Advice from Never and Always

Never...
Never cross a street in Rome.
From my friend's uncle, "never pass a bathroom, never trust a fart, and never neglect an erection".
Never expect that Kiss will be able to play all of their hits in a single concert. There are just too many. They can't play them all. Some nights, for example, "Let's Put the X Back in Sex" will not appear on their playlist.
Never sit in the back of a Greyhound Bus.
Never gawk at a celebrity. My stare scared CNN reporter John Roberts today.

Always...
Always keep your coat on if dining at an Italian restaurant in a white shirt.
Always have a prop at work, such as a mop. You never know who is going to look in on you.
Always assume that you will run for president. This will dissuade you from a lot of bad decisions.
Always spend more time washing white tiles than black tiles.
Always assume that people have innies and outies, in that they have inner and outer dialogues, and sometimes these dialogues will conflict.
Always assume that cockroaches are armed.

Never admit that you always think about her.

Charitable Organizations

Charitable organizations that will some day bear my name:
-An organization that teaches people how to pronounce difficult words like potpourri, bon mot, and avoir. (I guess it's an organization to help people learn French.)
-An organization that sends a stack of books home with newborns when they are discharged from the hospital. The books will be stacked next to the car seat. (I like this idea.)
-A group that dispenses the Christmas gifts that I wanted to receive when growing up. Kids from ages nine to twelve will get Star Wars action figures and The Bee Gees Greatest Hits double LP. Teens will get a car and The Bee Gees Greatest Hits on two cassette tapes. Kids from ages four to eight will get an otter.
-An organization that builds theme parks that showcase global cultures in each state of the union. Theme parks will be similar to Epcot Center but pavilions, merchandise, and personnel will reflect current attitudes toward US policies, culture, and exchange rates in each UN192 +1 nation. (+1 = Vatican City)

How will I fund these chartible organizations?
I will be getting friends and family "In Rainbows ", Radiohead's new "pay-what-you-want" cd for Christmas this year.

Thinking about Rome...Slug Bug Nun

-I like playing slug bug nun, a game where you punch a nearby friend when you see a nun. The game is based on slug bug where you hit a nearby friend when you see a Volkswagen beetle. There were so many nuns in Rome that we had to change the game to slug bug caucasian nun. I'll play smart car fart the next time I'm in Rome.
-There are no backseat drivers in a smart car.
-I've decided not to give friends and family the "Joy of Cooking: Re-creating Meals Served In Northwest Airlines Economy Class".
-Rome is more expensive than New York.
-Romans weren't listening to iPods. They were talking to other people.
-A Roman woman smiled at me. It could have been gas. It's so hard to tell.
-Sometimes I forget how to sleep.
-I'm not happy when friends hear me struggle to speak Italian and know that I have three semesters of Italian under my belt.
-Senior moments will be renamed "google moments" when gen X reaches old age. There were many times during the vacation when my friends and I were unable retrieve key information, like the name of the lead singer of Simply Red. Seconds after the "moment" everyone would agree, with chins raised, brows unfurled, and cheeks unblushed that the query could be googled at a later date. There was no shame in forgetting.

Saturday Night at the Movies

I went to see Michael Clayton Saturday evening. The theater was about a quarter full. I chose a seat near the back. Two seats separated myself from others. Most people in the theater had surrounded themselves with open seats.

There are many reasons why people add space between themselves and strangers. Sometimes it's about self-preservation. For example, in a hospital waiting room a person will try not to sit next to an ailing stranger, afraid of the bad air that she is expelling. Sometimes it's about the protection of dignity. For example, on public transportation a bulky person might stand, because he is afraid of not being able to fit between two seated riders. Sometimes it's about dignity and the expulsion of bad air. In public bathrooms a person will try to go unnoticed next to an open stall.

I sat apart from others in theater because someone might notice that I can't stop smelling myself. I had eaten at a local restaurant three days in a row. The food was ok, but I liked the way I smelled after day two, so I returned to the restaurant again. My smell left me almost anxiety free- like when you bite into a deboned carrot.

