Personal Transportation.
This is a major topic that I like to discuss openly with anyone, via public forum, or those nights where I stumble to the bar. I feel, and this is my personal view that public transportation is honestly one of the greatest mistakes that America choose. By abandoning the concept of public and socialized transport, by having this notion that everyone should own their own car, honestly as a society I think we went backwards rather than forwards.
Many people tell me that having their own car is convenient, allows them to not rely on useless and often unreliable public transit. And I agree with that sentiment. It is nice not having to rely on something or someone in order to go out and take control of your own life. However, how inconvenient is waiting five minutes for an express to downtown, or catching the local at night, just cause you know they stop at the stop only one block from your apartment rather than ten.
Having spent some time in areas where public transit is actually convenient and reliable, it's hard to go to an area where everyone is expected to have their own car. Where not having your own car is an actual manner to which people find themselves unable to survive legitimately. Yet, in these trying times, what good does having a useless public transit system do anyone any good?
Personal transport is nothing more than a bourgeoisie notion of creating class distinctions. Luxury models, family sedans, junkers, walkers, bikers. We believe in the idea that all men are created equal, and this is the land of opportunity, yet, if one isn't able to afford a steel frame and rubber wheels, then all you get to do is watch the freedom and future go by while you wait for the two fifteen which is already twenty minutes late...
When we as a country decided to let the trains be stopped, when we let the buses go to shit, the subways be filled. We as a society moved backwards, since we needed the freedom of our own gas guzzling road hazard.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Reservations
Recently with events in my family as they are, I've decided to take some time away from the CITY and head home in order to help stabilize and facilitate the craziness that is my family. Not something I'm overly fond of doing, but something that I need to do.
I've always felt estranged from my family, no matter what I said, what I did, I never quite fit in with them. They always seemed to view me as some sort of odd ball amongst their rather diverse and shall we say, equally as psychotic as myself, but on such a different spectrum, when I see blue, all they see is red. As a result, I haven't been home in what I would like to say has been close to almost two years now. I'm nervous and excited all at the same time, as this, is kind of a chance for me to reconnect with people that I haven't had much of a connection with in. Sad to say i can't even recall the last time I did have a connection with them.
This sadly comes at a rather awkward time for me though, as I've felt that I was finally becoming a true New Yorker, I'm poor, I'm hungry, and when it comes down to it, I'll make rent and my weekly bar special before I give that loans another thought. So my business practice might not be what I call THE BEST. But honestly, from what I've heard from everyone, we're talking about the most blood sucking sadistic bastards ever. On all those stupid debt commercials, no one ever hears about how the poor college kid is working three jobs to just make rent and groceries. Or how the mother of four with no father had to send the last vestiges of her paycheck to make sure that her kids have a place to sleep, but is so scared to answer the phone she unplugs it.
I have so many reservations right now, about my credit, about my trip, about coming back to this city, FULLY realizing that I'll go right back to maybe one meal a week, or none at all. Where I stand in line at the Duane Reade, buying a chocolate bar just so that I have the energy to walk about looking for better paying jobs. This is the life I wanted, who knows, maybe things turn around, maybe they don't. In either case, this trip I think will do me some good. Sure I'll probably be writing how the oppressive heat, nagging parents, and constant bickering of trying to relate to a demographic I no longer identify with is all driving me up the wall.
But, lets be honest, since when I have ever not been bitching about something anyway.
I've always felt estranged from my family, no matter what I said, what I did, I never quite fit in with them. They always seemed to view me as some sort of odd ball amongst their rather diverse and shall we say, equally as psychotic as myself, but on such a different spectrum, when I see blue, all they see is red. As a result, I haven't been home in what I would like to say has been close to almost two years now. I'm nervous and excited all at the same time, as this, is kind of a chance for me to reconnect with people that I haven't had much of a connection with in. Sad to say i can't even recall the last time I did have a connection with them.
