March 21, 2009
In this city you have to take control of your eyes.
A walk down the street could be full of concrete. Fractured sidewalks are everywhere, their gray color is only broken up by spots of pink and purple gum, the remnants of spit out candy. It’s easy to get lost in this side of the city. There is no real beauty, only manufactured plaster. Everything on the ground here only exists for logistics. It may be dirty, but what’s here can get you places, they say.
But those that look up know there’s another story to this city. The buildings climb higher in competition. The sky is endless. The sun rays fall from the sky and vanish just in time for the sidewalk. When looking up, this city is for dreamers. In bad weather, there may be less to see, but the sky always clears up.
Always keep your chin up.
March 16, 2009
Snow in the evening, snow in the morning, snow in the North, snow in the South.
A cab driver at home has trouble reading signs.
We pull over and scream for strangers (or I do, as I gaze at blurs through my contact-less eyes).
A cab driver here races other drivers, and speaks of the pride and honor of Iranians.
An older woman walking to work stops at a street corner and makes a snowball. She smiles and drops the ball.
A family makes a snowman, using a beach pale.
It’s snowing in March, everywhere.
December 31, 2008
I’m in a coffee shop listening to The Beatles.
Words from Yesterday bounce off the rusted steel-plated walls as I sip hot cider. Someone just turned the volume down. Paul McCartney still sings. Maybe that figures — when I walked in they were playing Radiohead.
Today I wandered through the West Village. With various pieces of homework and training tasks to accomplish, I stayed motivated through keeping varied backdrops. I started off in a Church’s public park, leaning against a tree’s branch as I pulled my textbook from my bag. The scenery would change like a slide show: typing away in a potential New Years bar, searching for a Wifi signal in Jimmy’s Bar (100% authentic), or writing notes in my personal pad in an alley to duck the wind.
I remember my iPod’s output losing out to the sound of chirping birds as they claimed their territory on the roofs of the West Village. Not even The Kooks could compete.
Today. Yesterday.
November 18, 2008
Tonight’s drive through the city felt like channel surfing. With my remote I traveled neighborhoods, memories, and my own thoughts.
It all started because I had to pick up a textbook downtown (another random story). I entered through the Brooklyn Bridge, and traveled past my office, only to loop further downtown to pass by another old building which I used to work at.
The building was still there, remaining active through the ever-open deli, but downtown was unquestionably different. There were less private cars waiting to pick up financial superstars, and the once dark canvas of dark cars, dark roads, and pitch black sky was now spotted with yellow cabs, a breed previously somewhat rare in the Financial District. The private cars were a dying breed against their yellow counterparts.
As I continued driving north I passed the hotel I used to stay at. The inside looked as enchanting as ever, presenting a clean sense of bright lights reflecting gracefully off the smoothed marble seemingly used on all walls, floors, and furniture of the hotel.
Approaching Chinatown I drove by two police officers entering as well, trotting into town on horses who’s large stomps could be heard through my car’s doors. I won’t forgot the collapsing of their heavy feet on the even heavier concrete.
Chinatown’s bright lights and foreign alphabet was more alive than downtown’s gloom.
The foreign rainbows of the neighborhood was quickly invaded by a clock tower in the distance. Lit in soft blues, the light reminded me that I would soon reach Union Square. A few more blocks of driving brought more distant buildings into view, including the Empire State Building. The distant buildings transformed the skyline into a welcoming kingdom, one not too dissimilar to something Walt Disney would imagine.
My passage through the East Village was like a memory from youth, in both its brevity and presented enjoyment. I only remembered this moment of my trip because my car paused at a red light.
The trip continued into more familiar territory, and I was thrilled when I caught a magic parking spot, but I’ll keep that story for myself.
Pulling into my spot, I thought over the last twenty minutes, and walked from my car as my travels came to an end.
November 4, 2008
On my way into my building tonight, my doorman told me to look in the mail room, located directly across from the elevators.
In that room, directly visible from anyone stepping out of the elevator tomorrow, on election day, rested a mask.
On top of the mail room table, in the center of a pile of old, unwanted mail, was a rubber mask of George W. Bush.
After seeing that I noticed the mask, my doorman said, “I put it there so people could think about that before they voted.”
November 3, 2008
I was exhausted from Wii Fit before I even played it.
Venturing through Manhattan on a quest of errands, I collected my treasure a little too early.
In videogames, when a character finds a new item, be it a sword, a bazooka, or magic steel shoes, they never are held back by the weight of the item. The new item simply vanishes from the player when collected, only to magically appear once the user pauses and activates the item. It’s brilliant in a fictional world, a hero can hold as many swords as he wants, yet never feel the burden of the weight of steel, gold, or magical dragon bone that forms the many swords.
Today I purchased Wii Fit from the Nintendo Store, all ten pounds of the workout pad/weight scale/game disc. I then carried my ten pound brick throughout this great city, as I performed errands in the city’s various neighborhoods – on the subway, at my favorite grocery cart (for a great smoothy), and through a surprisingly calm walk in the east 30s.
By the time I was home, my biceps were sore. Ten pounds isn’t much, but for several hours of carrying it can add up.