I was only left with one worry- that a stranger sitting next to me might accuse me of being a cyborg, because he noticed that wires were coming out of my right ear (one of my earbuds is broken).

The February Calendar

A friend of a close relative visited me about nine months ago. She thought that I needed to decorate my kitchen, so she went out and bought a calendar and hung it above my stove. I didn't do anything with the calendar, so it stayed on February for four months. During this time I didn't exactly live off-the-calendar. I had a general idea of both month and day. But whenever I looked at the calendar it felt like February kept repeating itself, like a record with a skip. I finally threw the calendar out, just three months before the start of another February.

Irresistible Rationality

Irresistible + Rationality= Irrationality

Evidence of Irresistible Rationality:
If I don't do an immediate clean up after I cut myself in the kitchen, then roaches will develop a taste for blood.

I'll lose my voice if I don't use it during the day. (I don't like zero noise emission days.)

The Smithsonian is relocating people, animals, and buildings to Washington DC so that they can be exhibited in a museum devoted to my life. I don't know how else to explain the disappearance of my next door neighbors and their dog, my bird neighbor, my college dorm, certain friends, the hospital that I was born in, my high school, the donut shop hang out, Dan Fogelberg, and a cord that connects my DVD to the TV.

Gym, God, and Gore

I wanted to go to the gym, but she was blocking the door and was in mid-sermon. She, a relative of a friend of a relative. Me, a friend to those who let me go to the gym. She had already worked her way through forgiveness, prayer, heaven, conversion, and creationism when she started into Al Gore. Guest or no guest, I had to say something that would end the conversation. So I told her that I didn't believe in god, but that I believed in Al Gore. It worked. I went to the gym and we didn't talk about religion or Al Gore after that. We talked about the warm day, but not climate change, and schooling, but not Sunday school.

The Bruce Take Away

My friend and I saw Springsteen at Madison Square Garden last week. Here's what I took away from the night.

-The woman in front of us shouldn't have been doing the "Dancing in the Dark" dance to Last to Die, a song about war.

-Bruce and Nils shouldn't try to walk (side by side) up narrow ramps.

-I like the new Springsteen songs as much as the old ones. Maybe it's because he seemed so excited about them or maybe it was because the new ones are quieter so everyone was able to sit down during those songs.

-I've been listening to music too softly. Springsteen sounded good loud.

-I need to be better prepared for concerts. I would have charged my cell phone if I had known that phones, and not lighters, were now what's raised when anthems play.

-My friend still pushes his hands through his hair when he's tired and anxious.

-Springsteen is very good in front of an audience. Funny, angry, entertaining, playful, articulate...

-I was starstruck during the concert. I had seen Dr. Timothy Johnson from Good Morning America earlier that day but my heart didn't skip a beat. I felt something when I saw Bruce. I wonder what's like for Little Steven-- he's given the spotlight during his guitar solo but everyone's attention is still given to Bruce.

-I should hide the fact that I like Patty Scialfa's music. My friend gave me grief for that admission.

-Many people go outside three or four times a day in order to walk their cigarettes. Is "walk the cigarette" a yoyo trick created by Ciggy, a character on the popular 1950s TV show for kids, Marlboro Street? My friend had to work late so I was alone before the show. My mind tends to wander when I'm alone.

Losing Track of Time

I lose track of time when...
I'm at a movie that I like.
I'm trying to amuse myself.
I'm working on a project of my own choosing.
I'm talking to someone on the train.
I come across a line in a book that I like.
I'm sitting on a bench near Columbus Circle and the Care Bears jump out of a van. They hug a few kids then get back in the van. A street musician plays classical guitar music.
I'm doing the Sunday crossword puzzle.
I let thoughts race through my head as I lay in bed.
I'm trying to swat a fly.

