Housesitting

I’ve been housesitting for some days now, and I cannot put my finger on what is causing my uneasiness.  I just returned from walking the dog, and the house seemed cold and strange.  Granted, the windows are opened, and this is a foreign house to me, but there is something more.  The feeling is so unnerving that I am leaving in a few to go to my house for a few hours.  I’ve been doing that for three days now, and each time, I have to build up my strength to carry myself out the door.  That very feeling of dread is pushing me to write this now.

I’ve never done this before, so I am sure I am blowing this out of proportion, but I have the ever-growing sense of not being alone. As I sit on this couch and type out these words, I feel there is someone around the corner – sitting, waiting.   Entering the apartment makes me actually despair.  It’s a deep bottomless feeling of falling.

I don’t take showers or sleep past 7am here while in this house (usually can’t sleep until around 1am).  I wake up immediately in the mornings.  I never slowly break out of my slumber.  I sit up and search for the dog, who needs to be walked and medicated (long story), but after that, I feel unwelcomed and distinctly separate from the apartment.  I do not belong here, and it lets me know it.

Hopefully, when my co-worker comes back, I can let her know that her apartment has a mind of its own and is creepy, and that her neighbors are extremely pleasant.  I’ve locked myself out twice while here… I guess I leave the keys behind in my need to escape.  I will also tell her that the dog does not like to walk anywhere beyond a 2 block radius of the apartment and has an affinity for crapping on their carpets in the living room (this was no fault of my own – she is literally avoiding pooping outside – no matter how frequently I walk her).

I can’t wait to get out of here.

JJRC

If you’re commuting, please be healthy

I wrote this two hours ago on my iPod as I sat on a stalled 1 train. If it wasn’t for my iPod, I may have gone insane.  Here we go:

“I am writing this from a hot train. It was crowded about 30 minutes ago. That was 9:09. Since then, two things have happened:

1. A passenger has gotten sick.
2. We have been waiting for the EMS.

We are at the 59th street stop of the 1train. What really confuses me is that there is a hospital less then 4 blocks away.

The passengers are slowly filing out. I am in it for the long haul. I have a large piece of luggage with me. It would be the only day I have heavy things with me that this would happen.  I might need to transfer….

The conductor keeps repeating the announcement that we are waiting for the EMS. I really hope that ill passenger did not have a fatal condition because they are probably dead by now. As of this writing, the train has been in the station for 40 minutes. It appears that the EMS arrived around 9:55. Which Is more than 10 minutes per block. I am now waiting for the E train. Wish me luck.

JJRC

Sent from my iPod”

JJRC

First Day on the Hill

We had no idea where Ithaca was when I applied to Cornell, but I was ready for my trek on August 24, 2002.  I was an entering freshman for the Class of 2006.

We piled into the family taxi (my mom, sister, father and I were crammed into the car with my crap).  We pulled out at of NYC for Ithaca at 6:30AM.  My father has a thing for being early (or so we thought).  As we ride up, we begin to listen to Peruvian music and singing.  Eventually, everyone but my father takes a round of naps.  We arrive on campus four hours later.  It was amazing to get on campus with the multitude of other freshmen.  I felt one with my the class.  We pull up to Mary Donlon Hall where I would be living (back then it was a total dump).  My father parks next to the building and pops the trunk.

Dad: Alright – we’re here!

Me: Great! Why are you opening the trunk? I can’t move in until 1pm.

Dad: Oh, I have to go back to the city to get to work.

Mom: What? I thought you were going to help us move him in.  We can’t possibly carry all this stuff.

Dad: Nope, I have to go. I’ll help you unload.

Within 15 minutes, my father had unloaded all the stuff in the car, left it on the lawn, said goodbye to me, and left me, my mother, and sister on the side of the road with all my freshman crap (Mini-fridge, clothing, computer with monitor, among other random appliances).  With my mom and my sister sitting there, I let them know that I have to go to certain buildings to sign papers, get my id and get into some gym classes. It takes about an hour.

When I return, I talk to my mother and sister for a bit, and then a girl (an OL) walks over with a large smile on her face.

Girl: Are y’all moving in today?!

Mom: Yes, but we have a 1pm move-in time.

Girl: Oh! We’ve been moving in y’all for an hour and half now! C’mon over!

In essence, that meant my father could have just unloaded all the stuff into my room.

We slowly collect our crap and wander into the dorm.  My freshman year roommate had already moved in and made himself comfortable. I was lucky that he chose the correct side of the room.  I had wanted the left side.  He was a tallish quiet dude with a two siblings and his parents. As his sister gave my sister dirty looks, his parents were questioning me about how I felt and if I was happy.  They stood there and looked at us, half sorry.  I suppose they thought I did not have a father. What they didn’t know was that my father was probably somewhere in New Jersey in a yellow taxi by that point.

My roommate’s mother hugged me and then forced me to take a picture with her son.  I was all smiles for the pictures, but I all really just wanted to move in and get my mother and sister on their way so I could nap.  They walked out so we could have some time to prepare my side of the room.

