Beyond Reality

A few weeks ago, in a desperate attempt to find more money, I applied for an American Express Card. Much to my surprise, I was approved. So now I have a veritable opportunity to go a great deal into debt. Although I'm pretty sure I won't (I'm more responsible than people think I am), I have been on a spending spree ever since I received and activated it.
I love saying, "Do you take American Express?" A lot of places don't, and so I feel kind of exclusive. The reason I wanted one so bad is because there are a lot of places in New York, actually, that only take American Express, which was quite unexpected since I've been told my whole life that VISA is everywhere I want to be.
I have a much larger credit line on my American Express card than I do on my other card, though it's still not enough to let me go crazy, which is definitely a good thing. I am a little bit more grown up with two major credit cards, and I am responsible enough to handle my own finances and credit situation.
The purchases I've been recently making were justified in my mind, and I would never buy anything that I could not afford to pay off in a reasonable amount of time. It just so happens that my recent expansion of credit allows me to return home in a few weeks time, and stop by Lollapalooza on the way. In the meantime, though, I've been doing my share to pitch in with New York's booming economy.
Being in New York, I feel like such a loser if I don't buy something everyday. I need a cup of coffee, a pack of gum, something! If there is nothing else to do in this town, there is always an opportunity to spend money.
Today, I took my spendthrift ways to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, to investigate curtains for my new apartment, which happens to be very sunny during the day. First of all, in New York, the Beyond section stands for a cafe. That's what beyond means here. There is always room for a coffee shop in the stores here. This massive domestic warehouse definitely went beyond my expectations in more ways than one.
The store is enormous. Every conceivable kitchen, closet, bathroom accessory is hanging on the walls or stacked to the ceiling. I expected it to be a little smaller, being in the ground floor of a skyscraper, but Chelsea says "NO!" They say, "we want a shrine devoted to our bedrooms, bathrooms, and kitchens!"
After wandering around in awe for awhile, I was instructed that the window treatments were downstairs. I had never shopped for curtains before, so it took me a while, and I needed help. The staff was surprisingly friendly, and I ended up settling for some very classy brushed nickel curtain rods that happened to be on clearance.
Bargain!
Anyway, what amazed me, was that after I purchased the rods with no curtains (one step at a time), I inquired as to whether or not they would be able to send me on my way with some kind of method to carry these cumbersome and oblong packages around the city with me. Living in New York involves a lot of carrying. It's not as simple as I can just carry these out to the parking lot and toss them in the back of my Honda Civic. No. When I make a purchase in the city, a lot of thought goes into it; mostly, 'how am I going to get this home?' or 'how much is this going to suck carrying this all the way back home?'
The good news is that the people at Bed, Bath, and Beyond have already anticipated this. Positioned at the exit doors at two men with an assortment of tools ready to help you get your recently-purchased items home without much of an ordeal. When I presented one of them with my long cylindrical packages, the good man went right to work. First, he plastic wrapped the two packages together, to become something of a singular object. Afterwards, he inquired if I wanted a handle to carry it by. I confirmed this notion. Then I stood speechless as he placed the curtain rods under the arm of a machine that somehow tied four pieces of string around them. All the guy did was step on a pedal on the floor. Then he pulled out a box of small plastic handles with metal clips that attached to the strings. He affixed two handles to the string and handed me back my packages, sending me on my way. It was unreal! It was beyond belief!
I was so amazed by this procedure that I had to tell somebody right away.
The guy walking his dog didn't seem too impressed. Oh well, I got my jollies out.

Ahead of me now was the manly task of putting up curtains in my living room. I don't know how that was ever dubbed a woman's job. It was way harder than anything I would have wanted to do. It involved getting up on a ladder, moving furniture around, and dealing with wily screws and walls. It is done now, and I feel much better for having done it, but now I have to really concentrate and pick out decent looking curtains that everybody can be happy with.
My taking care of the apartment has been a lot like Donna Reed's character in It's a Wonderful Life. While the boys are at the office all day, I'm doing things like hanging up posters, changing the direction of the refrigerator, and picking out curtains. Very manly indeed.
I'm going to make a great housewife someday.

