Kill the occupation, Sir, economy can’t keep you captive.
Barred with paper clips and emails, files cannot dig tunnels.
Sir, break this Corporation. Your job is your Agency.
Sijo
Sep 25, 2009
Sep 21, 2009
Momo Fook Who?
I watched the Giants beat the Cowboys last night at a friend’s place in Spanish Harlem. It took me 14 minutes on the bus to travel from 122nd St to 103rd St. I left his place at halftime and jogged home in 7 minutes. From his door to mine is almost exactly one mile. If I were to use the subway, it would take me about 10 minutes. I had access to a car the night before—a real-life, working automobile—I drove my friend the same distance in 3 minutes.
Some friends from DC were here this weekend, hence the automobile. I believe this convertible is a 2008 Chrysler Crossfire Roadster. Petite is great in New York, especially for parking, but it isn’t so great when three people travel in a two-seater. I spent the day riding the console between two wonderful ladies with my head high above the windshield. Wind blew through my freshly cut, military style hair. I felt like Karen Carpenter, only with a double-chin, on top of the world. Nearly every passerby looked twice at the oddity.
While driving in Manhattan toward Brooklyn on 2nd Ave, we thought it wise to leave the top down. My head and neck bent to the side, I received a phone call from number unknown. I squirmed into my pocket, inadvertently adjusting the car into neutral, and answered. The connection was bad, “I’ll call you back,” I said. My friend called back instead.
“Hi, I’m calling on behalf of Chase Young,” she said. Turns out, one of the Craigslist movie extra gigs I had applied for while bored at work wanted me to come in for an interview/photo-shoot of some kind. My agent scheduled an appointment. Although, we missed it due to traffic and scam concerns.
Trapped inside this tiny car, squeezed between two girls on a plastic console, stuck in traffic on Brooklyn Bridge on our way into a petrified island—I felt freedom come back to me. It was a perfect time for a freedom cry.
Minus the $12 Ramen Noodles at Momofuku, it was a perfect end to a great summer.
Some friends from DC were here this weekend, hence the automobile. I believe this convertible is a 2008 Chrysler Crossfire Roadster. Petite is great in New York, especially for parking, but it isn’t so great when three people travel in a two-seater. I spent the day riding the console between two wonderful ladies with my head high above the windshield. Wind blew through my freshly cut, military style hair. I felt like Karen Carpenter, only with a double-chin, on top of the world. Nearly every passerby looked twice at the oddity.
While driving in Manhattan toward Brooklyn on 2nd Ave, we thought it wise to leave the top down. My head and neck bent to the side, I received a phone call from number unknown. I squirmed into my pocket, inadvertently adjusting the car into neutral, and answered. The connection was bad, “I’ll call you back,” I said. My friend called back instead.
“Hi, I’m calling on behalf of Chase Young,” she said. Turns out, one of the Craigslist movie extra gigs I had applied for while bored at work wanted me to come in for an interview/photo-shoot of some kind. My agent scheduled an appointment. Although, we missed it due to traffic and scam concerns.
Trapped inside this tiny car, squeezed between two girls on a plastic console, stuck in traffic on Brooklyn Bridge on our way into a petrified island—I felt freedom come back to me. It was a perfect time for a freedom cry.
Minus the $12 Ramen Noodles at Momofuku, it was a perfect end to a great summer.
Sep 17, 2009
Prior Ties
My big sister photographs for fun. She’s not bad. In fact, sometimes people pay for her service. She posts some work, which often includes family members, here. Two of the photos are of particular interest to me; in these, my little sister is pictured wearing a plaid tie. I have ties to Idaho. The majority of my belongings remain there, including most of my tie collection.
Prior to New York, I recently graduated college. More school was not an option, and I wanted out of my current occupation. The big city, “professional” life seemed attractive and adventurous. So, I entered New York a fish out of water, and eventually, I will leave the ocean for a small stream. This is not to say, however, that I do not like the ocean. It helped me realize my personal priorities.
What do you want to do with your life? A common question asked of students. Post graduation provides reflection.
In New York, I’ve seen a new world. On top of a skyscraper, I look down at Central Park, Chinatown, Harlem, Brooklyn, Queens, the entire New York Metropolitan Sea. In its water I see a clear reflection of my life – family, friends, goals and aspirations, and priorities. New York is my big sister, Idaho my little. She has been of great help, but now my little sister needs me.
Prior to New York, I recently graduated college. More school was not an option, and I wanted out of my current occupation. The big city, “professional” life seemed attractive and adventurous. So, I entered New York a fish out of water, and eventually, I will leave the ocean for a small stream. This is not to say, however, that I do not like the ocean. It helped me realize my personal priorities.