As we unpack, my mother begins to do her traditional “This would go lovely there…” and “Where should I put this? It doesn’t look cute here!”  Around 2:30, I checked my watch.  I had a pamphlet that stated that the next bus for New York City would leave in ten minutes.

Me: Alright mom, this was great, but I think you should go.

Mom: Don’t you want me to make your bed?

Me: No, if you miss this bus, you’ll have to wait until 5:00 and you’ll get home at 9:40.  It’s much too late.

Mom: I don’t mind!

Sister: I do! Let’s go!

We finally leave my room after three hours of unpacking and wander over to West Campus.  Since the freshman campus was teeming with people, the buses were only leaving from West.  As we approach Libe Slope, I see the bus, and the clock tower is dangerously close to 2:40.

Mom: Oh, it’s the bus! JJRC, you should run down there and grab it!

Me: Why don’t you run?

Mom: Because I’m your mother.

As I ran down the Slope at full speed, the weather became incredibly warm – as if all of a sudden.  I reached the bus and flagged the driver.

Me: Is this the 2:40 to NYC?

Driver: It’s the 2:50 now (I wanted to cry), but yes, it’s an express to New York.

My mother and sister sauntered down toward me.  They said good bye and waved as the climbed aboard.  I watched the bus pull off, and I knew two things.  I would miss them, and I was free.

For my sophomore year, my father waited in the car while my mother put the finishing touches on everything.  She made it perfectly clear that he is never to leave her like that again.

JJRC

The Quintessential NY Experience

The quintessential NY Experience:

Kim was visiting New York City for one day.  We convene at a friend’s, Mary’s, place where we continued lounging and sitting around after hanging out with Kim at the park.

Close to 9:30pm, we opt to go to a bar and grill crosstown and decide it’s best to take the bus.  We chatter away and hear that the Lost Dog Café in Ithaca has closed.  It was a shocking revelation, and people were very upset, rightfully so.  An large and stout middle aged woman (lsmaw) approached us.

LSMAW: Ok, so, I don’t want to start nuttin’, but this is a public bus stop, and y’all need to be quiet because there are other people.

I can’t imagine what our faces looked like at that moment.  After a quick exchange between our party and her, she begins to flip out.  She tells us we’re awful people, our mothers would be ashamed, and she is the mother of three.  Meanwhile, the bus pulls up.  She pushes people aside and climbs on before we could.

LSMAW: Bus Driver, these people disrespecting me.  I’m homeless and I don’t need to be disrespected.

The bus driver her waves her along, and she plops down mumbling to herself.  I sit behind her.  I was close enough that I could see the sweat collecting on the back of her neck.  She said a swear word loud enough for the bus to hear her.  The bus driver turns around and tells her to behave or she’ll be asked to step off.

LSMAW: What the fuck you say to me? Did I ask you to speak to me like that? What the fuck?!

Up front there was a woman who was slowly getting tired of the LSMAW’s crap.  She sat next to her children as they watched intently.  They were absorbing the whole scenario like sponges dropped on a messy spill.

Woman: I’m sorry.  You can say whatever you want, but please stop cussin’ in front of my kids.

LSMAW goes on a rant in Spanglish.  She continues to yell and scream at both the bus driver and the woman with her children.  Our group was mostly glad to have skirted this noise completely.  As the woman continues to rant and rave, she drops another swear word.

Woman: Listen, I told you to stop cussing in front of my kids.  They’re 8 and 5 and they understand the bull you’re yapping on about.

They begin to exchange threats and screaming at the top of their lungs.

LSMAW: Fine, I’m moving to the back of this bus.  Mind you, you still ain’t my motha’

Bus Driver: I want you off of this bus.

LSMAW: No, you get me off this bus when the police are escorting me out.

We all get quiet again.  The screaming finally finished.  We begin to discuss where we’ll go for some burritos and frozen margaritas.  Then, like a sudden flash, a voice booms from the back of the bus.

LSMAW: I’m fucking horny… I want some dick tonight.

The woman with the children popped up.  “Bitch, you fucking vile.  I told you to stop cussing in front of my kids.  Now I’ll tell you in Spanish. Voy pa’ tra’ y te rompo la boca, puta.”  She flies to the back for the bus, pulling off her earrings  and rings.  Her fingernails flash with red and hot pink.  The entire bus is mesmorized by what is about to happen.  We are positive that we are about to witness a ghetto beat-down.

As the woman approaches the LSMAW, the bus driver pulls the bus over and runs off (hoping to find a hapless police officer to deal with this situation). A poor man was walking towards the front and finds himself holding the mother of two back from the LSMAW.  At this point, our group pours out of the bus as it teeters from side to side.  The commotion inside was manifesting itself to the outside world.  As we leave, another woman sits next to the children attempting to console them.  They are not fazed by the events – as if to say, this has happened before and it is nothing comparison to the things we see.   The bus driver was approaching the bus with two police offers in tow, and my group flags the M7 that is attempting to skip our stop.