The Midwest is the Best-Kept Secret of the United States

All the attention of the United States is primarily focused on its media centers, New York and L.A. It should come as no surprise. These two locations and their surrounding areas have developed as the hubs of popular culture, news, media, fashion, etc. Television shows and movies depicting life all over the world are fabricated, produced, then marketed from these corners of the world, leaving the rest of us to consume them, along with whatever merchandise they inspire. A large part of the attention America receives is captured and relayed to the rest of the world in that media.
Occasionally, one will find a movie or a TV show that does not take place in New York or L.A. or is about people in some other area of the world, but the majority of shows on TV take place in or are based on these high-profile areas of our country. For example, in recently memory I can think of TV shows like L.A. Law, L.A. Doctors, L.A. Firefighters, LAX, the O.C., Lincoln Park, Laguna Beach, Arrested Development, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Entourage. All these shows take place in Los Angeles or the L.A. area. Give us a break, California's not that great. They even film reality TV there, the fakest place on earth.
On the flip side, you have your high-profile shows like Seinfeld, Friends, Law & Order, the Sopranos, NYPD Blue, Will & Grace, Flight of the Conchords that all take place in New York. New York and L.A. are dynamic and interesting in their own ways, but do they really need to take all the spotlight from the rest of America? Every once in a while, you have TV shows that are not based in New York or L.A., but in other dynamic cities of America, such as Las Vegas, Miami, Boston, or Chicago. With the exception of Chicago, the attention is still directed primarily at the eastern and western seaboards of the United States.
In addition to the media circuit, the east and west coasts have their stranglehold on the news industry as well. Most of the news in this country comes from Washington, D.C., on the east coast. A lot comes from New York. Our "national" news comes from New York. L.A. gets its voice in there as well. How much of our exported news is celebrity news and gossip? As if that's really important.
Even as we have other important hubs of entertainment located in other areas of the country, Atlanta, Tennessee, Pennsylvania, Orlando, other parts of California, the Midwest of the United States is largely ignored. When foreign visitors travel from other countries, for the most part, they go towards these commercial centers. How often does one see a group of Japanese tourists on a street corner in Iowa?
As if that wasn't enough, everything that is broadcast on TV is broadcast from the eastern time zone. Prime time in television is 8:00pm eastern time. That means that people in the Midwest have to alter their schedules if they want to watch prime time TV. When they advertise TV shows and the times to watch them, they mention central time secondly, in passing, as if it's not even important, without even uttering an existence of mountain time. Does anybody on the east coast even know that there is a mountain time zone? So what, nobody in Colorado watches TV?
The only kind of national attention the Midwest gets, I feel, are in the avenues of professional sports and, to a lesser extent, music. Professional sports get all kinds of media coverage, and they are in virtually every big city in the U.S., even the Midwest. But even so, there are certain areas of the Midwest that are even further ignored: Iowa, the Dakotas, Nebraska, the rest of Illinois. So everybody in Illinois has to be a fan of Chicago sports just because those are the only teams they have? I don't buy it.
Professional musicians that tour, e.g. bands, give significant interest to the other cities that are wholly ignored by other forms of media. Rarely will you find a T-shirt of a band's tour that does not include cities like Boise, ID, Omaha, NE, or St. Louis, MO. Bands on successive tours know that there are people in these towns, and more than that, people who like to rock!
While I do think the communication and published media gaps in the world are getting smaller, thanks in large part to the internet, I think there is still a great deal of uncertainty and intrigue in the Midwest. If one were to look at a map of cell phone coverage in the U.S., you would see that there are whole sections of the states of Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska, and the Dakotas that are untouched by modern technology. Does that mean there are no people there? Of course not! Well, not everywhere. But don't the few people who are there deserve cell phones just as much as the people on the east coast?
Perhaps, though, what gives the Midwest its intrigue is the fact that all this other stuff is taking up its space away from the Midwest, leaving the Midwest with its space for whatever it wants to do with it. In the Midwest, you don't have people scrambling to be a part of this attention-grubbing environment that consumes so much of the rest of the United States. People in the Midwest are honest, well-mannered, laid-back, careful. They have nothing to hide.
It is difficult to pinpoint, but people in the Midwest have a philosophy of life that is drastically different from people on the east and west coasts. They look at things more broadly. They are used to having more space and more time. Even though they can have the same values or education as people on the coast, they have something else. They have a different understanding.