Developing Ideas

Things to Do: Participate in an Extreme Coughing Tournament.

MLB Improvement: Suggest to Brewers that they go with an 8 man pitching rotation next year. Four pitchers to pitch the first four innings and four to pitch innings 5-8.

Country song protesting the anti-immigration movement: When Lady Liberty Turned Around
Country response-song: Proud to be an American with a Big Statue (sung by Lee Greenwood in front of a thousand Statue of Liberty imitators)

Maxim: Never make eyebrow decisions first thing in the morning.

Joke: Bob laughed so hard that milk came out of his nose...Bob hasn't had milk in two years.

Redefine Listless: Able to walk a straight line. Not listing to the right or to the left.

New Product: A nicotine soul patch. Worn to end nasty habit and to impress.

Debate Topic: Steam is not a Spice. True. It's not listed as an ingredient in All-Spice. (Still have to think up counterpoint.)

Gateways

Gateway Drug - Marijuana

Gateway Pet - Goldfish

Bird Noises are Coming from Inside the Building

There were a couple of people arguing outside my building last night. She said something about his friends. He said nothing.

Whenever I hear people talking outside on the sidewalk, I worry that my neighbor's bird is going learn more words. The bird has a limited act. It can imitate a car alarm and it can do a cat call. Should a bird be doing a cat call? I can only hope that it has a panic room inside his cage.

Today people are looking up at its window and whistling. Their calls are quickly returned. The bird never hesitates. Fortunately, the bird ignored the couple who argued outside our building.

My hometown is underwater

My hometown is underwater tonight. It's the part I used to play baseball, where friends used to watch each other play Defender, and where an old guy used to sell bait. I wrote a screenplay a few years ago. In it the people of my hometown vote to flood the tiny hamlet and turn it into an underwater tourist attraction. Freud would say that I wanted to commit boonicide (sp).

Here's a brief description of my hometown before the real and the imagined floods. The fraying is occuring in the middle of town not at its edges. Driveways and streets fit seamlessly together at the edges of town. In the center of town homes have loose shingles and signs have missing letters.

I don't know if I would have voted to flood the town. I root for the people who sell bait on the side and wrestle with shingles, but I also like the idea of seeing scuba divers trying to fish out quarters from the coin slot of the old Defender game.

Apologies in Time: The Early Years

Mea culpa events from birth to age 25:

I ripped out one of my mom's earrings when I was a year old. Since then she has never been able to wear earrings.

I was practicing my tennis serve in the family living room and accidentally scraped the ceiling. I colored over the damage with a crayon.

I pushed for "Stand By Me" to be the prom song. The song is only 2 minutes in length and had to be played 15 times during the march. Stand by me, stand by me...

Once when out bicycling with friends my girlfriend collided with another cyclist. She said that she was ok and headed back to her apartment. I continued on with the bike trip. She had a difficult time getting home. It turned out she had a concussion.

I told someone that I had read Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court before. I read Disney's version when growing up.

I once told a co-worker that I had been fly fishing. I've never been fly fishing. That was a difficult conversation to get through.

I worked on twelve losing political campaigns. I want to apologize to the candidates for not doing a better job folding the letters and sealing the envelopes.

I made a friend come with me to a Meat Loaf concert at Summerfest. He wanted to see REM. They were playing at the same time.

Do you have anything to apologize for?

You're from Akron?

My friend BA and I went to a comedy club a few nights ago. The first comedienne told tales of pathos. She once dated her cello. It later dumped her. She convinced her female cat to get a sex change, so they could become closer. The cat died during the process. She changed the lyrics of "It's Not Easy Being Green" to "It's Not Easy Being Blue". Finally, in an attempt to extend this pathos, she mentioned that she was from Akron. At that point I felt even more sorry for her. Growing up in Akron must have been hard.

After her act I began to think about my hometown. I grew up in a small town in rural Wisconsin. Was it more difficult to grow up in Akron than in my hometown?