This sadly comes at a rather awkward time for me though, as I've felt that I was finally becoming a true New Yorker, I'm poor, I'm hungry, and when it comes down to it, I'll make rent and my weekly bar special before I give that loans another thought. So my business practice might not be what I call THE BEST. But honestly, from what I've heard from everyone, we're talking about the most blood sucking sadistic bastards ever. On all those stupid debt commercials, no one ever hears about how the poor college kid is working three jobs to just make rent and groceries. Or how the mother of four with no father had to send the last vestiges of her paycheck to make sure that her kids have a place to sleep, but is so scared to answer the phone she unplugs it.
I have so many reservations right now, about my credit, about my trip, about coming back to this city, FULLY realizing that I'll go right back to maybe one meal a week, or none at all. Where I stand in line at the Duane Reade, buying a chocolate bar just so that I have the energy to walk about looking for better paying jobs. This is the life I wanted, who knows, maybe things turn around, maybe they don't. In either case, this trip I think will do me some good. Sure I'll probably be writing how the oppressive heat, nagging parents, and constant bickering of trying to relate to a demographic I no longer identify with is all driving me up the wall.
But, lets be honest, since when I have ever not been bitching about something anyway.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Keeping Hope: When It's All You Have
Well, I'm just a couple of days away from reaching what will have been an official month in NYC. Things are hard, that is for sure. I'm down to my last vestiges of what I'd like to call funds, and am going to have to call in some favors from the family. I am none too pleased with having this conversation since they made it pretty clear that they did not appreciate nor validate this decision of mine. Sometimes, when I'm up late at night unable to sleep, I wonder if they are right. But, thankfully, those are passing thoughts that never linger for very long. I've learned over the years to just move past my preconceived notions. Things are hard, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy here.
On a positive note, my feet no longer ache or complain from all the walking that I do. I'm thinking of heading into the city tomorrow and just kind of losing myself like when I first came here. Haven't done that in a while, and I just kind of feel the need to just get on the Metro and head to who knows where. It's one of those great places that you can kind of just move about and totally immerse yourself in something new or different. Thinking about Bryant Park perhaps.
Sad to say that I was unable to actually complete anything for this writing competition that someone told me about sadly. It seemed right up my alley, and the sad sad fact was, that I was just unable to actually produce anything that I was personally happy with. I started about six different stories, but nothing felt appropriate for the moment. As strange as that sounds to some. When I write, I get these kind of prescient glances of what the story will be, but sometimes sadly, my mind can't actually reach what my imagination has envisioned. I get frustrated, and I kind of let it sit on the back burner and percolate for god knows how long before I just inevitably forget about it, and much like the coffee I would make as a child, it'd burn.
This is not to say that I don't feel inspired here, but when it comes to contests, I do sadly get very competitive, and will refuse to submit anything that doesn't reach my standards. Which can be overtly high when they don't need to be. Well that's life.
I worry how things are going to turn out. But, really, what's the point of that? I'm not the first to make this venture, I'm not the last. But I can say, just cause I know, don't ask me to say how. I'm meant to be here.
On a positive note, my feet no longer ache or complain from all the walking that I do. I'm thinking of heading into the city tomorrow and just kind of losing myself like when I first came here. Haven't done that in a while, and I just kind of feel the need to just get on the Metro and head to who knows where. It's one of those great places that you can kind of just move about and totally immerse yourself in something new or different. Thinking about Bryant Park perhaps.
Sad to say that I was unable to actually complete anything for this writing competition that someone told me about sadly. It seemed right up my alley, and the sad sad fact was, that I was just unable to actually produce anything that I was personally happy with. I started about six different stories, but nothing felt appropriate for the moment. As strange as that sounds to some. When I write, I get these kind of prescient glances of what the story will be, but sometimes sadly, my mind can't actually reach what my imagination has envisioned. I get frustrated, and I kind of let it sit on the back burner and percolate for god knows how long before I just inevitably forget about it, and much like the coffee I would make as a child, it'd burn.
This is not to say that I don't feel inspired here, but when it comes to contests, I do sadly get very competitive, and will refuse to submit anything that doesn't reach my standards. Which can be overtly high when they don't need to be. Well that's life.
