrences that may have resulted in the creation of this dream.
I think the cashier incident resembles my run-in with the manager at Wendy’s. In both cases, I was publicly humiliated and accomplished nothing.
The outdoorish food court must have been from when I ate at Chipotle last weekend. Or maybe it was from when I ate at a food court at the Palisades Mall. I’m not really sure.
What I am sure of, however, is that the moldy cup was definitely a manifestation of the fact that last week, I ate mold. I was sitting in my room, happily eating Tostitos with queso and surfing the net. After a while, I looked into the queso jar and noticed a green, fuzzy, coin-sized patch of mold growing inside the container. I gagged a bit and died a little on the inside.
I proceeded to wipe my tongue with a paper towel, as if that would change the fact that I probably swallowed numerous colonies of fungus.
This dream must have been my brain reminding me of an incident I tried to repress deep within the inner workings of my mind. And for that, you suck, brain.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
So Everyone's Friends Now, Huh?
Ok I’ve been at my first legitimate full-time job for a little over a month now, and I’ve noticed a number of things about the workplace. Because of my lack of work experience, I have no clue if this is what most workplaces are like. If I were to guess, it probably isn’t.
Before I describe the employees, I’ll talk a little bit about my lab/office/place.
The first thing you may notice when walking through the lab is the giant microwave in the hallway that reads, “No Food Allowed.” Upon further inspection, one will learn that this microwave is used for dissolving solutes and assorted other experiments.
Next you may come across a series of rooms, each labeled with its respective area of focus. 132 - Biochemistry. 134 - Molecular Biology. 136 - Stuff You’ve Never Heard of. When you peer into these rooms, you’ll notice that they are illuminated by eerie yellow lights. These are the very lights that you will spend the entire workweek under.
In these rooms you’ll find all sorts of gizmos and gadgets and tube shakers and centrifuges and what not. Some machine is always on in every room, whirring or swirling or vibrating.
If you backtrack a bit and make a left, you’ll be on your way to the break room/computer room. But not before you pass the 6-foot metal container labeled, “NITROGEN. HIGHLY PRESSURIZED.” Don’t mind the white smoke fuming out of the container and covering the entire floor of the hall. This is normal! At least when someone is filling up his nitrogen tank…
In the break room, you’ll find a refrigerator packed to the brim with all sorts of lunches prepared by fellow employees. These may include lo mein noodles, sticky rice dishes, various Asian soups, and other wonderful ethnic eats.
You would also see my tiny desk. Yes, my desk is in the break room. It is very conducive to working. You’ll also see the rack that used to hold my 9 name-customized lab coats. That is until they were taken away due to a misorder. At least I got to wear them for 3 weeks.
Now we can get to the various characters I encounter in the workplace. We have the way-too-happy middle-aged ladies. We have the cool and hip grad students. We have the very uncool and nerdy grad students. We have bipolar/unreadable lunch ladies. We have goofy handymen. We have angry handymen. We have intimidating Asians. We have easygoing Asians. We have famous people that I didn’t know were doctors like Dr. L. Tomlinson and Dr. C. Klein. My workplace is a colorful microcosm of society... if society were full of sciencegeeks people.
But in particular, there are three people that for some reason smile and give me “the nod” every time I walk by. Why are these people so happy? Why are they so nice? I don’t understand. Actually, I think it’s because walking by someone is too awkward, especially when you’re the only two people in the hallway and approaching each other from opposite ends. Then it’s really awkward. And our hallways are long. So I guess smiling and nodding is a bit less awkward. Anyway, I always return the smile and nod, but then I feel so fake afterwards. After passing these cheerful people, I find myself making sarcastic smiley faces to myself as I’m walking to wherever I walk to. Then again, maybe I'm just a scrooge.
So in closing, is everyone suddenly friends now? Did I not get the memo? Does this sort of thing happen at every workplace?
Before I describe the employees, I’ll talk a little bit about my lab/office/place.
The first thing you may notice when walking through the lab is the giant microwave in the hallway that reads, “No Food Allowed.” Upon further inspection, one will learn that this microwave is used for dissolving solutes and assorted other experiments.
Next you may come across a series of rooms, each labeled with its respective area of focus. 132 - Biochemistry. 134 - Molecular Biology. 136 - Stuff You’ve Never Heard of. When you peer into these rooms, you’ll notice that they are illuminated by eerie yellow lights. These are the very lights that you will spend the entire workweek under.
In these rooms you’ll find all sorts of gizmos and gadgets and tube shakers and centrifuges and what not. Some machine is always on in every room, whirring or swirling or vibrating.
If you backtrack a bit and make a left, you’ll be on your way to the break room/computer room. But not before you pass the 6-foot metal container labeled, “NITROGEN. HIGHLY PRESSURIZED.” Don’t mind the white smoke fuming out of the container and covering the entire floor of the hall. This is normal! At least when someone is filling up his nitrogen tank…
In the break room, you’ll find a refrigerator packed to the brim with all sorts of lunches prepared by fellow employees. These may include lo mein noodles, sticky rice dishes, various Asian soups, and other wonderful ethnic eats.
You would also see my tiny desk. Yes, my desk is in the break room. It is very conducive to working. You’ll also see the rack that used to hold my 9 name-customized lab coats. That is until they were taken away due to a misorder. At least I got to wear them for 3 weeks.
Now we can get to the various characters I encounter in the workplace. We have the way-too-happy middle-aged ladies. We have the cool and hip grad students. We have the very uncool and nerdy grad students. We have bipolar/unreadable lunch ladies. We have goofy handymen. We have angry handymen. We have intimidating Asians. We have easygoing Asians. We have famous people that I didn’t know were doctors like Dr. L. Tomlinson and Dr. C. Klein. My workplace is a colorful microcosm of society... if society were full of science
But in particular, there are three people that for some reason smile and give me “the nod” every time I walk by. Why are these people so happy? Why are they so nice? I don’t understand. Actually, I think it’s because walking by someone is too awkward, especially when you’re the only two people in the hallway and approaching each other from opposite ends. Then it’s really awkward. And our hallways are long. So I guess smiling and nodding is a bit less awkward. Anyway, I always return the smile and nod, but then I feel so fake afterwards. After passing these cheerful people, I find myself making sarcastic smiley faces to myself as I’m walking to wherever I walk to. Then again, maybe I'm just a scrooge.
So in closing, is everyone suddenly friends now? Did I not get the memo? Does this sort of thing happen at every workplace?
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Yay Independence!
So I’ve been meaning to write about my busy, busy weekend, but yesterday the power was out in my apartment. I couldn’t do my laundry, and I couldn’t make dinner. Worst of all, I couldn’t turn on my fan in the 90-degree hotbox that is my room.