Akron has over 1 million people. My hometown has a population of less than 5,000. That's not enough people to qualify for an AA chapter or AAA service.

My hometown has produced one celebrity, Frank Lloyd Wright. He moved to a place twenty miles down the road because he disliked the town so much. Akron has produced a bevy of celebrities, including Hugh Downs, Chrissie Hynde, and LeBron James. If those three would have grown up in my hometown, then the major highway that runs through it would have three names.

My hometown had a single bowling alley when I was growing up. Now it doesn't have one. The bowling alley and all of its ten lanes went up in flames last spring. Akron (and surrounding area) has fourteen bowling alleys. What an embarrassment of riches.

My hometown had twenty four churches for less than 5,000 people. There is no doubt in my mind that many of our church leaders would have looked down upon women who run with cellos.

Akron, if only.

2 Family Myths Debunked

1. I'm Irish.
Growing up I was told that I was primarily Irish. It turns out I'm mostly Scottish. Corned beef and cabbage was served at family reunions. I wore green and orange shamrocks to school on St. Patrick's Day. I followed the troubles and hoped for peace. Confirmation of the Irish myth occurred in the early 80s after the family sent the wrong uncle to Ireland. He returned with "evidence" that the family had come from the Emerald Isle and that our family's name, orginally O'Eoroughin, not Irwin, had been changed at Ellis Island. I don't blame him. By the 1980s the Irish tourism industry was confident and mature. If someone wanted to be a part of the Irish story, then the Irish were happy to provide him with a family name, coat of arms, and a family tree with a warrior or two in it. In the early 2000s other, more sober, relatives did more research and discovered that the family came from Scotland. I've decided not to participate in family reunions until we discover our roots lie in India, Thailand, or Korean. I'm holding out for better food.

2. I'm allergic to tuna.
It turns out that I'm not allergic to tuna. This was more of a misunderstanding. My aunt is allergic to tuna. I heard the story wrong.

Helen of Troy

A thousand ships searched for the beautiful Helen of Troy. It would have been a thousand and one, but a single ship remained in the quiet Greek harbor. The captain of the tethered ship had dismissed his crew after learning that Helen had adopted a pet in Troy.

A leashed dog lunged at me this week. It was an unusual event on 66th St. Most dogs I see are able to fit in their owner's iPod cases. This dog was different. He was oversized, gray, and unlovely. I'm not sure what make he was. The whole thing left me a little unnerved. If I had been walking with someone, then I would have acted differently. I would have acted like a courageous captain during a violent storm. I would have felt like a captain who wished that he would have delayed the journey a day or two. Of course, my actions would depend on who I was with. If I was walking with the person who picked up the latest Harry Potter book at Duane Reade last week and read the last paragraph out loud, then I would slow my pace and put him between me and the dog.

Breaking Eggs

I walked home from 51st St. Wednesday evening. The story should have started "I walked home from 53rd St.", but I walked two blocks in the wrong direction. I tend to wander off when lost in thought. When leaving the subway station I was thinking about how my recent barbers have been spending less and less time on the top of my head. I think I counted three snips the last time I was in the chair. While Antarctica can blame greenhouse gases for its missing ozone, I am still thinking about the cause of my missing mop top. I think my hairloss can be traced back my youth when my father used to pretend to break an egg over my head by lightly tapping my head with his knuckles and slowly opening his fist. The broken egg trick always made me laugh. It was a genuine laugh, too. Not the kind of empty, cheap laugh that Gilligan's Island or The Brady Bunch evoked. More like the full, rich laugh from an Addams Family episode. Although my hairloss will probably disqualify me from a future presidential run, I guess getting eggs broken on my head was worth it. It's one of those memories that I hold on to- one that makes me relax then smile. One that may postpone more hairloss.