What do you want to do with your life? A common question asked of students. Post graduation provides reflection.In New York, I’ve seen a new world. On top of a skyscraper, I look down at Central Park, Chinatown, Harlem, Brooklyn, Queens, the entire New York Metropolitan Sea. In its water I see a clear reflection of my life – family, friends, goals and aspirations, and priorities. New York is my big sister, Idaho my little. She has been of great help, but now my little sister needs me.
Sep 14, 2009
Sep 10, 2009
One Nation Under Obama
Although Nielsen’s address is 770 Broadway, it is actually located on 9th St between Broadway and Lafayette. The address is an attempt to add prestige. After work, I walk to the corner of 8th St and Lafayette to board a local 6 train at the Astor Place Station. I get off at the first stop, Union Square, and transfer to an express 4 or 5 train until I reach 125th St. The entire trip takes about 20-40 minutes. Yesterday, it was especially entertaining.
I was about to take a step onto a 5 train at Union Square, when a short, overweight African American man, disguised as former all-pro Oakland Raider Tim Brown, barged his way onto the train. I entered after him. As the train left the station, I took a closer look at the man who caused me discomfort.
Mr. Brown stared at his feet, probably in guilt for taking the space of three average sized people on a crowded train. He carried a cylinder of liquid. He shook it as he obnoxiously cleared his throat again and again. The train reached Grand Central, 42nd St, and came to a stop. Mr. Brown maneuvered his way into the center of the car. As the train accelerated, he cleared his throat one last time.
“Brothers and Sisters,” he shouted. I removed an earphone. His English was terrible, so bad that I turned my music off to listen. For me, it became a game of interpretation. “The education is a key. Your child can be a lawyer, the doctor, or the teacher. Amen,” he said strewing articles all about. He turned in my direction and smiled with his tooth. For a moment our eyes caught. “The future is a education, Brother. Amen.”
I agreed with Mr. Brown. I wanted to see what others thought of his message. The floor was his; nearly every passenger on the train was affixed. He spoke again, “Praise Jesus, Amen. Get off the streets, help your the fellow man, send a your children to the college. Amen.”
For the first time in New York, I felt an urge to donate. I reached for my wallet. “The education is a key. Amen.” Unlike most subway preachers, Mr. Brown didn’t complain about life circumstance or even ask for money. In addition, he wore Tim Brown’s jersey, a Notre Dame alumnus (my favorite college football team).
He spoke as we approached 125th St. “I believe in the education. Amen. I do not believe in a God. There is no the God. I believe in the President. The Obama, Amen. He is key. I love him. Listen to him. He says the education is key. I love him. I believe in him. Praise Jesus, Amen.”
A wallet fell back into the pocket. I exited a train and walked home the richer man.
I was about to take a step onto a 5 train at Union Square, when a short, overweight African American man, disguised as former all-pro Oakland Raider Tim Brown, barged his way onto the train. I entered after him. As the train left the station, I took a closer look at the man who caused me discomfort.
Mr. Brown stared at his feet, probably in guilt for taking the space of three average sized people on a crowded train. He carried a cylinder of liquid. He shook it as he obnoxiously cleared his throat again and again. The train reached Grand Central, 42nd St, and came to a stop. Mr. Brown maneuvered his way into the center of the car. As the train accelerated, he cleared his throat one last time.
“Brothers and Sisters,” he shouted. I removed an earphone. His English was terrible, so bad that I turned my music off to listen. For me, it became a game of interpretation. “The education is a key. Your child can be a lawyer, the doctor, or the teacher. Amen,” he said strewing articles all about. He turned in my direction and smiled with his tooth. For a moment our eyes caught. “The future is a education, Brother. Amen.”
I agreed with Mr. Brown. I wanted to see what others thought of his message. The floor was his; nearly every passenger on the train was affixed. He spoke again, “Praise Jesus, Amen. Get off the streets, help your the fellow man, send a your children to the college. Amen.”
For the first time in New York, I felt an urge to donate. I reached for my wallet. “The education is a key. Amen.” Unlike most subway preachers, Mr. Brown didn’t complain about life circumstance or even ask for money. In addition, he wore Tim Brown’s jersey, a Notre Dame alumnus (my favorite college football team).
He spoke as we approached 125th St. “I believe in the education. Amen. I do not believe in a God. There is no the God. I believe in the President. The Obama, Amen. He is key. I love him. Listen to him. He says the education is key. I love him. I believe in him. Praise Jesus, Amen.”
A wallet fell back into the pocket. I exited a train and walked home the richer man.