Since I’m dripping with sweat just sitting here and typing, I will make this entry brief. I’m not really dripping with sweat, don’t worry. Maybe a little bit…
On Friday, I bounced from work early and flew home, only to sit on the highway by my house for 45 minutes. I was rushing home to meet up with my friends in time to go to Philadelphia and see She & Him! When Zooey Deschanel walked on stage, I wasn’t sure if I was watching a video or dreaming or something. It just didn’t seem real. I had never seen a famous Hollywood star before! I’ll add that she sounded even better live than on the records. I was surprised to hear how well she could project her voice.
I was kind of sad that she didn't ask me to join her band like I had imagined in the weeks leading up to the concert, but I had fun nonetheless.
Then on Saturday, I went golfing with my friend Matt for the first time since last summer. I ended up shooting a 47 on the front and 44 on the back, which I guess was okay for not having played in a while.
After the round was over, I found out that a few of my friends were going to St. Joe’s University to visit their apartments. So I rushed home then met up with them to head over to Philly. Needless to say, they had some sweet cribs, and I was very envious.
Then! We got back home at around 10 and hung out at my friend Alyssa’s house for two hours. By now I was very exhausted.
The next morning, I woke up early because a few of my friends were going to Baltimore for the Fourth of July. When we got there, we ended up walking around Inner Harbor for over five hours in the scorching hot weather. I don’t know what prompted us to do this, but I’m just glad we didn’t make the hike to Fort McHenry.
The fireworks were cool and stuff. Some new ones that I haven’t seen before.
We slept early and woke up at 7 to beat traffic and drove home.
Then I drove back to New York after taking a long nap.
My sentences are getting shorter and shorter.
Too. Hot.
All in all, I thought the weekend was great, but I may have been a little ambitious. By the end, I was too tired to really enjoy myself, so I don’t think I had as good a weekend as I could have had if I weren’t completely dead.
Anyway, until next time!
Since I’m dripping with sweat just sitting here and typing, I will make this entry brief. I’m not really dripping with sweat, don’t worry. Maybe a little bit…
On Friday, I bounced from work early and flew home, only to sit on the highway by my house for 45 minutes. I was rushing home to meet up with my friends in time to go to Philadelphia and see She & Him! When Zooey Deschanel walked on stage, I wasn’t sure if I was watching a video or dreaming or something. It just didn’t seem real. I had never seen a famous Hollywood star before! I’ll add that she sounded even better live than on the records. I was surprised to hear how well she could project her voice.
I was kind of sad that she didn't ask me to join her band like I had imagined in the weeks leading up to the concert, but I had fun nonetheless.
On the train ride home, there was some crazy lady who was drunk or drinkin’ drugs. She scared me. Just thought I should mention that.
Then on Saturday, I went golfing with my friend Matt for the first time since last summer. I ended up shooting a 47 on the front and 44 on the back, which I guess was okay for not having played in a while.
After the round was over, I found out that a few of my friends were going to St. Joe’s University to visit their apartments. So I rushed home then met up with them to head over to Philly. Needless to say, they had some sweet cribs, and I was very envious.
Then! We got back home at around 10 and hung out at my friend Alyssa’s house for two hours. By now I was very exhausted.
The next morning, I woke up early because a few of my friends were going to Baltimore for the Fourth of July. When we got there, we ended up walking around Inner Harbor for over five hours in the scorching hot weather. I don’t know what prompted us to do this, but I’m just glad we didn’t make the hike to Fort McHenry.
The fireworks were cool and stuff. Some new ones that I haven’t seen before.
We slept early and woke up at 7 to beat traffic and drove home.
Then I drove back to New York after taking a long nap.
My sentences are getting shorter and shorter.
Too. Hot.
All in all, I thought the weekend was great, but I may have been a little ambitious. By the end, I was too tired to really enjoy myself, so I don’t think I had as good a weekend as I could have had if I weren’t completely dead.
Anyway, until next time!
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Never Leave Your Fast Food Unattended
In high school, a few of my friends on the golf team had a sort of tradition in which we would go to Wendy’s after practices. Senior year, I probably ate more Wendy’s than one should ever eat in a lifetime.
So one day after practice, we were sitting down at Wendy’s after getting our food, and I got up to get everyone cups of water because I am a great friend. When I returned, I took the bun off my Junior Bacon Cheeseburger to remove the lettuce and tomatoes, and all I saw was a tiny chicken nugget. No meat. No bacon. No cheese. Just a lone nugget nestled gently between two buns.
Before even thinking, I got up and rushed to the counter. “Umm, I ordered a Junior Bacon Cheeseburger, and I got… this,” I said, pointing to my massacred meal. For some reason, my thought process went something like, “They must have accidentally given me a crispy chicken sandwich, and the chicken must have been abnormally small.”
The cashier lady had no idea what was going on. She pulled the manager from the back, who came up and asked me what the problem was. I repeated my explanation, and he just stared me down like a madman.
“You are assaulting me! I personally make every Junior Bacon Cheeseburger. Your friends must be playing a joke on you,” he cried. He literally said "assaulting."
I looked back at my friends then back to the madman manager, madmanager. Having too much faith in my friends, I responded, “No I just opened up my wrapper and saw this,” continuing to point feebly at my sad sandwich.
After this went on for a while, my friends shouted my name and told me to come back to the table, laughing hysterically.
Shit.
I walked back to the table with my tail between my legs, realizing that my friends had indeed performed some modifications to my burger while I was up getting drinks.
And that’s what you get for doing everyone a favor.
So one day after practice, we were sitting down at Wendy’s after getting our food, and I got up to get everyone cups of water because I am a great friend. When I returned, I took the bun off my Junior Bacon Cheeseburger to remove the lettuce and tomatoes, and all I saw was a tiny chicken nugget. No meat. No bacon. No cheese. Just a lone nugget nestled gently between two buns.
Before even thinking, I got up and rushed to the counter. “Umm, I ordered a Junior Bacon Cheeseburger, and I got… this,” I said, pointing to my massacred meal. For some reason, my thought process went something like, “They must have accidentally given me a crispy chicken sandwich, and the chicken must have been abnormally small.”
The cashier lady had no idea what was going on. She pulled the manager from the back, who came up and asked me what the problem was. I repeated my explanation, and he just stared me down like a madman.
“You are assaulting me! I personally make every Junior Bacon Cheeseburger. Your friends must be playing a joke on you,” he cried. He literally said "assaulting."
I looked back at my friends then back to the madman manager, madmanager. Having too much faith in my friends, I responded, “No I just opened up my wrapper and saw this,” continuing to point feebly at my sad sandwich.
After this went on for a while, my friends shouted my name and told me to come back to the table, laughing hysterically.
Shit.