Playing the Loose Change Market

Right now I am heavily invested in the loose change market. My sock drawer overfloweth with the tooth chipping metals. Loose change is liquid, so I think it's a wise investment. I have not sought advice from a broker. I handle all exchanges and acquisitions. Yesterday, for example, I bent over and picked up a nickel that was planted near the front door of my apartment. No one was looking. It's difficult to explain the complexities of the loose change market to others.

My coin collection has grown ever since I stopped doing my own my laundry, ceased purchasing loose chiclets on the street, and started getting a metro card. I'm well positioned if penny and nickel stocks were ever to return. When that time comes I will jump into the stock market, make my fortune, and buy more socks.

Rainbow Connection

My neighbor's bed is about nine feet from mine. The same can be said about our toilets. Four of my windows face her apartment building. I've never seen her. I don't know if she is a "her". Then how do I know? My former roommate claimed to have seen a woman in the apartment. That might not have been good enough for Henry Fonda, but that's more than enough evidence for me. She has a black cat. I have a bit more evidence to support this statement. First, she has two black cat stickers on one of her windows. Second, on most days the cat sits double-framed, peering into my kitchen window. To be fair, if my neighbor had pickled herring each day, like yours truly does, then I would stare longingly at her kitchen window, too.

I'm not interested in meeting my neighbor. I don't imagine walking by water fountains and making jokes about bidets or singing "Let's Spoon the Night Together" under a moonlit sky. But I am interested in having some kind of connection with her. Maybe one day after a thunderstorm, we both will open our bathroom windows and a rainbow will appear, one that starts in her toilet and ends in mine.

Phobia

I always know when a phobia is about to develop. A cold wave laps against my skeletal frame. I've had quite a few phobias, so I'm never surprised when a new one comes along. Some are fleeting, while others are more permanent. The fear of tse-tse flies was fleeting. The fear of looking up at tall buildings is one that still lingers. There is usually little basis for phobias. Sometimes I develop a phobia after reading a three word headline. Most phobias are retroactive. A few years ago I developed a fear of soy milk. Since I had been raised on soy milk formula, the anxiety attack was worse than usual.

It helps when someone is around to let me know that I'm acting like an idiot. Recently, I was eating at a restaurant with a friend. He asked me why I didn't want to try the gelato. With a pureed voice and a strained face, I told him that I had no good reason for not trying the dessert. And I didn't. No research soundbites popped into my head. My friend told me to eat the gelato and enjoy it. I had always liked performing gelatio, so I decided to eat two spoonfuls. It's good to have someone to call you on your phobias. Otherwise they tend to pile up.

There is a mouse in my house

There is a mouse in my house. I know this, because I saw it come out of the hole in the wall just the other day. I didn't know I had a hole in my wall until a few days before, when I moved the tv to a new spot in the living room. After I saw the mouse, I shoved a poison block into the hole and placed other blocks around the kitchen. That night a mouse dragged a half-eaten poison block into the middle of the kitchen floor. I think it was a 'horse head in the bed' message. I talked to my father about it. He said that the use of poison is cruel. He suggested that I use traps instead. While we talked, I stared at the hole in my wall and my father stood in his garden holding a pitchfork trying to kill a rabbit.

I should be used to mice, but I'm not. There were mice in my parent's house, but my father always took care of the traps. I was the son who would wake up in the morning and make loud noises before putting on his eyeglasses. This routine helped me avoid many unpleasant mouse encounters. When I lived in Guatemala, my housekeeper took care of the rodents.

I'm going to keep shoving poison blocks into the hole in the wall. When I run out of blocks I'm going to move the tv back to its old spot.

Hiking outside of Quito

A few days ago I hiked up a mountain outside of Quito. I made it to about 4300 meters. I now have six-pack lungs.

I don't hike much. I once climbed an active volcano in boat shoes. I followed everyone's behind for five hours.

Like most professional climbers, I scaled the first part of the Ecuadorian mountain in a taxi and a tram before setting out on foot. I caught a draft behind a six-legged family. The boy was about two. The pace was surprisingly steady. The family stopped after some time. I continued on towards the summit. Eventually, I stopped and waited for my breath to catch up to me. I looked back that I hadn't gotten much separation from the family. I could still see the brand name of the crackers that they were eating.

