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.

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.

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…

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.

aaahhhhhhhhhhh

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).

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.

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.

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).

2. I don’t know if this really counts as a tip, but get out of the fast lane unless you’re actually going fast. Every time you occupy the fast lane, a labradoodle falls off a cliff. Be courteous of speeders. See below if you're a visual learner.

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.