XLII

Most of you who know me well probably know that I normally do not care much for professional football. No, I do not find it to be a coarse and barbaric contact sport; I just usually find to to be boring. However, a fact I am certain most of you do not know is that I am also a New York Giants fan. And when my team makes it to the Superbowl and starts playing an amazing game of football, televised football happens to keep my attention rapt. Coming into the game as certain underdogs, their performance tonight was stunning. Instead of buckling under the predictions of a Patriot win and perfect season, they gave one of, if not the, most amazing Giant wins I have ever seen. Add in a performance by Tom Petty, and a Coke commercial featuring a Charlie Brown parade balloon, and you make for one spectacular evening.

Okay. I've gotten that out of my system.

A decent proposal

The other night, en route to food after visiting MoMA, my friends and I stopped by to see the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. (The fad for Christmas decorations this year in New York is "environmentally friendly", so the lights on the tree are LEDs. Way to be, Mayor Bloomberg. There is usually a small crowd of tourists around the area, watching the people who paid way too much to skate on the rink. However, tonight there were a few hundred people cramming around the edges, looking down into the rink, and our curiosity was thoroughly piqued. Perhaps some celebrity was performing? As it would turn out, there were no celebrities, only a man with enough money to clear the rink so he could skate with his girlfriend, and with a dramatic flourish, propose to her at center ice. The tourists loved it. My friend yelled, "Say no!" Perhaps Sarah wasn't able to make her voice heard among the cheers of hundreds of onlookers; the girl said yes.

Aliens and Rats and Girls

I have heard a lot of different speeches from various panhandlers, musicians, and other displaced, subway-riding bums, but what I heard yesterday as my friend Mike and I made our way to Union Square was the most bizarre yet. No one really talks on the subway, so whenever one begins a tirade asking for handouts, it's not hard to hear exactly what he, or she is saying. This particular gentleman began as most do, yelling some crazy jargon about God, the government, and the Apocalypse. I had my back toward his end of the train, and having heard similar things before, did not turn around. However, this man carried things a bit further, shouting that "he was an alien!" and that he brought a message from his home planet. He then proceeded to pull out a saxophone, and make a fast-paced series of squeaks and blips, what he called the "language of his planet." There was also a brief, yet terribly painful interlude of the Twilight Zone and Outer Limits theme songs.Thinking that this was a performance worthy of payment, he then made a plea to his fellow "travelers" that he needed earthly currency in order to return home safely. There was also some quip about taking Bush and Cheney with him when he left. A nice gesture, but it was still not winsome enough to overcome the annoyance of the pervious five minutes. As he left though the door near me, I saw that he was wearing antenna made out of wire. Yeah.

Later that evening, as Mike and I were enjoying some organic chocolate chip banana bread from the Union Square Green Market, a rat crawled right under our feet, as if neither one of us were sitting there. I said, rather nonchalantly, "Um, Mike, there's a rat under your foot," something I though I'd never say. But, in New York, one never knows. Eating organic banana bread in Union Square Park, after dark is not the best idea, that is if unless one wants to see the local "wildlife."

In other subway news, the ride home brought with it a very cinematic moment.
The scene: a crowded subway car.
A beautiful girl was stares pensively into empty space. Our eyes met briefly. We smile, if only slightly. I pretend not to steal glances out of the corner of my eye. The train arrives at my stop. It is hers too. She gets out first. I watch as she is swallowed by the undulating masses in the Times Square station.
If this were really a movie, we would randomly meet while browsing through books at the library, where we both make small talk about out mutual love for the short stories of Kleist- either that, or at a dog park.

It's Sunday Mornin', Y'all...

I'm not sure why I haven't written about this yet, but about four weeks ago, I found a new church. It's pretty nifty, and very small (not that I'm not used to small.) NYC Church (creative, I know) is a fledgling church, founded as an offshoot of another church in Portland, Oregon. Essentially, the pastor had had a heart for the the city, and recently felt that God was calling him to plant a church in the Battery Park area. (Yes, I go to church right next to Ground Zero.) So, he and his young family, and a bunch of others that felt called from that church uprooted from Portland, and moved to New York.
It's been pretty good so far, and it's been encouraging to get to know and fellowship with other believers. I've really felt welcome there, which is something I cannot say about some of the other churches I have visited here.
Ironically, we don't have our own building, and meet in a movie theatre. And yes, we have to set up and tear down the sound system each week. Oh, and there's coffee and donuts EVERY Sunday. Ha, ha.

All the World Might Be a Stage (but it more than likely isn't playing something I want to see)

That's the bad thing about plays; you usually can't walk out of them without getting noticed. In movie theatres, which are often designed for people to come and go, one cannot disturb the performance, save blocking another's view for a few moments. After all, it's actors are merely projections. Also, while live theatre generally limits bathroom and concession stand use to the intermission, coming and going during a film does not carry the same stigma that the same type of movement would in a theatrical performance. In other words, should things turn sour on the big screen, one can leave gracefully. It is usually not so in theatre.
I seem to have been having some bad luck with plays lately. All of the one's I've seen in New York this year have taken, at some point or another, that aforementioned sour turn. And no, none of the three had an intermission. These were a mixture of plays: two being Fordham productions, and the other, an off-Broadway show. From gratuitous and sexualized murder scenes, beyond-bawdy comic songs, and insanity coupled with incest, these plays left you with a bit of a sour taste in your mouth (the latter two plays were not nearly as bad as the first, which in addition to being the most unsavory, was poorly written and weakly directed).
I wish I could have walked out on them, or not have gone in the first place. (Thankfully all three plays together cost roughly $25.00, which in New York, is a steal!) However, one cannot always look into the exact details of the show before attending. I guess I will try to be much more cautious in the future, or at the very least sit near the aisle to make a speedy and unobtrusive exit.