I worry how things are going to turn out. But, really, what's the point of that? I'm not the first to make this venture, I'm not the last. But I can say, just cause I know, don't ask me to say how. I'm meant to be here.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Same Shit, Different Place
3 weeks now, been in the city for 3 weeks, and what can I say other than, it feels a hell of a lot longer than that. Time seems to have an odd way of working in this city. Some days feel like they are only hours long, others feel that they actually take more than one day to finish. I'm getting to the point that if I didn't have my cell phone I wouldn't know what day of the week it actually is. Thankfully though, I'm somewhat aware of my surroundings enough to know that as of right now, things are, stable is the word we're going to use.
In a way they feel very akin to how things were in Rochester, I'm still concerned about money, but I always am. I'm getting unnecessary calls from the loans, saying I need to make payments, but I already did, I'm covered for a good amount of time actually. And from details that my parents give me, my grandfather was recently hospitalized. The latter of that list is really the only thing that's been on my mind lately to be honest.
My grandfather is a great man, who I dearly respect and love. He is one of the few people who believed that I should actually pursue a career in writing. Stating that it must be in the blood, since he himself was a writer in his teen years. Actually this is a great story. My grandfather worked for the local fishwrap of Juarez when he was just 18 years old, my mother has his old typewriter that he used. On one assignment he wrote about the Mexican Cartels and as a result, was supposed to be executed. His mother immediately sought asylum for him and my grandmother in America, provided he would share the data that he had uncovered. As a result, both my grandparents were offered American citizenship, and a short while after that, my mother was born. Writing is in my blood.
Yet, with his recent hospitalization, the pressing fact that I'm so poor at the moment that I can't go and see him, I did a rather morbid thing the other night. I wrote him a good bye letter. Something that in my family is considered a huge mistake. I know he's going to be fine, cause after dealing with that family for over fifty years, there is no way that he's going to be taken down so easily. However, the idea of not being able to say good bye to his face, has weighed heavy on my mind for the past few days. I thought about just packing up and going to see him. But, somehow I know he would be disappointed to know that I stopped my life just for him. This post goes out to my grandfather. A great and beloved man who I know will be better in no time.
I've thankfully avoided disaster once again, but selling a few of my old video games for cash, i went from having ten dollars to my name to having sixty. Just goes to show you that good things can happen afterall.
In a way they feel very akin to how things were in Rochester, I'm still concerned about money, but I always am. I'm getting unnecessary calls from the loans, saying I need to make payments, but I already did, I'm covered for a good amount of time actually. And from details that my parents give me, my grandfather was recently hospitalized. The latter of that list is really the only thing that's been on my mind lately to be honest.
My grandfather is a great man, who I dearly respect and love. He is one of the few people who believed that I should actually pursue a career in writing. Stating that it must be in the blood, since he himself was a writer in his teen years. Actually this is a great story. My grandfather worked for the local fishwrap of Juarez when he was just 18 years old, my mother has his old typewriter that he used. On one assignment he wrote about the Mexican Cartels and as a result, was supposed to be executed. His mother immediately sought asylum for him and my grandmother in America, provided he would share the data that he had uncovered. As a result, both my grandparents were offered American citizenship, and a short while after that, my mother was born. Writing is in my blood.
Yet, with his recent hospitalization, the pressing fact that I'm so poor at the moment that I can't go and see him, I did a rather morbid thing the other night. I wrote him a good bye letter. Something that in my family is considered a huge mistake. I know he's going to be fine, cause after dealing with that family for over fifty years, there is no way that he's going to be taken down so easily. However, the idea of not being able to say good bye to his face, has weighed heavy on my mind for the past few days. I thought about just packing up and going to see him. But, somehow I know he would be disappointed to know that I stopped my life just for him. This post goes out to my grandfather. A great and beloved man who I know will be better in no time.
I've thankfully avoided disaster once again, but selling a few of my old video games for cash, i went from having ten dollars to my name to having sixty. Just goes to show you that good things can happen afterall.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
The Truth of Scripture
So, recently since my moving to the City, many people, new and old have been asking me about my tattoos. Long, and I think beautiful script depicting two rather at times odd, but very poignant quotes about how I wish to live my life. As odd as it may seem. In my earlier years I had a rather bad account of cutting myself on the thighs, so that no one would ever see. I still have the scars to this day. So why on my arms? During my more troubling years I started to have desires of cutting my forearms. And one rather auspicious day, I cut myself from my elbow to my wrist on my right arm. Claiming that i must have scratched myself during my sleep.
