And so it begins...

660 miles of track, enough to, I'm told, span from here back to Chicago. 468 stations. 5,800 subway cars. 26 subway lines.

Yes, we are going to cover it all. I will regain my sanity on the subway, amongst the homeless, the jaded, the Bed-Stuyers who rap about my shoes, the Doo-Wop groups and Chinese ladies who try to pass between me and a subway pole, a scant 6 inches apart. No more confused weekends, no more gorging myself when nervous. No more hours of rotting my corneas behind this screen. Something to write home about.

First up:
Depart 42nd St./Times Sq. via 7 to 45th Rd./Courthouse Sq. in Brooklyn
Walk to G train, nearby
Take G from beginning of route at Long Island City Court Sq. to Hoyt-Schermerhorn to finally see "ghost platform" (the one Jonathan Lethem writes about) for myself.
Return by A or C train to 4th St/Washington Sq.

-Hippocrates

Do you realize how completely fucking awesome I would be at football?

Really really fuckking awesome.
No fear.
Clear eyes, full hearts, CAN'T LOOSE!

Solved

"US Needs 'Long Term Presence in Iraq, Gates Says." -NY Times

Personally, I think we should just give them an advent calendar.

No Sleep Haiku

Mutherfucker
I been up for two days
The cricket, he weep

Indian Summer

Sleep schedules are all off. 6AM to 2:30 in the afternoon. Whyyyy...

I have decided I no longer like people in skinny jeans.
But then today I read an essay on generalizations and the mistakes that come along with them. It was not about skinny jeans, but about ethnic profiling in the wake of 9/11 and about how all pitbulls aren't evil. Just the ones that are chained, hungry, and taunted. Or something like that. Anyway, what I'm saying is I shouldn't hate all people in skinny jeans. I was on that path for awhile. However, I have had to renounce that after I learned of two pairs of skinny jeans and the useless, empty shells wearing them. The parties in question were smoking pot and going on and on about how they can't stand people who go outside and sketch. They're not artists and never will be. And this to a very kind, without-any-sort-of-pretension individual.

"Charlie Ravioli, in other words, was just another New Yorker: fit, opinionated, and trying to break into show business."

Questionable

Today I purchased "The Brief Penguin Handbook" for my first year writing course. Its a writers reference book, not a manual regarding penguines prized for it's brevity.
It came with another handbook entitled "Using a Handbook"
In the words of wise men... "What... the... fuck."
"no Seriously"
"what the fuck"
And the homless on telegraph avenue all ask "What time is it?"
indeed.
Sir those are only to be used incase of emergencies.
"Using a Handbook"
What an emergence.
Unfortunatly I do not yet know how to use handbooks.
So I'll ned to send in for a pamphlet.

South Bronx, Sout' Sout' Bronx

The Bronx is worth it. I mean, if you were going to have a fifth borough, you so totally need the Bronx. I was actually so thrilled by the square mile I saw of it today that I may campaign for a sixth borough in my jubilation.

I'm beginning to mind that it's hot here. I have no air conditioning and I'm spoiled. I stayed in the hall until 3:30 this morning, as it was all of a half degree cooler out there than in here. If I don't get to bed until 5:10 again, then I'm going to set up camp in the second floor lounge.

Songs of the moment:
"What's A Girl To Do?" -Bat For Lashes
"Sleeping Lessons" -The Shins
"To Fix The Gash In Your Head" -A Place To Bury Strangers
"D.A.N.C.E." -Justice

Album of the moment (and much, much longer):
Night Falls Over Kortedala -Jens Lekman

Brilliant. Perfect fall-opener music. Looking forward to long-sleeves with this one.

Some notes on people at NYU:
The Stern (business school) people all wear matching t-shirts. The Asian ones at least, and they're at least 90% of Stern.
Kid with black velvet cape and skeleton gloves? Lives in my dorm. Names is Kenneth apparently.
Another Kenneth. This one is referred to as "creepy Ken." Knows a buttload about music, but just has a strange vibe about him. I don't mind, though. I find that I hold nothing against anyone except cape boy because I can't get over that, and I can't get past the fact that this Ken walks on his toes like Sami Ismail.
Sami Ismail is not of the population here. Hooray!
The hall has begun to divide. There are the people always out there or with doors open (where I fit), the few people who no one has met, and the blonde trio in the corner. There are the rival drinking rooms, who won't invite the other to drink because somebody skipped out on somebody the first night and...look out. Then there is the non-drinker room, which makes me feel better. There is Dan, who is loved by everybody, but lives on the 12th floor. He has a cardboard box (designated 422) in the hall with a chimney, foam mattress pad, waste receptacle, polaroid pictures, and three Junior Mints.

-Hippocrates

People we love

1. Rachel Ann Samanie
2. various other non italians
3. Rachel Ann Samanie

Backstory

Probably the biggest mistake we made was joining the circus, but there were plenty of others-- mistakes that is.
-Petros

Many greetings

Yep, it's live.

So this is what I'm doing instead of getting down to Beirut tonight. Ah, college.


This space will host musings on life in New York City, life in Chicago on holiday, 2 o'clock in the morning hysteria, and reviews of things. If it sometimes appears closely related to McSweeney's, then right you are. Welcome.

-Hippocrates