Cameras and Yo-YoMa

I realize I have not written in some time. There is a lot to share; little things, mostly.

I finally have a digital camera, thanks to some generous re-gifting on the part of our landlady and family friend.
(It turns out that the one she sent is the exact one I was looking at buying.)

You can expect more work, more often, very soon.

Two Tuesdays ago, I went to see Yo-Yo Ma and the New York Philharmonic, play an all Dvorak concert, for free. My friends Mike, Steve and I got up at 5 AM, arrived at ten till 6 AM, and stood in line for the 8:30 AM ticket handout and the 9:45 AM concert. The concert itself was beautiful. Ma was phenomenal, as always, and entertained the crowd, joking and laughing with the principal violinist, while playing (beautifully, I might add.) I now count the last movement of Dvorak's Cello Concerto as one of my favorites.

As beautiful as the concert was, even more entertaining, was the wait. Let me remind you that this was a Tuesday morning, and a free concert. That means, it attracted all of the crazies, and privileged folk who could afford to take off from work, and decided to forego the gala opening later in the evening. The line was enormous. (The Times reported that they had to turn several hundred ticket-bearing people away.) Never have I seen so many people try to cut the line, feign ignorance or confusion, go to the front of the line (which was right before a gigantic table with a red cloth over it) and ask if it was the end, and other such tomfoolery to get a better spot in line. It was ridiculous. There was this one lady who hid behind a pillar, and then cut in front of the first person in line (who had gotten there at midnight) at precisely the right time, to get the very first ticket. My friends and I were watching her, and as she laughed and talked to herself, and continually pulled her coat collar over her face, we knew she was up to something. It turns out she was.

When we got inside, adults who seemed respectable otherwise were pushing, shoving, running, and resorting to kindergarten tactics to get the best seats. (Did I mention that this was not well organized?) I was appalled, really, and a bit angry. Adults in suits and nice dresses were acting as juvenile, or worse, than preschoolers. That craziness, punctuated by an outburst from several members of the audience during the opening speech about how the microphone was too soft, and mass clapping between movements, made for an unforgettable experience.

In other news, I'm getting a roommate on Monday. If it is who I think it is, there might be trouble on the horizon. I really hope not. Invisible roommates are the best ever; they're so quiet.

That is all for now. I may write more later.

Birthdays...

I know this is going to sound trite, but trust me, I'm being sincere. Thanks to everyone who made my birthday truly a happy one. Wow. How bad can I get? That statement was much worse than I expected. Perhaps I should start writing Hallmark cards, and not the sometimes witty Shoebox ones either. Then, I'd be able to give to others that same birthday feeling you guys gave to me. Oh gosh. Someone help me, please.


Here is an example of the card in which one could fine either of the above birthday messages.

Laundry room confession #3

Very, very early this morning, I went up to the laundry room to get my clothes out of the dryer. As I came to the room, i noticed another guy was in there, sitting on tip of the washers, reading. "Oh," I thought to myself," he must just be sitting there while his clothes are in the wash. I guess I'm not the only one doing laundry at 3AM." However, as I proceeded to remove and fold my clothes, I noticed that it was quiet- too quiet. No washers and no dryers were running at all, yet this guy was still sitting in there, diligently reading several class assignments. I tried to get my stuff together as quickly as I could, without seeming disturbed. After I left, I knew two things: one, I am the only one who does laundry at 3AM, and two, I am not the only crazy person at Fordham.

A few things

Is seems it has been almost a week since I have last updated. So, I leave you with a few random thoughts.

Perhaps it is because we moved back to school during fashion week, or perhaps the face of New York has changed dramatically while I was away, but everyone has gotten a lot prettier and much more stylish. Those who themselves do not carry the face of body of ideal beauty, still look as though they are extras in a movie. I felt very much out of place.

I have both the Hebrew Bible and the Apocrypha sitting in my room. Do not worry; I will not be reading the latter.

I desperately want to be in a play this fall, but I know that doing so would mean certain and swift academic suicide.

I need a camera.

Next weekend, I am (hopefully) planning a get-together dinner with a few of my friends, who are all on floors with double digits. In other words, since I am on the sixth floor, I do not get to see them too often. As I was telling my friend Matt, I was hesitating calling the dinner a potluck (even though that's what it is), because that would make us sound too old, and might require the implementation of a "kid's table", so our middle-aged selves could stuff our faces and discuss the details of our middle class existence in relative peace. I think I will be making vegetarian lasagna (for my vegetarian friends, or course).

First Day of Class

In the words of the illustrious Dan Zecher, this year is going to be "the brutes." I'm looking at a lot of writing, and day-to-day work, but, I'm up for it.

In other news, I think I'm coming down with some type of cold/flu symptoms. Also, I was just approved to take the night Chemistry class. That's a huge load of of my shoulders. Now, all I need to do is work out my problem with my English class. Bigger things have been solved in a shorter amount of time, so I'm not terribly worried.

Blog, Take 2

Those of you who have read my blog know that at times, it was very depressing. I am going to make a significant effort to not use this to bring those that might read this down as well. Things are looking up, and I'm confident that they're going to remain that way.

In other news, I have officaly moved back to school, unpacked, and and am waiting for classes to start tomorrow. I am going into this new school year with a bit of trepidation, but I am mostly just excited for a fresh start. I found out today that I have no roommate, as the one with whom I am supposed to room (yuck, it rhymes) has transferred. Thus, I have my room nicely to myself.

Finally, as proof that this blog has taken, and will continue to take a decided turn for the happier, I give you this picture I took toward the end of this past summer.