Sad but true. Then, the person who mattered the most to me at the time, took me aside, and slapped me across the face. He told me that if I needed to do crazy things, then I needed to think long and hard about my consequences, who else is affected when I do something like this, who else suffers, when I make awful decisions that make those around me cry and feel like they don't mean anything at all.
So, after I sadly had to leave that person behind, I moved back to Rochester, and on my birthday, I got the first of my two tattoos.
"A man's errors are his portals of discovery." James Joyce.
Well, with the first one forever inscribed into my skin, I looked longingly at the other arm, wondering if I didn't have the same insurance on me, would I make a mistake? Would I slip up again. Not wanting to be uneven, and for fear of not being strong enough. I went four days later and got my second one.
"A man can be destroyed but not defeated." Ernest Hemingway.
So that's the story of why I'm ink'ed on my forearms. While it's true that I always wanted these, sometimes it's a hard reminder looking at them in the morning realizing why I had gotten them in the first place. Regardless of that though, these quotes, these trails of ink that so eloquently describe me, are my treasures, ones that will follow me to the end of time.
Sad but true. Then, the person who mattered the most to me at the time, took me aside, and slapped me across the face. He told me that if I needed to do crazy things, then I needed to think long and hard about my consequences, who else is affected when I do something like this, who else suffers, when I make awful decisions that make those around me cry and feel like they don't mean anything at all.
So, after I sadly had to leave that person behind, I moved back to Rochester, and on my birthday, I got the first of my two tattoos.
"A man's errors are his portals of discovery." James Joyce.
Well, with the first one forever inscribed into my skin, I looked longingly at the other arm, wondering if I didn't have the same insurance on me, would I make a mistake? Would I slip up again. Not wanting to be uneven, and for fear of not being strong enough. I went four days later and got my second one.
"A man can be destroyed but not defeated." Ernest Hemingway.
So that's the story of why I'm ink'ed on my forearms. While it's true that I always wanted these, sometimes it's a hard reminder looking at them in the morning realizing why I had gotten them in the first place. Regardless of that though, these quotes, these trails of ink that so eloquently describe me, are my treasures, ones that will follow me to the end of time.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Networking, it's what you need to do
I've never been the most OUTgoing of individuals sadly. I have my moments when I can open up and be much more agreeable towards people. But I'd be the last person to say that I'm an extroverted individual. Sadly, that's gonna get you nowhere in the CITY. One has to learn to drop these preconceived notions of fear and uncertainty and move on with life. As such I've met some rather interesting and fun people by being more agreeable and warming to them on first impression.
As such I met a rather interesting group of loud and crass actors that I won't lie, I REALLY get along with. Normally me and actors have had a, lets call it strained life, since normally we are all a bit too out there for each other. But to be honest, this group and me do quite well together. We laugh, we joke, we get injured, we drink, there isn't about a comment from any of us that couldn't be considered a sin in some demographic, yet that's kind of what makes life fun isn't it :D.
I'm still looking for a full time employment. One of my new friends feels that I should bartend. Something that many of you know, I REALLY REALLY love to do. However, like anything, bartending is rather difficult in times of hardships, since many people will flock to it, thinking it's an easy way to make a buck. I won't lie that the money is good, but seriously, it does take a certain individual to bartend. The most important fact being, that you are not there to be a buddy buddy with all your friends when they come into the bar. Yes, if they come out to support you, that's fantastic. HOWEVER, your point is to serve people drinks. If you couldn't tell, I went into a small local bar, and was quite displeased when this rabble of blond bimbos in heels came in screaming like a punch of idiots. Me and the other patrons grew quite, i say QUITE livid at this. So, while she was busy serving her friends only and forgetting the rest of us, I simply walked behind the bar and served myself and the three others in the small run down dive.