I sat down. Two men walked up to me and asked if I was ok. One held out a bag of coca candy. I reached in and grabbed one piece of candy. The man said that I should take two.

I didn't make it to the top of the mountain. If I would have gotten there, then I would have codified all my anxieties and created a religion for the untethered. I'm ok with not making it to the top, because the child didn't get there either. The family headed down the mountain after eating the crackers. Vincerò!

"Once"

I went to see "Once" last night. It's a movie musical about two people in transition who meet in Dublin, Ireland. I thought the story, the actors, the music, and Dublin fit together perfectly, like The White Stripes opening up for AC/DC. There was a scene early in the movie when the woman brings her vacuum cleaner downtown, so the street musician, who works as a repairman during the day, can fix it. He doesn't have his tools, so she ends up lugging it around on their first date. He sings a song called "Broken Hearted Hoover Fixer Sucker Guy" on the bus. I would be surprised if anyone left the theater only half-smitten. Tonight a taxi sat outside my apartment building. My neighbor's pregnant wife and her three year old walked upstairs and came down a few minutes later with their vacuum cleaner. The mother told her child to say goodbye to the apartment. I was surprised to see them. They haven't been around the past three weeks. The husband has been here alone, but he was somewhere else today. The scene outside my apartment was unsettling and unmelodic. It didn't feature a song about vacuum cleaners. There was just a disappointed pregnant woman, a running meter, a screaming child, and a working appliance. Try to make a song out of that.

Fork

I lost my fork. It was my last fork.
I arrived in NYC with a "set" of at least four or five forks. (I place quotes around "set" because none of them matched, all were strays that had been left by others or forked over by mom.) Two of the forks disappeared in October when I was getting takeout everyday. Dinners were eaten, tv was watched, and forks were accidentally thrown away. I w(sh)(c)ould have gone with plastic forks, but I sometimes have environmental protection anxiety (epa). By February I was down to one fork. At that point, I became determined to hold on to that fork. Everything was fine until last week. There must have been a distraction. Was it a car horn? Did the phone ring? Was I distracted by a pigeon doing the "hot plate" dance? Did a Modest Mouse song make me smile? I don't know, because I don't remember when it happened. Now I have no fork. Most items have become finger food. I sometimes use a spoon. As of now, I have plenty of spoons.

Gesticulating

I was on the M66 crosstown the other day when I noticed that many riders were involved in animated conversations. A woman leaned forward and whispered. A man laughed and spittle came out. A child scissored his legs while he talked about his day. Most of the conversers were gesticulating. It was like when everyone was on stage at the end of "The Night of 1,000 Sock Puppets". Fingers made points, emphasized pauses, and were wrapped around words. Some riders gesticulated in time, while others were off a few beats. For example, someone finger-jabbed three seconds before making his point. That's just confusing.
Nobody on the bus seemed cross. Some were happy to be out of the sun. Others were pleased to be off their feet. Others seemed excited to be going home. I was happy because I was on my way to a bookstore. There I would buy a book with new characters, each with their own set of gesticles.

Celebrity

Before moving to New York City I had few brushes with celebrity. When I was 11, I saw Ray Nitschke, a former Packer linebacker, speak at a rec hall dinner. I tried to speak to him, but my words were mangled. Even more mangled than his hands. A boy my age was able to speak to him. I don't know how he did it. He must not have been a Packers fan. I saw Fred Travelena at the Miami airport in 1997. He was picking up his suitcase from the baggage carousel. It looked like he had just worked a cruise. His skin was family tree brown.