The Midwest is a place not many people have heard of. Because of that, not many people have heard the great things that the Midwest has. People might ask, "What happens there?" One might say that nothing happens there, but really a great deal happens, but it depends on one's own interpretation to determine whether it is worth experiencing or not.
The Midwest has a character about it that is vastly different than any other part of the country, and this can be seen from the smallest farm town to the biggest metropolis. Even Chicago, which is the biggest and most publicized city of the Midwest, cannot turn away its unique Midwestern flavor. Chicago, as busy a metropolis as it is, stretches upward towards the sky from its marshy lake front roots, and if you travel outside the urban sprawl just a little bit, right away you are thrust into the unmistakable environment of the Midwest.
Long stretches of widely vacant highways bring automobile drivers to small towns with town squares, hole-in-the wall bars or restaurants, homes of families, churches, schools, stores, and people. Interesting people with stories to tell. People who are just as informed and energetic and independent as people on the east coast. People who are conservative. People who have never left town and have no need or intention to ever. People who have nothing in common with their neighbors except that they live where they live.
And yet everybody in the Midwest is connected somehow. It may be through its network of highways that bring people from towns to slightly larger towns and even cities. It may be a connection that they have seemingly nothing in common with people on the east and west coasts. Certainly, being from the Midwest differentiates people from the other Americans on the East and West coasts, and they take pride in that.

The Midwest of the United States is often referred to as the heartland, and with good reason. The Midwest provides so much for the rest of the country that the rest of the country takes for granted. How much of the United States' corn, wheat, soybeans, cattle, chickens, and pork are raised in the Midwest? A pretty good chunk. Because of the amazing improvements in shipping and manufacturing, it is possible to get these homemade products even to the farthest stretches of the United States, like Tacoma, Washington, Maine, and Key West, Florida.
A lot of people, without going there, could not possible develop an appreciation for the state of Wisconsin from far away. Perhaps it is something that one has to physically take in to appreciate, but it is not something that should be ignored. I feel like Wisconsin is not on the map for a lot of Americans. Many Americans know that it is there, but feel no need to investigate it. They might think, "What do they do there, eat a lot of cheese?" While this stereotype might be somewhat true, Wisconsin is quintessential Midwest, and consequently quintessential America. Wisconsin has something for everyone. It holds within its boundaries beautiful lakes, scenic woods, vast prairies, small towns, farm communities, and some of the finest cities you will find in America in Madison and Milwaukee.
One might say that I am biased, as I spent four years in the state of Wisconsin going to school in the tiny town of Beloit, but as that is true it has only increased my appreciation for America's heart of heartlands, even after my previous experiences in the Badger state. Living in New York City, I feel a lot of people here would say about Wisconsin, "Let them have their north country, their cheese, their Wisconsin. I don't need it. I'm fine right here. I'm happy in my New York." I feel the same could be said in reverse from Wisconsinites about New York. "Let them have their fancy tiny apartments and hotels, their seafood restaurants, their taxi cabs. I'll take the prairie."
These two areas of the country may not fully realize each other's significance, I, having spent time in either place, am prepared to say that Wisconsin and New York City are in their own right, each other's complete antithesis and ultimate fantasy.
In a way, I feel Wisconsin will be constantly stretching for the fame and glory and excitement of New York City, while New York City will be effortlessly striving to find peace and quiet under the stars. Neither one will ever get to be the other. Wisconsin, by itself, could not possibly represent all that is American life. New York, by itself, could not do that either. Together, though, they embody the balance that America is ultimately looking for.

Yet, nobody ever talks about the Midwest. It gets no mention. It gets scurried under the rug. So much gets said about New York and Los Angeles and Boston and San Francisco, but the Midwest is not spoken for. While it may not be as sensational and frequently newsworthy as the outer portions of the country, I can assure you that the Midwest is just as dynamic, just as noteworthy, and well-worth your attention.
It is not always as kind and friendly and peaceful as the storybooks make it out to be. Not everyone is friendly or will invite you into their home for fresh-baked goods. It's not a Norman Rockwell painting, though parts of it may have inspired some. The Midwest is just like any other part of the United States, only different. If you are not from there, go there, and you'll see what I mean. If you are from there, and have since moved away from there, you probably already know what I mean. But not a lot of other people do.
For better or worse, the Midwest is the best-kept secret of the United States.

A Sandwich

This city is hilarious. I sit down on a park bench in Madison Square Park enjoying the weather. On the bench adjacent to me sits no person, but instead a sandwich. Wrapped in plastic, ready to be eaten, the sandwich sits all alone. Waiting and wondering, I asked the sandwich if it was saving the seat for somebody, but it did not answer me.
This is quite a paradox, I thought. While this sandwich is very polite in saving a seat for somebody, it was also quite rude for not answering me. How could a sandwich hold such double standards in etiquette? This sandwich isn't even living. It doesn't have feelings. And yet, merely by sitting idly, simply being a sandwich, it provoked so much thought in me. Maybe I truly am suffering.