To say that this girl was angry would be an understatement. She came at me as if I had just walked in on her naked. I simply looked at her and smiled, as I finished pouring the drinks, and told her, that if she wanted to hang with her friends, to go ahead, but right now I wanted service, so I treated this like the self serve checkout at Wal-Mart, where she had obviously bought that blouse. Needless to say I was asked to leave, and the other patrons and I went to a better bar that I have been frequenting and enjoyed some cheap drinks, courtesy of the bartender who said,and I quote "that bitch got problems, I'm surprised you guys ain't sober."
All in all, times have been good.
As such I met a rather interesting group of loud and crass actors that I won't lie, I REALLY get along with. Normally me and actors have had a, lets call it strained life, since normally we are all a bit too out there for each other. But to be honest, this group and me do quite well together. We laugh, we joke, we get injured, we drink, there isn't about a comment from any of us that couldn't be considered a sin in some demographic, yet that's kind of what makes life fun isn't it :D.
I'm still looking for a full time employment. One of my new friends feels that I should bartend. Something that many of you know, I REALLY REALLY love to do. However, like anything, bartending is rather difficult in times of hardships, since many people will flock to it, thinking it's an easy way to make a buck. I won't lie that the money is good, but seriously, it does take a certain individual to bartend. The most important fact being, that you are not there to be a buddy buddy with all your friends when they come into the bar. Yes, if they come out to support you, that's fantastic. HOWEVER, your point is to serve people drinks. If you couldn't tell, I went into a small local bar, and was quite displeased when this rabble of blond bimbos in heels came in screaming like a punch of idiots. Me and the other patrons grew quite, i say QUITE livid at this. So, while she was busy serving her friends only and forgetting the rest of us, I simply walked behind the bar and served myself and the three others in the small run down dive.
To say that this girl was angry would be an understatement. She came at me as if I had just walked in on her naked. I simply looked at her and smiled, as I finished pouring the drinks, and told her, that if she wanted to hang with her friends, to go ahead, but right now I wanted service, so I treated this like the self serve checkout at Wal-Mart, where she had obviously bought that blouse. Needless to say I was asked to leave, and the other patrons and I went to a better bar that I have been frequenting and enjoyed some cheap drinks, courtesy of the bartender who said,and I quote "that bitch got problems, I'm surprised you guys ain't sober."
All in all, times have been good.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
No Profit at the, well anywhere really
So here I am, poor, living on random excuses for furniture, and wondering where my money will soon be coming from. I have one more paycheck from my previous job that will add, what I like to call a pittance to my already miserable bank account. Not that I'm worried or anything mind you. Honestly, I'm not, which is kind of odd, the last time I was in Rochester and this was happening, i couldn't sleep, my eyes were bloodshot, and I was so nervous as to what I would do.
But whatever, this is definitely an adventure worth having. Every day I grab the train to somewhere new and just see what I can find. I've found the area in Brooklyn that I want to live. It's fun, laid back, close to a good subway stop, and has a couple of great bars that honestly serve good drinks, and aren't filled to the brim with jackasses. If you've been to the strew of Chelsea bars, you'd understand what I'm talking about. Yet, regardless of all that, I don't honestly care.
Today is going to be dedicated to job hunting for something stable, some crappy office job I'm sure, but whatever. This is about surviving, not being completely happy. Happiness will come when I'm living in a quaint little brownstone. I know this is a rather small post today, but I mean, nothing has really changed over the past few days, but I did feel I needed to update something. Hoping to keep you all updated with better news next time. And with that, I'm out.
But whatever, this is definitely an adventure worth having. Every day I grab the train to somewhere new and just see what I can find. I've found the area in Brooklyn that I want to live. It's fun, laid back, close to a good subway stop, and has a couple of great bars that honestly serve good drinks, and aren't filled to the brim with jackasses. If you've been to the strew of Chelsea bars, you'd understand what I'm talking about. Yet, regardless of all that, I don't honestly care.
Today is going to be dedicated to job hunting for something stable, some crappy office job I'm sure, but whatever. This is about surviving, not being completely happy. Happiness will come when I'm living in a quaint little brownstone. I know this is a rather small post today, but I mean, nothing has really changed over the past few days, but I did feel I needed to update something. Hoping to keep you all updated with better news next time. And with that, I'm out.
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