I saw minor celebrities, too. For example, at university I saw many good, near great, and so-so athletes. I once sat near a Panamanian model on a plane. But since moving to NYC, I have been overwhelmed by celebrity. In the last seven months I've seen Elijah Wood's slow walk in front of the Charmin sponsored toilets in Times Square. Robert Klein's reckless walk down Broadway. Frances McDormand on view outside of Whole Foods. (I think that's how Marilyn Monroe was discovered.) Ed Harris peering over raised collars on a cold December street. And then there was Jake Gyllenhaal. My friend BA and I saw him at Spamalot. A friendly usher tipped us off. The next day we saw him with his sister in Chelsea. I identified both immediately. BA had his cultural blinders on and failed to see them. I thought that it might be funny to stop them and share the story of when the celebrity and the unknowns kept running into each other. But I didn't. If I did, then we would both have to admit that we saw Spamalot.

My Neighbors

Yesterday, I met my neighbor out on the street. I was coming home from the gym, while she was pushing her young child around in a stroller, headed in the opposite direction. I smiled. She smiled. The child was staring at a Dunkin' Donuts sign. As I made my way home, I started thinking about my past neighbors. My neighbor across the hall from me in Michigan was a little hard of hearing, so on Nascar Sunday's I usually went into work. He and I talked almost everyday. Conversations about Nascar were short while talks about basketball were longer. My upstairs neighbors in Japan had hard wood floors and three small dogs. The daughter would work late into the night and then play with the dogs upon her return. I couldn't get mad at them. First, they owned the building. Second, they were pleasant. Third, they were one of the few landlords in the area that would rent to foreigners. My real estate agent said that landlords were asked if they would rent to foreigners, members of the Japanese mafia, and water servers (prostitutes). My neighbor in Guatemala was an older gent. He lived alone and was very quiet. One day I saw his living room from my entry way. He had expensive furniture. I had a two bedroom apartment that was barely furnished. My roommate and I talked about getting furniture, but it was just talk. We both seemed content to sit on the floor. I can organize my old and current neighbors into many categories, but the relevant themes for this story are noisy and quiet. My current apartment has 2-ply walls and my neighbors are loud. The adults fight with each other. The young child fights with the adults. An adult and the child sometimes pick a fight with the other adult. The only time they are quiet is when American Idol is on the telly. I started thinking about neighbors and noise, because my neighbor is pregnant. I found out yesterday when I saw her walking down the street. Two things struck me. Even though, I hear them argue, I do not hear what they are fighting about. I'm sure this pregnancy has been argued over and about. Second, I have to move.

I Live in NYC

I was sitting on a park bench in Battery Park last Saturday when a man came up to me and asked if I was from the city. I hesitated but said yes. I was excited because other tourists were asking the park service guy for directions. I have lived in NYC for seven months. Wherever I live, I think of myself as being from somewhere else. Right now, I feel like I'm from Michigan, where I had lived previous to moving to NYC. The man stood in front of me, kindly acting as a sunblock, and asked for directions to Times Square. I had just come from there, so I confidently described the route. He thanked me and walked away. I sat on the bench. The sun shone. The tourists strolled. The memories rush inward. One thing I remembered was the actual route to Times Square. I had told the man to get on the wrong subway. I felt terrible, but the sun soon dried the guilt that had washed over me. Maybe I feel like I'm from somewhere else because I'm not ready to let NYC supplant my prior address. Or maybe I feel like I'm from somewhere else because my sense of direction takes so long to develop.

Fevers

One of my fevers broke two weeks ago. It was a food related fever. I had been having the same dish, a veggie burger, at the same restaurant almost everyday. It's not that I've never had a veggie burger before, but I liked the taste and somehow it had become comfort food. The fever broke in Whole Foods when I discovered that somewhat healthy packaged Indian and Thai meals only require a five minute boil. In aisle 2, I started to put some distance between myself and the veggie burger. Now I have a fever for prepared Indian and Thai food that comes in a silver pouch. (Full disclosure- I am still eating veggie burgers but less often than I did two weeks ago.)