Childlike

Being here in New York has definitely reverted me back to my childhood. I find myself feeling as if I am on vacation everyday. I don't want or need to do adult things like work. I just need to walk around, look at buildings, go to shows, meet people, eat, and sleep. My childlike ways are brought out in me as if I grew up here, as if I was never meant to be any place else.
I walk around the city, ride around the city not even thinking about where I am or where I'm going. I just know, almost instinctively. I think that in a small way, I'm reliving my childhood. It was then that I first came to the city. I was shielded from the evils of the city by the love and protection of my family. I was led about, seeing wonders I had never imagined, such as the Statue of Liberty, the Bronx Zoo, the Subway, and Yankee Stadium.
Riding the Subway was such a thrill for me as a kid, I don't know why. The idea of riding a train underground is what did it for me, I think. Now that I do it everyday, it's even more exciting! Now there are even more trains, and I know where they lead, and I know the many wonderful places they can take me. It's a bit like entering a warp tube in Super Mario Bros. You go downstairs to the Subway in Chinatown, you come back up in Central Park. It's a whole different world.
Now that I'm an adult and I have more freedom, it allows me to explore my childlike inclinations without any hindrance at all. The other week I traveled to Philadelphia, and I was instantly brought back to my childhood memories of walking around historic downtown with my family, eating cheese steaks, taking horse and carriage rides.
So much of what I love about this city and the east coast in general is solidified in my memories. It makes me wonder if being here in New York is actually letting me grow up at all. Am I here to grow up, or am I here trying to cling to whatever childhood I have left?

Selling Out

If you happen to be a frequent reader of this blog, or even an infrequent reader, you may notice something different on it that has not appeared before. I recently signed up for Google AdSense, which places ads on my blog for readers to click on and, in turn, patronize ad-placing companies.
You should feel no obligation to do this, but you should know that I signed up for this service with my own interests in mind, as I get a dividend of the revenue that is generated from clicking on these ads.
You may accuse me of the title of this essay, "selling out,"with my newly adopted mercenary behavior. I can assure you that I will not be making very much money, if any at all. The amount I make is based on how many people click on the ads, which is then based on how many people read this blog. Then, even after people click on the ads, Google takes a large portion of the cut, leaving me with not much at all. The only way I would begin to start making actual money is if thousands of people suddenly start reading and are interested in the ads enough to click on them and buy something. I would be pleasantly surprised if I were to start receiving checks in the mail of any significance any time soon.
Signing up for the ads also puts me in place in a very interesting economic social experiment. The ads put on my blog are decided by an algorithm that determines what my blog is about topically, and then places ads based on their relevance to that topic. I am interested to see what the computer thinks my blog is about, first-of-all, and then what it thinks my readers are all about. I tend to cover a wide variety of topics, leaving nothing taboo, and with plenty of room for more topics, and my readers vary a great deal in beliefs, socio-economic status, and educational background. I'm no one-trick pony.
Nevertheless, I have been told by several people that they enjoy reading my stories on my blog, and that I have an interesting/entertaining way of telling a story. Thus, I've decided to pursue my writing with a little more fervor in the near future. I hope to become way more prolific and to inundate the reader with more essays than they can shake a stick at. My hope in doing such is to generate more interest in my blog, and, in turn, more revenue to supplement my meager salary, which comes and goes so easily. I do not intend, in the coming weeks, to compromise my integrity. I always write from the heart, and if I have nothing to write about, then I don't. It just so happens that I have a great deal of thoughts swimming around in my head that I am itching to put down in writing. So if I'm going to be doing that, then I might as well take any hand-outs I can, no?
It is my opinion that every artist everywhere has the general intention of selling out, one way or another. Although it is often thought of in a negative connotation, selling out is not exactly a bad thing. Theater performers dream of selling out the theater every night, so as to perform to a sold-out audience. When you try and get tickets to a concert or event, only to find it is sold out, that's not any good for you but it is great for the artist. Artists have every intention of creating great art. But what good is creating art if it is not going to be appreciated in one's own time? And what better way to show appreciation than to pay someone's hard-earned cash for it.
Besides, I need the money.

