Mr. Jones

I recently made a playlist called Mr. Jones. Does anyone know why the fuck so many songs, throughout recent history, have been about a Mr. Jones or Mrs. Jones? Otis Redding sang about her, Ella Fitzgerald, and so many other greats. And they're usually about cheating. I get the sense that they're all talking about the same dude. That fucktard.

In other news, I have recently been re-inspired/made to feel bad about my life choices by this blog. This AIESECer is living the dream. And it remindes me to step up in my life. No matter the circumstances.

Finally, the HOW, not just speculation

In an article in today's Sunday Times, Journalist David Barstow explains just how fucked up our news system is...

its not just speculation, it explains HOW this is done.

knowing the 'how' makes comments about american media being propaganda, by so many people i've met abroad more real than anything i've ever encountered.

This ain't the view from the cheap seats baby

Every day that I've worked so far, I've spent about 10 minutes in the late afternoon enjoying a beverage and looking out the window at the scene before me. There's a building going up across the street, and they're just reaching the point where it'll obscure my view of St. Patricks Cathedral. All the buildings, no matter what their age, are over 30 stories. Except one. It is 3 stories. Yup, only three stories. I like it, because you can't tell it's there at first...but once you see it, you won't forget it. And it makes me happy to know that not everything has to be monstrous and over the top in this town to stand out.

But I digress.

During this time when NYC exploades in all of its genteel rudeness in front of my eyes, I spy on people on the street below, hurrying off to their destinations. And I like my view. I don't like being in the crowd, just watching it from above. I know I will need to take my place in the crowd soon, but for now, I'll just enjoy the view.

Speaking of Jesus

The Pope visits the US this week. I've asked a lot of people if they're going to go see him ride up 5th Avenue. I had slotted time off on Saturday to see god's rep her on earth (I'll have to touch on that name another time - but as a side note, if the pope is how god is holding up his rep on earth, she must want to play a joke on us all - come on, a funky old man who looks simply looks, like a pedofile...how ironic) however, I declined in favor of doing some volunteer work up in Harlem. Seems like a better way to spend my time.

But it comes as a sort of sign. I've been thinking about this move to NYC over the past three weeks, and it seems to me, to have been the right thing to do. Not a lot of people know this about me, but when I was little, I wanted, more than anything to be a trader on the NY stock exchange floor. That dream lasted until I almost failed my first accounting class and joined @ (those two are not related - unless by fate). But being high up in the air each day, somewhere in the throws of the centre of the business universe, I have begun to realize that this dream's days are numbered. Its not that I don't like my job...because I love love love it. Its not that I don't love the city, because my sentiments are the same.

its just that i think this will be a good place to learn how this world works, and how I can make a difference. Simple as that.

live a dream. let it die. and keep your eye on the sky.

Jesus doesn't exist before my morning coffee

The Paridise delhi is a daily stop on my walk to the PATH train. It is an integral part of my morning commute, as it provides, for one small dollar, the sweet goodness that is my morning coffee.

So this morning, I stroll in with my travel mug open and my dollar in my hand to find some crazy talking with the egyptians that run the place about jesus. this crazy is pretty excited, so i step to the side and meekly hand the guy my mug. the two egyo-ians are intentily listening and nodding - they have a big picture of jesus in the buddah pose posted up behind the counter. you know the type - with the hand in the "stop in the name of love" position. But i digest (where is that joke from again?).

this crazy is getting louder and louder. i just want my fucking coffee. NOW. get me out of this discussion of religion amongst strangers. my eyes wander across the floor, always keeping the shoes of the crazy in view, and make sure they're far away from me. finally, my coffee with milk and one sugar is ready to go. a smile comes to my face as i hand my dollar over and screw the cap on my stainless steel travel mug. the egyptians wish me a good day. and even the crazy says something to me about going with jesus or something. but he doesn't know that jesus doesn't exist before my morning coffee.

the upside of a beating

sometimes things just happen. good or bad. we can't control life, no matter how much we try. and, damn it, we try pretty fucking hard to control everyone and everything in our lives.

but, once we get through something difficult, in some cases a sustained difficulty, that we realize that we're not made of glass...that we, despite what we may believe, do survive beatings. we're made of something stronger, something that doesn't give up.

and if we can get through those, then it makes the good seem even better. this new job might have been just another job, and i could consider myself just another sell out living some cookie cutter lifestyle. but its not like that. not after being without any hope, any semblance of self, for the past five months.

i just may be made of something stronger. i'm just lucky i have friends that believe in me. thanks you guys. you make this triumphant return all the more sweet.