After returning home I completed 30 minutes of active workouts in the game, and am surprised by the challenge of many of the game’s activities. My back is sore, my legs are more flexible, and I’m amazed how difficult their combination workout with pushups was.
It feels like a Nintendo game beat me up.
The game’s interface and challenges are designed for short and easy workouts. Everything about Wii Fit is inviting for daily repetition, from the sleek design of the balance board to the daily BMI and varied, short workout exercises.
My election day tomorrow will not begin with a vote, or an hour of Metal Gear Solid 4. Instead it will begin with Wii Fit.
November 1, 2008
Something just isn’t relaxing about my last win.
As I completed forming the piles of spades, hearts, diamonds and clubs, my emotions of this last bout of Solitaire were not focused on conquest, but instead on hesitant enjoyment. My win was not because of skill, perseverance, hard work, and knowledge, but instead because of Lady Luck and her dictatorial decision to reward my efforts with the right randomly generated cards.
Solitaire is a game I cannot enjoy.
My heroes are those who can be clutch and dependable. Michael Jordan didn’t wait for a lucky bounce against the rim, he controlled the game and its score. Derek Jeter built his legacy by making plays when they counted, and not when they were statistically easy. And say what you want, but a band like Oasis couldn’t break out of the largely unemployed city of Manchester without dedicated work ethic and a self-belief in victory.
I can believe in those heroes because to some extent they can control their destinies. You can’t believe in someone playing Solitaire.
There are a few easy rules to remember when playing Solitaire, and suddenly, all players are on equal footing. No amount of practice, skill, or art will give a player an advantage. Players of this game are dependent solely on handouts from Colonel Chance and Lady Luck.
It’s a lot like life. Some of us try to play life as a game of odds. There are risks, there are rewards, and in the end we’re the result of a calculation of our culture’s variables. Life can be looked at as a card game based on chance — the cards your dealt can dictate your life.
Others ignore the numbers and stretch themselves far enough to get past life’s standardized path. Life can be about more than living by the odds; if our heroes can do it, so can we.
While everyone else is waiting for a the right cards, I’ll play my own game with my own rules. In the end the odds might be the same, but it’s more fun to fight the good fight.
January 28, 2008
As I type an amazing sound comes from the corner of my hotel room. The faint hints of a dragon’s smokey breath reflect off the wooden cabinet, only to be met with the aural effect of paper crumbling. If I could forget the true source of the sound I’d close my eyes and imagine a horrible beast in my hotel room, but tonight the imagination is feeling tired and the reality of my 11 PM diet sets in.
After nearly fainting through a ninety minute workout I’m waiting for my late night oatmeal to brew in the hotel room’s individual Starbucks machine. The oatmeal, still “cooking” while I start on the yogurt, milk, and fruit sitting on my desk, is a new late night ritual for my travels away.
My new ritual is part of a personal test I’m experiencing during my first stay ever in Texas. From my hotel room I see highways leading to novel fast food stops, steak houses, and proper restaurants with names foreign to my city self. Yet, after spending months living in the excesses of the real city, I decided to see if I could still hold back for a few days and stick to a good workout and food routine.
The dragon in the corner of my room is quiet, and the fog of heat rising off the oatmeal is much less menacing than the sounds of its transformation. No steak dinner today, and I feel tougher for resisting it.
November 5, 2007
It’s 5:30 in the morning and the sun is still sleeping in California. Yet the two-hit combo punch of a daylight savings time change and a time zone swap are disrupting my ability to sleep during the regular hours of everyone else.
Yesterday I took a day of vacation to pull myself away from everything. At home I frequently tackle more than I should in my free time, and I felt it would be good to get away for a day to just sit and breathe — to watch the world for a few minutes instead of soaring through it. And I did — sitting by the pool I thought about nothing but the texture of my pool chair, and on my run I imagined myself eating dinner in each of the restaurants I trotted by.
But the next morning, I’m ready to go. This morning seems to be moving too slow; it feels like there isn’t enough to do. My breakfast today is composed of leftover italian bread and fruit — items from the day before that are proving essential in my early-morning TEFASBB (too early for anyone to serve breakfast blues). Aside from a few things constantly on my mind, there’s nothing left for the all American daydream. It’s time to start the week.
With that, and a stomach full of bread, I’m off to the gym.
September 22, 2007
As a child, Sunshine Pizza meant more to me than its elastic, yellow-tinted mozzarella cheese. Often a treat from my Dad, a slice or two of pie would be enough for most kids, but I had to have it my way. In a room full of tables and chairs, there was only one place I could sit — the Pac-Man table.
Part of it seemed magical to me. When I looked at this table, I didn’t see wood or colored plastic as I did at the other tables. Instead there was a bright, well-lit animation of a yellow creature chasing multi-colored ghosts. Inside the table!
Only one table in the pizzeria had Pac-Man, and claiming this table was like sitting at the king’s chair in a royal court. For that fifteen minutes, I was the only one who would know the joy of power pellets.
This relic from my child hood is still alive, still in the restaurant (albeit a different address), and still coated in pizza grease. Even now, there’s something magical about the machine.
Please insert one quarter.
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