The Cataclysmic Adventures of Leland and Adam in Association with Moving

Alright, so the adventures were not so cataclysmic. I just wanted to use that word in the title. It sounds good, doesn't it? And it got you reading to this point. Nonetheless, the moving experience was adventuresome, which is more than you can say about everyday life.
The adventures began on Saturday, June 23, at about 9:00 in the morning, when Adam woke me up to tell me he was going to get the truck. He had made the reservation, and the truck was about a fifteen-minute walk away. But let me go back a little ways to before we got to moving day.
The preadventures of moving were somewhat cataclysmic in leading up to the moving day, because it seemed like everything that could go wrong did go wrong. Adam, the landlord, and I could not agree on a day to sign the lease, the bank gave us all kinds of trouble getting the cashier's check, and when we did get the cashier's check, the teller put the wrong date on it, rendering it useless. Eventually, we got everything straightened out and moving day came at last.
The truck measured in at 14 feet long and 11 feet, 2 inches tall, a fact which would go on inconsequential until later on when we barely cleared an overpass, unknowing until after the fact. The heighth of the vehicle was still inconsequential, I suppose, but only by two inches. The truck even included a Mom's Attic; handy.
The beginning adventures of the moving weekend were not so exciting, I suppose. We went shopping. A number of things we needed for our new apartment were going to be cheaper in New Jersey and easier to transport via truck than in New York via hands. We also got lunch at Burger King, but avoided the drive-thru.
Planning, like most people in our generation, is not something we take very seriously. Our tentative plan was to pack up all the stuff in the truck that day, leaving the beds for last, so as to sleep in our old apartment one last night on comfy beds. Upon packing, however, we soon realized the gravity of the sheer volume of stuff we had to pack, and that it would not all fit in the truck at one time. So, calling an audible, we got as much stuff in the truck that Saturday afternoon as we could, before we drove it over to Brooklyn. We had help, too, without which, we might still be packing and unpacking. I should note, also, that moving out was not nearly as difficult as moving in. Moving out meant bringing items down two flights of stairs, wide New Jersey stairs, while moving in meant bringing items up three flights of skinny Brooklyn stairs to the fourth floor.
Well, we got the truck packed up for Saturday, and began the journey over to Brooklyn. I had to drive, because apparently that was something Adam was unwilling to do in the city, even though, he was very willing to criticize my driving in the city from the passenger's seat. Meanwhile, our helper, the honorable Mr. Jon Carbone, sat in the middle seat begging me just not to kill us. No problem. I had gotten recent experience driving in the city of New York while riding in the Strand bookmobiles making deliveries and pick-ups. Though I wasn't actually doing any driving, I gained a lot of knowledge and bearings from the drivers while I was riding shotgun.
One adventure took place on our move when we had to pick up a promptly purchased bookcase from one of Adam's colleagues on the lower east side, which allowed me as the driver to sit in front and block traffic on a one-way street for a good few minutes as Adam and his colleague loaded it up in the back. This is so New York! After that we got to Brooklyn, somewhat incredulously found a parking space right in front of the building, and began to unload.
It was after we started to bring things upstairs, with the help of another one of Adam's colleagues, Mr. Lee Transue, that we reached the real high point of our adventure. It is more accurate to say that it, or he, found us. A neighborhood man spotted our U-Haul and immediately sought out to help. Impossible to say what this man's ulterior motive may have been, if in fact there was one, but he described himself as a neighborhood handyman who had helped a lot of our neighbors move in. He saw their trucks, was called to duty, and went to work. This is what he does, apparently, and in Brooklyn this is commonplace. It is not unusual for a man to make his living merely by doing odd jobs for all sorts of people. While I would not recommend this for a career, it seemed possible that this could be true, and he did seem like a really nice guy, which in the end he turned out to be.
His name was Roy, and he came prepared with gloves and a game plan to help us expedite the move. To be honest, I can't believe I didn't think of it, with all my years of moving experience. Nonetheless, Roy, as unorthodox as the situation may have been, really helped us out. We were willing to take the risk at that point. Adam, Jon, and I had already been moving things most of the afternoon, so we were tired, and with Lee along, we had four associated movers to his one unassociated, yet seemingly kind, stranger. I should note, also, that the racial divide in my neighborhood is prevalent, though not unkind. It is there, however, so when a situation like this arises, it makes it all the more uncomfortable.
After a while, Jon left us, which was fine. He had already done more than his share and helped us out tremendously. Lee, Adam, Roy, and I moved a fourteen-foot truck full of musical instruments, small furniture, boxes, and other knick-knacks up the stairs to our fourth-floor walk-up. At the end of the night, we were so exhausted. I had no idea how we were going to continue the next day. Not only that, on Sunday we had to get the big stuff! We did not have an option, though, so perseverance was our only choice.