I walked back to the table with my tail between my legs, realizing that my friends had indeed performed some modifications to my burger while I was up getting drinks.
And that’s what you get for doing everyone a favor.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
A Weekend in New York City
What do horrible cab drivers, modern art, improv comedy, drunk rappers, rooftop parties, gay pride, railroad parks, and the Brooklyn Bridge have in common? Well that last one kind of gave it away, but they are all parts of my amazing and extremely tiring weekend in New York City!
This weekend, I decided to save some gas money and stay up in New York instead of going home. So on Saturday, I left my apartment to head into the city where my sister lives. I left at 10 a.m. and didn’t get to her apartment until noon. I had to transfer trains in Secaucus, New Jersey, and I now understand why everyone says New Jersey smells.
Anyway, after eating lunch at a nice Vietnamese restaurant on St. Marks, we went to the Museum of Modern Art. Instead of taking a bunch of pictures of paintings, I decided to take pictures of people looking at pictures, which I thought was much more interesting. Some people turned around while I was taking their picture, and it got really awkward. Mad awk, if you will. I would kind of point my camera to the side and look in the other direction, but I think they knew. They definitely knew.
I never know what people are talking about or thinking about when they stand there and look at art. Call me shallow, but I kind of breezed through most of the galleries.
However, two galleries really caught my attention. Those were the architecture gallery and the contemporary furniture gallery. I guess I’m more interested in physical, 3-dimensional art. The architecture gallery was all about futuristic proposals to help New York City solve the issue of rising water levels, and the furniture gallery was just…furniture. But they were both really cool.
So after we left MoMA, my sister and I caught a train back to her apartment from Grand Central Station, which was gorgeous and reminded me of my favorite book as a child, The Cricket in Times Square. If you haven't read that book, I highly suggest that you do so.
At 8 o’clock, we went to the Peoples Improv Theater up on 29th Street to see an improv comedy show. It was absolutely hilarious, and I definitely hope to go back there soon. Their basic setup was that the group would sit in a circle and just talk about random stuff for about five minutes. Then for the next half hour they would improvise scenes that involved some detail of their conversation. Other members would jump in and add to the scenes or change to another scene. It was very creative, and the comedians were extremely talented.
Afterwards, I met up with my friend Jon, a film student at NYU, and we took the subway to Brooklyn, where his friend’s apartment was. I had never been to Brooklyn, so this experience was very cool. On the walk from the train station to Jon’s friend’s apartment, we were approached by a drunk guy who just really wanted to rap. So he walked with us for a block or two, spit some rhymes, and then went his way. Thus, my first impression of Brooklyn was being rapped at. Not rapped to or rapped for or rapped with. Rapped at. It was pretty sweet.
As if things couldn’t get any sweeter, once we got to the apartment, we ended up going up on the rooftop, where some Europeans had set up a little dance party. Some guy had set up a PA system and soundboard and everything and was bumping euro-trance. I was awestruck.
We were up there for probably an hour or so, just chatting and stuff. It was a beautiful night, and you could see the Manhattan skyline from where we were. I wish I had taken some pictures because that was definitely a new experience for me. The whole atmosphere was just so relaxing and cool. It felt like a scene from a movie or something. I want more rooftop parties!
At 1:30 a.m., Jon’s friends decided to go out to a bar in Manhattan. This is when I realized that I was not prepared for a night in the city because I was already dead tired. I gotta give it to them. New Yorkers are troopers when it comes to partying. So once we got to Manhattan, I pulled out the lame card and went back to my sister’s apartment to crash.
The next morning, I was woken by my mentor calling me on the phone. We had planned on meeting up in the city a few days before. So I got out of bed to find him on 3rd Avenue. We went to get lunch at the same Vietnamese place then headed over to 5th Avenue to watch some of the gay pride parade. It was a really fun time, and let’s just say there were some interesting characters.
After checking out the gay pride parade, my mentor and I went up north to visit the High Line park. The High Line is an entire park built on an old abandoned railroad that spans a few streets by Chelsea Pier. It was very hot, and there were some girls in bikinis just laying out on the park benches and reading. Only in New York City, I guess.
We then hopped back on the subway and went downtown to Pier 17, where some street performers were jamming on steel drums. We also had a great view of the Brooklyn Bridge.
By now I was completely exhausted, but my mentor wanted to check out Times Square, too. So we took the subway back uptown to Times Square, where there were literally a million people on the streets. I felt like I was going to die of suffocation.
As such, we didn’t spend much time at Times Square (ironic! haha not.) and headed to Penn Station to catch the train back to Jersey.
Just as a conclusion to an extremely long weekend, on the drive back to the apartment from the train station, I decided to go a little past our exit to get some Burger King at a rest stop. To my dismay, I realized that the next exit after the rest stop was another 15 miles. So I had to drive 15 miles down the highway just to come 15 miles back for freakin’ Burger King. Poor life decisions…
This weekend, I decided to save some gas money and stay up in New York instead of going home. So on Saturday, I left my apartment to head into the city where my sister lives. I left at 10 a.m. and didn’t get to her apartment until noon. I had to transfer trains in Secaucus, New Jersey, and I now understand why everyone says New Jersey smells.
Anyway, after eating lunch at a nice Vietnamese restaurant on St. Marks, we went to the Museum of Modern Art. Instead of taking a bunch of pictures of paintings, I decided to take pictures of people looking at pictures, which I thought was much more interesting. Some people turned around while I was taking their picture, and it got really awkward. Mad awk, if you will. I would kind of point my camera to the side and look in the other direction, but I think they knew. They definitely knew.
Pictures of People Looking at Pictures
I never know what people are talking about or thinking about when they stand there and look at art. Call me shallow, but I kind of breezed through most of the galleries.
However, two galleries really caught my attention. Those were the architecture gallery and the contemporary furniture gallery. I guess I’m more interested in physical, 3-dimensional art. The architecture gallery was all about futuristic proposals to help New York City solve the issue of rising water levels, and the furniture gallery was just…furniture. But they were both really cool.
So after we left MoMA, my sister and I caught a train back to her apartment from Grand Central Station, which was gorgeous and reminded me of my favorite book as a child, The Cricket in Times Square. If you haven't read that book, I highly suggest that you do so.
At 8 o’clock, we went to the Peoples Improv Theater up on 29th Street to see an improv comedy show. It was absolutely hilarious, and I definitely hope to go back there soon. Their basic setup was that the group would sit in a circle and just talk about random stuff for about five minutes. Then for the next half hour they would improvise scenes that involved some detail of their conversation. Other members would jump in and add to the scenes or change to another scene. It was very creative, and the comedians were extremely talented.