I am usually running multiple fevers. Food, music, and tv are constants. Some fevers don't last very long. My tv related fever (Scrubs) back in January came and went. Yesterday I had an NFL draft fever that only lasted a couple of hours. I'm running a climate change related fever. I've had that one for the past four months. Attending an Al Gore talk back in March didn't help. I usually run a music related fever. At present, if I don't hear Modest Mouse and Fountains of Wayne each day, then the fever worsens. There are other fevers, usually people related, that linger. These fevers feel much different than the others.

Competing with Rockefeller

When I'm at my desk at home I can look out the window and see the Rockefeller Research Laboratory on 67th. For the past seven months I have been working at home, until the wee hours, on two projects. No matter how late I work there are always lights on in the Rockefeller Lab. Some nights it feels like I'm collaborating with the scientists on a project that will save lives. Other nights I feel like I'm competing with the scientists for a Nobel prize. When I'm waiting at the bus stop I see the scientists with their shiny white coats walk purposefully into the building. Last night, around midnight, I saw a building cleaner peer out one of the windows. I'm starting to think that the scientists have not been working late hours. They haven't been competing or collaborating. For the past seven months I've been collaborating and competing with people that clean the building. This means that I might have to start working on the project at home during the day and cleaning my apartment at night. I love to compete.

Tuesday in NYC

Tuesday was beautiful. The high was around 80F. I took a break from work and sat in Central Park. After a half hour I took a break from the hot sun and went back to work. It's hard to work on days like that. I had to wait for the bus Tuesday morning but didn't mind. It just meant more time in the sun. I currently have a deep 'New York in April' tan.

Nor'easter

I just did an informal poll with a sample size of three. Poll results: Only one New Yorker is worried about the Nor'easter that's supposed to hit NYC sometime after midnight tonight. The other two polled were unconcerned about the weather and were not planning on doing anything to prepare for the storm. I'm the one worried about the storm. I did the poll when I was out buying an umbrella. (I would have purchased a poncho, but the store only had pink and lime colors.) I don't have much experience with tropical storms. I once slept through a cyclone in Japan. I woke to a nice day. School was canceled, so I didn't have to work. Nobody was hurt, so I didn't have to feel guilty about enjoying the day off. Maybe I'll sleep in tomorrow.

Neighbors

I've never seen any of my neighbors on the M66. Of course, I have yet to meet most of my neighbors so I might have sat next to a neighbor on the bus today. I met the guy who lives across the hall from me twice in a thirty minute time span this evening. The first time I was carrying laundry that had been washed and dried by someone else. The second time I was carrying dinner that was made by someone else. I told my neighbor that I had forgotten how to cook and how to do my laundry. He said that he thought that I was a good cook. He liked the smell of onions that sometimes came from my apartment. My last girlfriend said that this wasn't the case. She repeatedly told me that I didn't know how to cook onions. Too impatient, she said. She used to praise my dish washing skills, though. I am a good dishwasher. Thorough and uncomplaining. It was nice of my neighbor to pay me a compliment. It was a compliment, wasn't it?

M66 Crosstown

This blog is about my non-linear thoughts on a linear bus route. The M66 Crosstown takes me across Central Park and then back home again. I usually ride it five days a week. Travel time is about 40 minutes each way. The first day of work I walked. Since then I've taken the bus. I like the M66 Crosstown. I smile when I see it. I sometimes run after it when it leaves and am disappointed when it's late. Of course, I've been on other buses. One bus picked me up in Guatemala City, fed me a McDonald's pancake breakfast, showed me Getting Even With Dad, and took me up and around a mountainous landscape. I threw up 16 times on that trip. One woman tried to give me dramamine after the 10th heave. Very thoughtful. I've been quite taken with other buses. Buses have gotten me around Latin America, Japan, Cuba, and the U.S. I have a lot of memories tied to buses. Don't get wrong I prefer to fly and take trains but it seems like I've spent a lot of time on buses. And on long bus rides your mind has time to wander.