The M7’s bus driver’s eyes are wide with fear as we approach with our arms waving.  She shakes her head at us mouthing, No!.  Meanwhile, an elderly man in the back of the bus is pounding on the door.  He was hoping to exit at this corner.  The M7’s driver reluctantly pulls over and opens the doors.  We run on and give a brief synopsis, and she agrees to let us on.  As we approach the back of the bus, we see LSMAW still screeching at the back of the bus.  The woman with two children had finally backed down and was being spoken to by almost everyone else on the bus.  As we pull off, someone tells Kim this is the quintessential NY experience.” Yes, it is, and that’s a sad thing.

JJRC

Spam

The following was sent to my boss, Ms. H.

“Hello! I looked through your profile at dating site and decided to write you a message and tell I am intersted in you.I’m sure that you are very intelligent and nice person. It would be great to learn more about you! I’m sure we can find something in common and begin a long a beautiful story.I’m looking only for serious relationship, I’m  tired of games and dishonesty. I’m ready to give all my love and tenderness to a  right man. Maybe that is you? Nobody knows! I hope you are also interested in communicating with me! Ny name is Anastasiya and i am 25 years old!”

Is Ms. H hiding something from me?  From the email above, I glean that she is hiding quite a few things.

1 – She is lonely.

2 – She is on a dating website

3 – She is a man

4 – She is a cradle-robber

Or, I might be misconstruing the situation completely.  Perhaps there’s another story being told here.  From the looks of it Anastasiya has a very serious learning disability, her spell check may be broken, or she is foreign (from the name alone, I assume she’s Russian).  So, this email may be a cry for help.  Since I work with an organization that does immigration advocacy, it is only fair that she meant “advocacy site” when she wrote “dating site.”  The dishonesty and games she has dealt with obvious refer to the broken immigration policies, and her desire to tenderness is very blatantly a request for Uncle Sam’s love.  I suppose I’ll forward this to our advocacy department and have them get back in touch with her because she (more than anybody) needs our help.

JJRC

The following was sent to my boss, Ms. H.

“Hello! I looked through your profile at dating site and decided to write you a message and tell I am intersted in you.I’m sure that you are very intelligent and nice person. It would be great to learn more about you! I’m sure we can find something in common and begin a long a beautiful story.I’m looking only for serious relationship, I’m  tired of games and dishonesty. I’m ready to give all my love and tenderness to a  right man. Maybe that is you? Nobody knows! I hope you are also interested in communicating with me! Ny name is Anastasiya and i am 25 years old!”

Is Ms. H hiding something from me?  From the email above, I glean that she is hiding quite a few things.

1 – She is lonely.

2 – She is on a dating website

3 – She is a man

4 – She is a cradle-robber

Or, I might be misconstruing the situation completely.  Perhaps there’s another story being told here.  From the looks of it Anastasiya has a very serious learning disability, her spell check may be broken, or she is foreign (from the name alone, I assume she’s Russian).  So, this email may be a cry for help.  Since I work with an organization that does immigration advocacy, it is only fair that she meant “advocacy site” when she wrote “dating site.”  The dishonesty and games she has dealt with obvious refer to the broken immigration policies, and her desire to tenderness is very blatantly a request for Uncle Sam’s love.  I suppose I’ll forward this to our advocacy department and have them get back in touch with her because she (more than anybody) needs our help.

JJRC

Juanes en Cuba

As my family and I sat down to eat a home made breakfast (eggo waffles, scrambled eggs and chopped up hot dogs with a side of coffee), my mother changed the radio station to one that was supposed to be playing old ballads in Spanish.  The DJ was requesting calls from the general public in regards to Juanes playing a concert in Cuba.

People were irate about the topic.  They called Juanes a traitor to the Cuban people.  They said he was promoting the communist agenda and endorsing the system by simply playing for free.  I decided that I needed to do some research and find out what the hell is going on.  My trust for the general public has diminished greatly since I realized you can make the masses think anything free of logic.

Turns out Juanes has a long track record of advocating for Peace. In other words, him and Shakira are a power couple of Colombians who advocate for peace, justice and the American way (Continental America, not US-America). This would be a concert calling for peace and for the general population of Cuba. I understand that the concert will be taking place in Cuba, but it will host 600,000 spectators who would probably never see a superstar perform ever.

If the communist regime fell tomorrow, Cuba would be a huge mess for years to come. It took the United States almost 20 years after the start of the Revolution to get its shit together with a government that worked… mind you we were “civilized.” So, I feel the backlash is unwarranted and unnecessary and ultimately does more harm then good.  Also,  you can’t encourage change for Democracy without showing the people how good Democracy can be (you paint over the bad parts so that it looks appetizing). Democracy doesn’t get much better than Juanes playing for free in the Revolutionary Plaza next to a gigantic image of Che. There are three other performers who will be in attendance, but they’re not getting the attacks like Juanes, but then again, when was the last time anyone heard from Olga Tañon?  Who? Exactly!

So, this is my quick and dirty synopsis.  Another thing – people are getting mad about this, but they’ll allow other to parade around with Che shirts?  Let’s get it together people.

JJRC

Here’s some Juanes for you for good measure.