Afterwards, I met up with my friend Jon, a film student at NYU, and we took the subway to Brooklyn, where his friend’s apartment was. I had never been to Brooklyn, so this experience was very cool. On the walk from the train station to Jon’s friend’s apartment, we were approached by a drunk guy who just really wanted to rap. So he walked with us for a block or two, spit some rhymes, and then went his way. Thus, my first impression of Brooklyn was being rapped at. Not rapped to or rapped for or rapped with. Rapped at. It was pretty sweet.
As if things couldn’t get any sweeter, once we got to the apartment, we ended up going up on the rooftop, where some Europeans had set up a little dance party. Some guy had set up a PA system and soundboard and everything and was bumping euro-trance. I was awestruck.
We were up there for probably an hour or so, just chatting and stuff. It was a beautiful night, and you could see the Manhattan skyline from where we were. I wish I had taken some pictures because that was definitely a new experience for me. The whole atmosphere was just so relaxing and cool. It felt like a scene from a movie or something. I want more rooftop parties!
At 1:30 a.m., Jon’s friends decided to go out to a bar in Manhattan. This is when I realized that I was not prepared for a night in the city because I was already dead tired. I gotta give it to them. New Yorkers are troopers when it comes to partying. So once we got to Manhattan, I pulled out the lame card and went back to my sister’s apartment to crash.
The next morning, I was woken by my mentor calling me on the phone. We had planned on meeting up in the city a few days before. So I got out of bed to find him on 3rd Avenue. We went to get lunch at the same Vietnamese place then headed over to 5th Avenue to watch some of the gay pride parade. It was a really fun time, and let’s just say there were some interesting characters.
After checking out the gay pride parade, my mentor and I went up north to visit the High Line park. The High Line is an entire park built on an old abandoned railroad that spans a few streets by Chelsea Pier. It was very hot, and there were some girls in bikinis just laying out on the park benches and reading. Only in New York City, I guess.
We then hopped back on the subway and went downtown to Pier 17, where some street performers were jamming on steel drums. We also had a great view of the Brooklyn Bridge.
By now I was completely exhausted, but my mentor wanted to check out Times Square, too. So we took the subway back uptown to Times Square, where there were literally a million people on the streets. I felt like I was going to die of suffocation.
As such, we didn’t spend much time at Times Square (ironic! haha not.) and headed to Penn Station to catch the train back to Jersey.
Just as a conclusion to an extremely long weekend, on the drive back to the apartment from the train station, I decided to go a little past our exit to get some Burger King at a rest stop. To my dismay, I realized that the next exit after the rest stop was another 15 miles. So I had to drive 15 miles down the highway just to come 15 miles back for freakin’ Burger King. Poor life decisions…
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Home Cookin' (?)
If making macaroni and cheese counts as cooking, then today I did my first solo cooking job. Very exciting and momentous news. As such, here are some pictures to mark this event. Unfortunately, I didn't have a wooden spoon like on the macaroni box, so I used a butter knife. What can I say? I'm innovative.
Looks good! But it wasn't... It was also kind of cold by the time I got to eating it.
And if making macaroni and cheese doesn't count as cooking, then I apologize for this post. At least I made something.
Looks good! But it wasn't... It was also kind of cold by the time I got to eating it.
And if making macaroni and cheese doesn't count as cooking, then I apologize for this post. At least I made something.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
The Mind of a Germaphobe
I’d like to thank my older sister for making me become a germaphobe. Ever since I was a little kid, my sister would always tell me not to touch this or not to touch that.
“Why not?” I would ask.
“Because there’s poop on it,” she'd promptly reply.
It basically came to the point where everything had poop on it, and eventually I became extremely wary of touching floors, walls, anything in a public bathroom, etc. for fear of contracting poop germs.
Seriously though, germaphobia makes doing some things extremely inconvenient. For example, just today I wanted to do some pushups in my apartment. I have an exercise mat, but it’s relatively narrow, so if I were to do pushups, my hands would touch the floor. This is completely unacceptable. Thus, I had to use plastic bags that I found to cover the floor where my hands would be. Ultimately, the sliding plastic made for some difficult pushupping.
I am also deathly afraid of showers that aren’t my own. I have only recently been able to stand in a shower barefoot, although it really depends on how clean the shower looks. However, I must avoid touching the shower walls at all costs, unless I want poop germs all over me.
Sometimes I feel bad when I need to help someone move something that is dirty or moldy or poopish, so I suck it up and help move said object. One occasion that comes to mind is when I had to help my dad move an inflatable dinghy. Unfortunately for me, it was very moldy since it had been sitting by the water. After such events, I must run to the nearest sink and wash my hands and arms and change my shirt (if it touched the object).
Some people may consider my actions “girly” or “wimpy,” but I’m willing to take such criticism if it postpones my next encounter with poop germs. Plus, I have become a lot less germaphobic recently, and I am now open to the idea of drinking out of a bottle that someone else drank from (but only if I’m really, really thirsty).
“Why not?” I would ask.
“Because there’s poop on it,” she'd promptly reply.
It basically came to the point where everything had poop on it, and eventually I became extremely wary of touching floors, walls, anything in a public bathroom, etc. for fear of contracting poop germs.
Seriously though, germaphobia makes doing some things extremely inconvenient. For example, just today I wanted to do some pushups in my apartment. I have an exercise mat, but it’s relatively narrow, so if I were to do pushups, my hands would touch the floor. This is completely unacceptable. Thus, I had to use plastic bags that I found to cover the floor where my hands would be. Ultimately, the sliding plastic made for some difficult pushupping.
I am also deathly afraid of showers that aren’t my own. I have only recently been able to stand in a shower barefoot, although it really depends on how clean the shower looks. However, I must avoid touching the shower walls at all costs, unless I want poop germs all over me.
Sometimes I feel bad when I need to help someone move something that is dirty or moldy or poopish, so I suck it up and help move said object. One occasion that comes to mind is when I had to help my dad move an inflatable dinghy. Unfortunately for me, it was very moldy since it had been sitting by the water. After such events, I must run to the nearest sink and wash my hands and arms and change my shirt (if it touched the object).
Some people may consider my actions “girly” or “wimpy,” but I’m willing to take such criticism if it postpones my next encounter with poop germs. Plus, I have become a lot less germaphobic recently, and I am now open to the idea of drinking out of a bottle that someone else drank from (but only if I’m really, really thirsty).
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The Miracle of Golf
Golf is a magical sport. I was first introduced to this wonderful creation in middle school. Back then, my swing was very temperamental, and the golf gods did not see kindly to my game. I frequently found (or lost) my ball in the woods or in the lake, and I did not take it very well. I would get frustrated very easily and mope around on the golf course.