Sep 9, 2009
Covet Righteousness
I graduated from Brigham Young University of Idaho in December 2008. I websurf quite a bit these days, and today my past brought me to a BYU-I website. The guidelines and rules it promotes, even demands, are well-intended.
It was at this university where I learned and developed a personal theory: Absolutes are unhealthy (which in of itself is an absolute). The Honor Code at BYU-I is a document that must be signed in order to attend. In fact, it must be followed with strict adherence. If it is not, a student may be expelled or suspended. More, the student may be subject to ecclesiastical discipline.
If I were to attend undergraduate school again, my personal, fundamental differences would lead me elsewhere. Although my Personal Code conflicts with the Honor Code, I suppose I have BYU-I to thank for helping me develop my own moral guidelines.
Killing is not always wrong. Prayer is not always the answer. Open minds can open doors. Closed minds can close them. Circumstance and situation are the fingerprints of life.
BYU-I Student Honor Website
It was at this university where I learned and developed a personal theory: Absolutes are unhealthy (which in of itself is an absolute). The Honor Code at BYU-I is a document that must be signed in order to attend. In fact, it must be followed with strict adherence. If it is not, a student may be expelled or suspended. More, the student may be subject to ecclesiastical discipline.
If I were to attend undergraduate school again, my personal, fundamental differences would lead me elsewhere. Although my Personal Code conflicts with the Honor Code, I suppose I have BYU-I to thank for helping me develop my own moral guidelines.
Killing is not always wrong. Prayer is not always the answer. Open minds can open doors. Closed minds can close them. Circumstance and situation are the fingerprints of life.
BYU-I Student Honor Website
Sep 8, 2009
A Tree Grows in Manhattan
Walking toward Central Park, I noticed an old friend – A 1985 Chrysler Le Baron Town & Country Wagon with wood panels: Fondly nicknamed, The Tree. I drove The Tree for two or three years in high school. It was a classic car with character. The Tree would chime at me when driving over a bump or when I “gently” tapped on the dash. Sometimes she chimed for no reason at all. We joked that she would chime if you donated coins to the change box below the radio … and sometimes she did.Fully equipped with turbo, The Tree left many surprised victims trailing in the dust. In fact, it was often difficult to determine its exact speed: the speedometer sometimes fluctuated radically. On one occasion there must have been fifteen people piled in her trunk as we fled from a high school hazing scene. I wasn’t sure if I was going 70 or 30 mph.
It is possible that the wagon I saw on the corner of 86th Street and Madison Ave was The Tree. I inspected the car the best I could without looking too obvious. Mostly, I was looking for a specific marking. My Tree had a perfect circle burnt into the fabric on the inside of the driver’s side door. One soccer practice a teammate with questionable citizenship thought it wise to brand the car with a cigarette lighter.
You see, we sold her years ago, I believe it was in 2001. She was having a few problems, and she developed a bad smoking habit. A nice looking woman bought the car for a fair price. My father outlined the known problems and made sure she understood the sale was final. A week or two later, a not-so-nice-looking woman returned the car and demanded a refund. The little rascal didn’t want to leave. My father refused. She left the car with us without a refund. Sadly, we shipped The Tree to the chopping block, a local junkyard. Her location is now unknown.
I have lived in Idaho, Alberta, and New York. I have seen trees in all three places. Yet, I was still unable to confirm The Tree sighting. If I find this car and it is possible, I will purchase her freedom and let her roam the forests of the Great Northwest. If you or anyone you know has any information to The Tree’s whereabouts, please contact me.
Sep 2, 2009
What Lies Beneath
Hundreds of people sit and stare at computer screens in a 15-story building in Manhattan’s East Village. I sit in the southeast corner of the 14th floor. If I lean far enough to my left and then lean some more, I can see the Financial District outside a window. Directly beneath me is J. Crew headquarters, a Billboard recording studio, Kmart, AOL, subway tunnels, and more.The floor above me is mostly unoccupied – hundreds of thousands of dollars of empty space. Even my floor is only 70% full. Provided an internet connection, I could accomplish 90% of all work related tasks from anywhere in the world.
Today, I have corresponded with JP Morgan and Deutsche Bank, sold tickets to the US OPEN, researched my picks for an upcoming fantasy football draft, purchased a Dust Buster at Kmart, walked through Washington Square Park, posted to this blog, chatted with numerous friends, searched for apartments, looked for jobs, read through the New York Times, and created an online forum where NYC Mormons can communicate housing, transportation, and commerce.
Do nothing long enough and it becomes your expectation. A woman asked me to do a small, five-minute project today, but because I rarely do anything, I was irritated. Just for fun, I completed it in an hour and eleven minutes. 1:11.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)