Sunday morning came, and with it the soreness, the sweat, and the inevitable bickering that comes with moving a couch down two flights of stairs in ninety-degree heat. But we got the truck packed, we turned in our keys, and said goodbye (with much exhilaration) to New Jersey. I had to say my goodbye, later, actually, as I had to return the truck at the end of the night. Nevertheless, it was still exciting to drive away without having to look back, and with no use for bus tickets. The drive was thrilling, as well. As much as people seem to avoid driving in New York, I relish it. It is a great opportunity to really challenge my driving skill set, as well as give a real scare to my passengers. Come to think of it, I've never had a problem doing that. Nevertheless, it is a very proud accomplishment of mine to say that I drove a 14-foot box truck through the Lincoln Tunnel, down the island of Manhattan, across the Manhattan bridge, and ending up parallel parking in Brooklyn, albeit, it wasn't so hard being only 14 feet. The reason I was elected in this position in the first place was probably because I had already gone through driving a 17-footer halfway across the country from Illinois to New Jersey.
When we showed up in Brooklyn, Adam had friends already waiting for us, the burly Mr. Corey Brown, and the sophisticated, endearing, yet strong Regan (whose last name I do not know). We were not as lucky as we were the previous day, as far as finding a parking spot, which forced us to double-park a short while in front of the cars in front of our building. Inevitably, while we were moving things upstairs, somebody in one of those cars had to get out, leading to a quite hilarious attempt by me to make space, not having enough, then driving too far ahead, leading the back door to open up and a lamp to spill out onto the street, which, in turn, led to a short-lived chase sequence in which Adam and Corey frantically followed behind and cleaned and swept up the mess before anything else could happen. I had a red face, but still smiled.
Driving around the block and finding a better place to park, we began again to unload, when who should show up again, but our good friend, Roy. Delighted with the finding he made yesterday, he came back to help us out again, which was admirable, since we only paid him $30 each day, and he carried up most of the heaviest objects. He helped more than anyone. Then again, he was the only one getting paid. He also, by the time we finished, would have an acute inventory of our possessions, an exact location of where all our stuff was, and knowledge of how many people and in what amount of time it would take to remove all of it. Pretty smart of us, huh?
At the beginning of this day, Adam and I noted that we were already as tired as we were the night before when we had finished. We had to press on, though, the end was in sight. In the middle of this move, though, we were propositioned by another neighborhood "fix-it" man, this one named Tony. He inquired about the use of the truck to haul some materials from a place where he was working to a dump yard. Well, my being the good Samaritan that I am, and already reaping the benefits of neighborhood friendliness, I agreed to help this man for no more than half an hour and for a fee of $10. After the rest of the crew got everything moved upstairs, Roy was paid, and pizza was ordered, I left to help this fellow neighborhood stranger.
I drove Tony to the first location, which was in the neighborhood, only a few streets away, and loaded a cut-down and sawed-up tree, in sections, into the back of the U-Haul. After getting it all loaded up, I got back into the driver's seat, and took us to the next location, the dump yard. Upon arriving at an arbitrary intersection, Tony stopped me and got out to get the keys to the yard. While waiting in the truck for his return, it dawned on me that this would be an excellent time for him to ditch the scene.
Tony certainly already got paid for removing the tree, now all he had to do was get away in enough time for me not to realize what had just happened, and he would get off scot-free; which is precisely what happened. I made a quick phone call, and, upon hanging up, looked out the truck to see Tony was nowhere to be found. It had been far longer than the two minutes that Tony had promised it would take for him to return.
Now my internal debate was whether to keep waiting in the hopes that he was an honest man, or to drive away saving myself the embarrassment of waiting even longer. When I came to the conclusion that this guy had made a quick twenty bucks for himself and a fool out of me, I began to drive away. I figured I could just dump this tree somewhere in New Jersey and be done with it. The only question would be where to dump it and not get caught for illegal dumping and return the truck with enough time to make the last bus. But then what would happen if I did get caught?
I turned around and decided to go back to the person who's house we got the tree in the first place and explain what had happened. A reasonable man would understand and sympathize, which is what he eventually did, after I explained that we both got duped by our mutual acquaintance, Tony. We unloaded the tree, piece by piece, back onto his sidewalk, and I left for New Jersey to return the truck. I returned the truck, got on the bus, and headed back through the Lincoln Tunnel to Manhattan for the last time in the immediate future.
I returned home to find pizza and friends still there waiting for me. And a very comfy couch to sleep on. All in all, it was a rewarding experience. And living in Brooklyn is going to be well worth the effort it took. Way better than New Jersey. Even if I would have had to move all my stuff on my hands going up nine flights of stairs, it still would have been worth it. The apartment is incredible, especially with all our stuff now in it, and it makes me very happy to be here.