My swing is still very temperamental, but I now have a lot more enjoyment when I play golf. This is primarily due to the aspects of golf that have nothing to do with the sport at all. There have been three miraculous events that I have experienced throughout my golfing career, and these miracles have left me yearning for more. Thus, every time I play a round of golf, I always prepare myself to witness the next potential miracle. The Miracle of Golf is what keeps me grounded.
Number 1
The first Miracle of Golf was also the first time I ever assaulted anybody. It was during my junior year of high school, and the entire golf team was on a bus heading to a match. Now there was one kid, whose name I won’t mention, who was sitting in the seat across the aisle from me. This particular guy loved to talk trash and enjoyed making our lives hell.
So as he kept going on and on about whoever’s mom and whoever’s sister, he finally began talking about my very own mother.
“Hey, stop talking about my mom like that,” I said, giving him fair warning.
Obviously, a kid like this doesn’t just stop when asked. So when the next word came out of his mouth, I was suddenly overcome by some external power and my open hand went flying involuntarily across his face.
I slapped the captain of the golf team. “You just opened up a whole new can of worms,” he said. I still have no idea what that means, and I have yet to be attacked by worms. But I'll let you know when that happens.
Anyway, everyone on the bus began laughing, and in one fell swoop, I managed to quiet him for the rest of the bus ride (and much of the season as well). I mark this event as the first Miracle of Golf.
Number 2
The second miracle that I witnessed is known as “The Shadow Incident.” Let me paint you the scene.
I was teed up at the beautiful (not really) and scenic (nope) 11th hole of world-renowned (still nope) Valleybrook Country Club, owned by Ron Jaworski himself (yes). As I lined up my driver to send one down the center of this Par 5 fairway, my friend Mike decided it would be funny to thwart my efforts with the shadow of his own golf club. Five yards behind the tee box, Mike obnoxiously waved his club back and forth to cause its shadow to come across my ball several times.
“Mike, stop. I can’t concentrate,” I said.
He did not stop, and boy I am glad he didn’t. If Mike had stopped waving his damn shadow over my ball, this miracle would have never occurred. I would have hit a 300-yard bomb straight down the fairway. Mike would have gone up and hit a mediocre drive. It would have been any other day at the links.
But this day was different.
As Mike took one last swipe at my ball with his golf club’s shadow, the ball fell off the tee.
We looked at each other. The world went fuzzy. Five seconds of silence felt like an eternity. Our looks of astonishment quickly became uncontrollable laughter. My golf ball was knocked off the tee by Mike’s shadow, and no, there was no wind to be felt. Tell me that’s not a miracle.
Number 3
Now I can’t remember if the third miracle occurred on the same day, but it was phenomenal nonetheless. The scene was very similar to the previous one, except that I was teed up at the 12th hole, a short par three.
I waited for the player ahead of us to finish his putt and walk off the green before starting my pre-shot routine. I took two practice swings with my 4-iron and settled my golf club gently behind the ball.
As I went into my backswing, I felt great. I could tell that this was going to be a beautiful shot that would land softly on the green and roll promisingly towards the cup. That was until Mike decided it was in everybody’s best interest to yell, “PENIS!”
What happened then, I do not really recall, but my laughter during my downswing caused the ball to fly wildly off target. It was hooking left. Hard left. Right where the player ahead of us was putting his clubs into his golf cart.
Both of us stared up at the ball, still laughing uncontrollably and unable to yell “fore.”
We both thought the same thing. There’s no possible way that ball actually hits him. None at all. And that was when the third miracle happened.
The ball took a quick bounce off the cart path, and on its way up, it hit the man straight in the ass. We were speechless. Never before had I felt happiness, amazement, and fear all at the same time.
The man angrily turned around and yelled at us from 200 yards away. In what seemed like the funniest voice at that time, he cried, “Hey! Cut that out!” Then he continued to pack his clubs, took my ball, and threw it into the woods. And that, my friends, concludes the retelling of the third miracle of golf.
It has been a few years since those indescribable, once-in-a-lifetime events occurred. But let me assure you that golf is a game that can never be fully understood, and I will forever be on the lookout for that next….(dramatic pause)…. Miracle of Golf.
My swing is still very temperamental, but I now have a lot more enjoyment when I play golf. This is primarily due to the aspects of golf that have nothing to do with the sport at all. There have been three miraculous events that I have experienced throughout my golfing career, and these miracles have left me yearning for more. Thus, every time I play a round of golf, I always prepare myself to witness the next potential miracle. The Miracle of Golf is what keeps me grounded.
Number 1
The first Miracle of Golf was also the first time I ever assaulted anybody. It was during my junior year of high school, and the entire golf team was on a bus heading to a match. Now there was one kid, whose name I won’t mention, who was sitting in the seat across the aisle from me. This particular guy loved to talk trash and enjoyed making our lives hell.
So as he kept going on and on about whoever’s mom and whoever’s sister, he finally began talking about my very own mother.
“Hey, stop talking about my mom like that,” I said, giving him fair warning.
Obviously, a kid like this doesn’t just stop when asked. So when the next word came out of his mouth, I was suddenly overcome by some external power and my open hand went flying involuntarily across his face.
I slapped the captain of the golf team. “You just opened up a whole new can of worms,” he said. I still have no idea what that means, and I have yet to be attacked by worms. But I'll let you know when that happens.
Anyway, everyone on the bus began laughing, and in one fell swoop, I managed to quiet him for the rest of the bus ride (and much of the season as well). I mark this event as the first Miracle of Golf.
Number 2
The second miracle that I witnessed is known as “The Shadow Incident.” Let me paint you the scene.
I was teed up at the beautiful (not really) and scenic (nope) 11th hole of world-renowned (still nope) Valleybrook Country Club, owned by Ron Jaworski himself (yes). As I lined up my driver to send one down the center of this Par 5 fairway, my friend Mike decided it would be funny to thwart my efforts with the shadow of his own golf club. Five yards behind the tee box, Mike obnoxiously waved his club back and forth to cause its shadow to come across my ball several times.
“Mike, stop. I can’t concentrate,” I said.
He did not stop, and boy I am glad he didn’t. If Mike had stopped waving his damn shadow over my ball, this miracle would have never occurred. I would have hit a 300-yard bomb straight down the fairway. Mike would have gone up and hit a mediocre drive. It would have been any other day at the links.
But this day was different.
As Mike took one last swipe at my ball with his golf club’s shadow, the ball fell off the tee.
We looked at each other. The world went fuzzy. Five seconds of silence felt like an eternity. Our looks of astonishment quickly became uncontrollable laughter. My golf ball was knocked off the tee by Mike’s shadow, and no, there was no wind to be felt. Tell me that’s not a miracle.
Number 3
Now I can’t remember if the third miracle occurred on the same day, but it was phenomenal nonetheless. The scene was very similar to the previous one, except that I was teed up at the 12th hole, a short par three.
I waited for the player ahead of us to finish his putt and walk off the green before starting my pre-shot routine. I took two practice swings with my 4-iron and settled my golf club gently behind the ball.
As I went into my backswing, I felt great. I could tell that this was going to be a beautiful shot that would land softly on the green and roll promisingly towards the cup. That was until Mike decided it was in everybody’s best interest to yell, “PENIS!”
What happened then, I do not really recall, but my laughter during my downswing caused the ball to fly wildly off target. It was hooking left. Hard left. Right where the player ahead of us was putting his clubs into his golf cart.
Both of us stared up at the ball, still laughing uncontrollably and unable to yell “fore.”
We both thought the same thing. There’s no possible way that ball actually hits him. None at all. And that was when the third miracle happened.
The ball took a quick bounce off the cart path, and on its way up, it hit the man straight in the ass. We were speechless. Never before had I felt happiness, amazement, and fear all at the same time.
The man angrily turned around and yelled at us from 200 yards away. In what seemed like the funniest voice at that time, he cried, “Hey! Cut that out!” Then he continued to pack his clubs, took my ball, and threw it into the woods. And that, my friends, concludes the retelling of the third miracle of golf.
It has been a few years since those indescribable, once-in-a-lifetime events occurred. But let me assure you that golf is a game that can never be fully understood, and I will forever be on the lookout for that next….(dramatic pause)…. Miracle of Golf.
Monday, June 14, 2010
How To Succeed on the Road
Since I have been on the road quite a bit in the past few weeks, I decided to write down some tricks that I use to help cope with long drives. Long drives may seem daunting, but if you follow these simple steps, you will be a highway-driving pro in no time.
1. If you find yourself getting angry, act crazy instead. This is a tried and true method to keep the road rage at bay.
Some ways to act crazy:
3. Treat the highway like an exclusive club. If you’ve been waiting in traffic for a while, you’ve been in the club the longest. Along with your fellow traffic-sufferers. These men and women have fought by your side through these tough times. If someone who has just entered the highway is trying to cut you off, don’t let him in. In fact, take it upon yourself to just hate this newcomer from the depths of your heart. Everyone else is doing it. This club is private. Not just anyone can enter the club. You’ve earned your spot. Defend it.
4. Choose a car to be your highway buddy. Pretend that you two are best pals. Talk to your highway buddy as if he can actually hear you. This will prevent you from getting lonely and going crazy. Despite Tip 1, it is best not to be crazy at all.
5. If the highway is really getting the best of you, call a friend (using Bluetooth of course) under the pretense of asking some simple question. A mere, “Do you know what channel the game is on tonight?” will do. This way, you will feel connected to the outside world without seeming like a loser. (And no, I actually was asking for the score of the basketball game on Sunday)
Disclaimer: Results may differ for each individual.
1. If you find yourself getting angry, act crazy instead. This is a tried and true method to keep the road rage at bay.
Some ways to act crazy:
- Sing along to music, using only "beep," "boop," and "bop" as lyrics.
- Sit up close to the wheel and pretend you're an old lady driving.
- Make wooshing noises every time you switch lanes, and swing your body dramatically.
- Advanced: Attempt to harmonize with your music (not really that crazy).
3. Treat the highway like an exclusive club. If you’ve been waiting in traffic for a while, you’ve been in the club the longest. Along with your fellow traffic-sufferers. These men and women have fought by your side through these tough times. If someone who has just entered the highway is trying to cut you off, don’t let him in. In fact, take it upon yourself to just hate this newcomer from the depths of your heart. Everyone else is doing it. This club is private. Not just anyone can enter the club. You’ve earned your spot. Defend it.
4. Choose a car to be your highway buddy. Pretend that you two are best pals. Talk to your highway buddy as if he can actually hear you. This will prevent you from getting lonely and going crazy. Despite Tip 1, it is best not to be crazy at all.
5. If the highway is really getting the best of you, call a friend (using Bluetooth of course) under the pretense of asking some simple question. A mere, “Do you know what channel the game is on tonight?” will do. This way, you will feel connected to the outside world without seeming like a loser. (And no, I actually was asking for the score of the basketball game on Sunday)
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The First Time I Left School Early
Let me tell you a little story from seventh grade when my cafeteria lunch caused me to go temporarily blind.
After a hearty meal in the school cafeteria, I navigated my way through the one-way hallways in my middle school to get to science class. Yes, for some reason the administration felt it necessary to implement one-way hallways in our school. Anyway, it was a typical day, just like any other, minus the fact that midway through class I would go partially blind.
So I was sitting in class, minding my own business as the teacher was going on about the best way to distinguish cumulus and cumulonimbus clouds, when I started getting extremely lightheaded. First I couldn’t see the chalkboard, then I couldn’t see the teacher, and soon I couldn’t see my classmates.
Usually these types of things fix themselves, but when it got to the point where I could barely see the notebook in front of me, I raised my hand and asked if I could go to the nurse.
“Vince, go with David to the nurse’s office,” she said, looking at my face with an expression of concern.
After I stumbled out of the classroom, I struggled to walk down the hallway and crashed several times into the lockers to my right.
“Dude… are you okay?” Vince said.
“Umm, I can’t see.”
So we finally made it to the nurse’s office, and to my peril, Vince left me to return to class. Now you might think that once I made it to the nurse’s office, I’d be okay. And I would have been, had the nurse’s office not been a labyrinth fit for Theseus and had my vision not been rendered useless.
I stood there at the door to the nurse’s office not knowing where to go but reluctant to yell for help either. I could hear the nurse consoling a girl in another room, but my precious eyes wouldn’t lead me to her. I probably stood there for a good five minutes, feeling around me, trying to find the elusive path to the nurse.
Then I finally got the idea to turn left. Left. It took me five minutes to think of turning left. Nonetheless, when I turned to my left, I saw beautiful fluorescent lights emitting gleams of hope into my wounded eyes. I walked/staggered toward them dramatically and promptly bumped into a chair. I sat down and put my head down to rest.
I sat for about twenty minutes when my head started to clear up and my vision began to slowly return. I was able to stand back up, and I could finally see the nurse’s office! I walked in, and not knowing what to say since I now felt fine, I said, “Hi. I was feeling really dizzy and couldn’t see, so I sat on your chair. But now I’m fine. So...”
Then I ran to the bathroom and puked everywhere. The nurse called my dad and I got to go home early.
After a hearty meal in the school cafeteria, I navigated my way through the one-way hallways in my middle school to get to science class. Yes, for some reason the administration felt it necessary to implement one-way hallways in our school. Anyway, it was a typical day, just like any other, minus the fact that midway through class I would go partially blind.