Lonely City

In a city of 8 million people, you would think it would be hard to feel lonely. With so many people all around me everyday, it dawns on me that most of them are strangers. About 7,999,950, I would say, maybe a little less. The chances of me running into someone I know is slim to none, because people in this city have things to do and places to go. That is why making plans is so essential in this town.
New Yorkers are definitely on a different schedule than any other people in this world. And they are very difficult to get a hold of. I have left so many messages in the past weeks with no responses. That makes me feel lonely. What else can I do but leave messages? If these people were to answer, I would talk to them, but they don't, so I'm forced to leave my information with their digital secretaries.
Being in New York is an excuse not to get back to people, too. I've used it. "Sorry, I never got back to you last year, I live in New York now." It's understandable. I still haven't gotten back to people who called me months ago. But if you are getting called by people who are also in New York, you should have some sort of obligation to get back to them. After all, this person is going through at least some of the same things as you, and this person is trying to reach out to you, which is something you should not take for granted in this city, in which it is so easy to drown amongst the people, if you don't have strong hind legs.
Being lonely is different than being a loner, however, which New York also makes it very easy to do. It's very easy to enjoy being by yourself, walking around, very independently, iPod abuzz, with a real sense of purpose. That is, after all, why a lot of people came here, to make it on his or her own. I find myself often going to movies by myself, which, before I moved here, was unheard of in my mind. I never went to a movie by myself before I moved here. Now, half the movies I go to are by myself. It is a very humbling experience.
On the other hand, though, going to see movies in New York is often a great hassle to coordinate. If you want to see a movie with a group of people, you had better plan ahead on spending a lot of time, because when you go with people, you have to compete with other people for seats, and if you are going to do that, you better plan on getting there really early, and possibly even waiting in line. Unless you want to wait a few weeks, but then you're just out of the pop culture loop.
Seeing a movie by yourself can be an enjoyable experience; ultimately when you see a movie with people you aren't actually watching it with them, anyway. It's dark and, if you are intent on getting your eleven dollars worth, your eyes are focused on the screen in front of you, you're not interacting with the people you came with anyway. That's another reason seeing movies with people is difficult to coordinate in New York; movies cost eleven dollars here. If you want to see a movie that somebody else has already seen, what are the chances that they are going to go and see it again? Not likely. I would rather wait three months for it to come out on DVD. Then you're in the rental pop culture loop, which is a different loop altogether.

Going to a movie by yourself does emphasize your own loneliness, though, which was my original point. Because most people still go to see movies with their friends and family, sitting by oneself in a crowded theater loses its edge. Especially afterwards, when you have nothing to look forward to except your walk home with your iPod. iPods may actually replace dogs as man's best friend. Don't credit me now, but you'll read about it later, I'm sure. You don't have to feed iPods, though you do have to recharge them, which is kind of like feeding them. But look, they made it ok not to capitalize the first letter of a proper noun or even a sentence. Just look!
As nice as they are to have, iPods are merely material possessions and compare not to the interactions of other human beings, or even canines. I can totally understand why hermits go crazy and do rash things. Human interaction is a natural need, I feel. When I haven't interacted with other human beings for hours at a time, or days, I get really irritable. This is especially emphasized by the number of beautiful women I see walking around New York daily. I lose count of how many I've seen in the day and they really just make me feel frustrated and angry. Inexcusably angry. And I can feel myself go on the verge of paranoia and insanity.
Thankfully, though, that only happens every once in a while, and actually, this last time, seeing a movie by myself and listening to my iPod really lifted my spirits. It gave me an inspiration to write this! So maybe ignoring the deranged lunatic in your life is not so bad, after all, just remember to love him or her every once in a while, to get them back on track.