So I was sitting in class, minding my own business as the teacher was going on about the best way to distinguish cumulus and cumulonimbus clouds, when I started getting extremely lightheaded. First I couldn’t see the chalkboard, then I couldn’t see the teacher, and soon I couldn’t see my classmates.
Usually these types of things fix themselves, but when it got to the point where I could barely see the notebook in front of me, I raised my hand and asked if I could go to the nurse.
“Vince, go with David to the nurse’s office,” she said, looking at my face with an expression of concern.
After I stumbled out of the classroom, I struggled to walk down the hallway and crashed several times into the lockers to my right.
“Dude… are you okay?” Vince said.
“Umm, I can’t see.”
So we finally made it to the nurse’s office, and to my peril, Vince left me to return to class. Now you might think that once I made it to the nurse’s office, I’d be okay. And I would have been, had the nurse’s office not been a labyrinth fit for Theseus and had my vision not been rendered useless.
I stood there at the door to the nurse’s office not knowing where to go but reluctant to yell for help either. I could hear the nurse consoling a girl in another room, but my precious eyes wouldn’t lead me to her. I probably stood there for a good five minutes, feeling around me, trying to find the elusive path to the nurse.
Then I finally got the idea to turn left. Left. It took me five minutes to think of turning left. Nonetheless, when I turned to my left, I saw beautiful fluorescent lights emitting gleams of hope into my wounded eyes. I walked/staggered toward them dramatically and promptly bumped into a chair. I sat down and put my head down to rest.
I sat for about twenty minutes when my head started to clear up and my vision began to slowly return. I was able to stand back up, and I could finally see the nurse’s office! I walked in, and not knowing what to say since I now felt fine, I said, “Hi. I was feeling really dizzy and couldn’t see, so I sat on your chair. But now I’m fine. So...”
Then I ran to the bathroom and puked everywhere. The nurse called my dad and I got to go home early.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
I'm From New Jersey
If you’re reading this, you are most likely from New Jersey, and you know that in New Jersey, every gas station is full service. Being in New York and all, I remembered that all they have here is weak sauce (yeah I say that now too) self-service. I’ll admit, I’ve pumped my own gas before, but every time in the past, I just put my card in the pump and gas comes out. Simple.
But at this particular gas station, you’re supposed to pay inside and then pump your gas. So I walk in the door and nonchalantly say, “Yeah let me get 60 dollars on pump 2.” I walk back to the pump, and I just draw a blank. I’m standing there pushing the button for the gas I want, but nothing is happening. What the hell?
I wait another few minutes, thinking that maybe the guy just hasn’t activated the pump yet. Is that what they do back there? I just imagine this guy like, “Pump Two, GOOOOO!” and waving his fingers at the machine or something.
I punch the button a couple more times just for good measure, then stroll around to peak at the other pumps. Maybe the guy (I’ve by now dubbed the gas person “the guy”) activated the wrong pump or something. Nothing.
As the self-consciousness sets deep inside me, the guy walks out to me and asks me what the hell I’m just standing around for. “Uh. Umm. Let’s see…” And I say the first thing that comes to my mind.
"I'm from New Jersey." What does that even mean? Is that the new excuse for being socially awkward? As he walked away (confused), I realized that there were steps and pictures on the machine clearly explaining how to operate the damn thing. Nice.
So gas is finally flowing into the abyss that is my gas tank, and I'm looking up at the screen. 10 gallons. 12 gallons. 15 gallons. Shit, how much does this car hold? 15 gallons and I'm only at $45. Then I'm wondering if the gas keeps coming out until $60 is reached. I don't think my car can hold that much. In a panic, I begin running through the possible scenarios in my head.
Well in the end, it all worked out because the pump stopped at $60, and gas didn't come exploding into my face or anything. So this story isn't actually as interesting as it could have been. But just imagine...
Moral of the story is: Gas should always be pumped by a professional, and I wish I knew how gas stations worked.
But at this particular gas station, you’re supposed to pay inside and then pump your gas. So I walk in the door and nonchalantly say, “Yeah let me get 60 dollars on pump 2.” I walk back to the pump, and I just draw a blank. I’m standing there pushing the button for the gas I want, but nothing is happening. What the hell?
I wait another few minutes, thinking that maybe the guy just hasn’t activated the pump yet. Is that what they do back there? I just imagine this guy like, “Pump Two, GOOOOO!” and waving his fingers at the machine or something.
I punch the button a couple more times just for good measure, then stroll around to peak at the other pumps. Maybe the guy (I’ve by now dubbed the gas person “the guy”) activated the wrong pump or something. Nothing.
As the self-consciousness sets deep inside me, the guy walks out to me and asks me what the hell I’m just standing around for. “Uh. Umm. Let’s see…” And I say the first thing that comes to my mind.
"I'm from New Jersey." What does that even mean? Is that the new excuse for being socially awkward? As he walked away (confused), I realized that there were steps and pictures on the machine clearly explaining how to operate the damn thing. Nice.
So gas is finally flowing into the abyss that is my gas tank, and I'm looking up at the screen. 10 gallons. 12 gallons. 15 gallons. Shit, how much does this car hold? 15 gallons and I'm only at $45. Then I'm wondering if the gas keeps coming out until $60 is reached. I don't think my car can hold that much. In a panic, I begin running through the possible scenarios in my head.
Well in the end, it all worked out because the pump stopped at $60, and gas didn't come exploding into my face or anything. So this story isn't actually as interesting as it could have been. But just imagine...
Moral of the story is: Gas should always be pumped by a professional, and I wish I knew how gas stations worked.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Worst. Experience. Ever.
So as I’m leaving for the frisbee game, which is supposed to start at 6:30, I put in my contacts, which I haven’t used in a while. My eyes are a little irritated, but that usually goes away.
Anyway, this drive is like a 45 minute drive, so I’m going along on the highway and my eyes just start burning up. And I mean like acid being smeared on your pupils. I am literally crying as I’m driving down the highway at 70 miles per hour, trying not to blink but failing miserably. Oh, I’ll just throw out my contacts and wear my glasses. But no. I specifically left them on my desk, thinking, “I don’t need my glasses. Contacts will be fine,” (I am never going somewhere without my glasses ever again).
So I’m driving down the highway like a madman thinking, “Is this really happening to me right now?” I was certain I was going to crash and die. I look up the closest Rite-Aid on my iPhone (yes, while driving. I know, I know), and it’s 1 hour and 8 minutes away. What the crap?! Then I pass Exit 9 and see a giant Target pass by. Never had my hopes and dreams been shattered more so than this. I was seriously considering turning around on the highway and driving back to the exit.
Lo and behold I suffer for another 5 minutes and come across the Palisades mall at Exit 12.
By this point I was forced to take out my contacts because I could have sworn my eyes were going to dissolve in their sockets. So I’m walking through the mall like an idiot, squinting to find any sign of a convenient store, when I find the directory.
There’s a Target here. Awesome! But yeah it’s on the top floor and on the other side of the mall. I'm walking through the mall trying to act as normal as possible (in reality I’m on the verge of a panic attack because I have no clue what’s going on), and it just seems like everyone’s staring at me. "It's probably in my head," I think to myself.
So when I finally get to Target, I find the closest floor rep and ask him where the contact solution is as casually as possible. Later on I realized it must have looked something like this:
To make a long story short, I finally get the solution and try to wash out my contacts, but on the road to the frisbee fields my eyes start burning up again. To make matters worse, I miss a couple of turns and prolong the drive about ten more grueling, torturous, anger-filled minutes. I apologize publicly to my GPS. I didn't mean those things, I swear.
When I finally get to the fields I decide just to not wear my contacts.
In conclusion, I played some really awkward, semi-blind frisbee today, and it was kind of fun. But not that fun. But kind of. I’m going to have to re-meet everyone on Wednesday because I couldn’t see any of my teammates' faces.
I found my mom’s bifocals in the car and wore them on the drive home. Let's just say it was a very stressful time. All in all, I'd have to say this was my worst experience ever.
Anyway, this drive is like a 45 minute drive, so I’m going along on the highway and my eyes just start burning up. And I mean like acid being smeared on your pupils. I am literally crying as I’m driving down the highway at 70 miles per hour, trying not to blink but failing miserably. Oh, I’ll just throw out my contacts and wear my glasses. But no. I specifically left them on my desk, thinking, “I don’t need my glasses. Contacts will be fine,” (I am never going somewhere without my glasses ever again).
So I’m driving down the highway like a madman thinking, “Is this really happening to me right now?” I was certain I was going to crash and die. I look up the closest Rite-Aid on my iPhone (yes, while driving. I know, I know), and it’s 1 hour and 8 minutes away. What the crap?! Then I pass Exit 9 and see a giant Target pass by. Never had my hopes and dreams been shattered more so than this. I was seriously considering turning around on the highway and driving back to the exit.
Lo and behold I suffer for another 5 minutes and come across the Palisades mall at Exit 12.
By this point I was forced to take out my contacts because I could have sworn my eyes were going to dissolve in their sockets. So I’m walking through the mall like an idiot, squinting to find any sign of a convenient store, when I find the directory.
There’s a Target here. Awesome! But yeah it’s on the top floor and on the other side of the mall. I'm walking through the mall trying to act as normal as possible (in reality I’m on the verge of a panic attack because I have no clue what’s going on), and it just seems like everyone’s staring at me. "It's probably in my head," I think to myself.
So when I finally get to Target, I find the closest floor rep and ask him where the contact solution is as casually as possible. Later on I realized it must have looked something like this:
To make a long story short, I finally get the solution and try to wash out my contacts, but on the road to the frisbee fields my eyes start burning up again. To make matters worse, I miss a couple of turns and prolong the drive about ten more grueling, torturous, anger-filled minutes. I apologize publicly to my GPS. I didn't mean those things, I swear.When I finally get to the fields I decide just to not wear my contacts.
In conclusion, I played some really awkward, semi-blind frisbee today, and it was kind of fun. But not that fun. But kind of. I’m going to have to re-meet everyone on Wednesday because I couldn’t see any of my teammates' faces.
I found my mom’s bifocals in the car and wore them on the drive home. Let's just say it was a very stressful time. All in all, I'd have to say this was my worst experience ever.
Chronicles of the Boonies
Remember those days in senior year of high school when you showed up late and had to park in the parking lot 14 gajillion feet away? That was always the first thing that came to my mind when I heard the word “boonies.” Until now. For the next two months, I’ll be working in an NYU Medical Center lab. Sounds kinda cool right? Except that this lab is like the furthest possible satellite campus I’ve ever heard of, and it’s an hour northwest of the city. Try to point out Tuxedo Park, NY on a map. Actually, don’t waste your time because you won’t find it.
So instead of talking about my research and the fact that I spend an entire day under creepy yellow lights (UV rays from white light damage proteins), I figured I could talk about random/weird things that happen while in this very random/weird place. Let’s see… so today I got enzyme on my face, and I’m pretty sure some of it got in my eye. Not wanting to embarrass myself by telling my mentor that I managed to splash the contents of a reaction tube on my face (I had already embarrassed myself on the first two days), I grabbed a paper towel and casually “blew my nose.” In case you were wondering, blowing your nose while attempting to inconspicuously wipe your face and eye isn’t as easy as it sounds. Anyway, it started burning so I had to run to the bathroom. I still don’t know if it was all in my head. Even writing about it makes my cheek itch.
After work I drove around because the area around Tuxedo Park is full of lakes and parks and nature reserves. I came across a sign for “Blue Lake” and turned down the narrow dirt road. After driving for about a mile, I came across a huge lake with giant forest-y hills in the background. Absolutely gorgeous. Oh, and did I mention that I saw IBM’s super secret confidential secret building? It looks like something out of a movie. A movie that I want to make soon, but I’ll leave that for another day.
super secret ibm headquarters
Alright it probably wasn’t very secret, because I later saw on the main road a giant “IBM - Nonsecret, Very Public Headquarters” sign. Not really but yeah. Anyway, as I was driving through another park in Sloatsburg, another place you’ve never heard of, I saw this old lady decked out in hiking boots and hiking poles(?) just going at it. She must have been like at least five miles from the nearest building or car or anything. Good for her. I sure as hell don’t plan on doing that any time soon though.
Oh yeah so I forgot to mention the place I’m staying. Last Thursday, I moved into a room in a house in Sloatsburg. It was mad awk (try to spread that phrase. It’s a good phrase) because I basically moved in when no one was there. That night, I still hadn’t seen the landlord, and I was definitely thinking I moved into the wrong house. I was just waiting for some huge dude to walk into the house and kick the crap out of me.
Luckily, my mentor at the lab also lives in the same house, so when I saw him come in I was greatly relieved. I only just met the landlord half an hour ago, so now I can say that I slept in a random person’s house for three nights.
I’m nearing the end of my thought stream now. I probably made that up. Thought stream? I can’t think of the right phrase. Anyway, today I’m starting my first day of WUDI, Westchester Ultimate Disc, Inc. It’s an ultimate frisbee league that plays at SUNY - Purchase, and I’m really excited. I plan on using my new camera to take some action shots or something. Maybe I’ll post them on here later. Anyway, I’m surprised you’ve read this far. Cool beans. I say that now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
