Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
On the Cover of Forbes Magazine
I have to admit, when the song Billionaire by Travie McCoy first came out, I somewhat liked it - not because I thought it was brilliantly written (musically or lyrically), but rather because there is this part in the song where he sings something about visiting Katrina. And, well, being that my name is Katrina, I liked the idea of someone singing about visiting me. Even though I knew it wasn’t me he was referring to, it was fun to at least pretend.
But then I started to wonder, “Who exactly is this Katrina that he mentions in his song?” Finally I asked someone about her identity, only to be disappointed to learn that his singing is in reference to the hurricane that hit New Orleans around this time 5 years ago – not some cool girl named Katrina, like me. The actual line is, “I’d probably visit where Katrina hit and damn sure do a lot more than FEMA did.”
Honestly, I use to love my name, convinced that I got the better deal than my sister Bettina. But ever since that hurricane, I’ve been less than satisfied with my name and have been considering having it legally changed - kind of like how I tell people that I did when I was in 2nd grade. (Some of you have heard the Filinda story – which is another story for another day.) But what I want to know is how in the world did I end up with a name that is associated with devastation? That’s not what about. I’m about hope, and faith and life and joy – not destruction.
But the woes of my name is not why I write this post, but rather it is the chorus of the song Billionaire that prompts me to proudly say that I recently met someone whose article is featured on the cover of Forbes magazine. I work for him, actually - he’s the president of the university that I’m now at in NYC. His name is Dinesh D’Souza and his piece entitled How He Thinks – The Root of Obama’s Big Problem with Business recently made it into the magazine. And, well, I think that’s pretty darn cool.
But then I started to wonder, “Who exactly is this Katrina that he mentions in his song?” Finally I asked someone about her identity, only to be disappointed to learn that his singing is in reference to the hurricane that hit New Orleans around this time 5 years ago – not some cool girl named Katrina, like me. The actual line is, “I’d probably visit where Katrina hit and damn sure do a lot more than FEMA did.”
Honestly, I use to love my name, convinced that I got the better deal than my sister Bettina. But ever since that hurricane, I’ve been less than satisfied with my name and have been considering having it legally changed - kind of like how I tell people that I did when I was in 2nd grade. (Some of you have heard the Filinda story – which is another story for another day.) But what I want to know is how in the world did I end up with a name that is associated with devastation? That’s not what about. I’m about hope, and faith and life and joy – not destruction.
But the woes of my name is not why I write this post, but rather it is the chorus of the song Billionaire that prompts me to proudly say that I recently met someone whose article is featured on the cover of Forbes magazine. I work for him, actually - he’s the president of the university that I’m now at in NYC. His name is Dinesh D’Souza and his piece entitled How He Thinks – The Root of Obama’s Big Problem with Business recently made it into the magazine. And, well, I think that’s pretty darn cool.
Monday, September 6, 2010
When Camera Crews Swarm
I have to admit, after last week, I've become rather wary of my doorbell... mainly because I never really know what I'll be opening my door up to… This morning I was awakened by the buzzing of my doorbell for the third time since moving into my apartment a month ago…
I immediately check my cell phone to see what ungodly hour of the morning it might be. Rather than the time, my cell phone displays a notification that I have a new text message. I open and read, “hey katrina its becca! since school is closed today want me to just go to your room and give you the phone?”
Ah yes, the emergency duty phone. I work with college students, specifically in Residence Life, which means I live among students and am often on call to respond to anything and everything. Becca’s text came as somewhat of a surprise because I didn’t realize I was scheduled to hold the phone for the day (and actually, I learned later on - I wasn’t.)
Gaining consciousness, I roll out of bed and go to answer my door. I expect to see Becca with the phone, but rather it is Liz, one of my other stellar student leaders (who just so happens to be dating a guy named Gia Paul pronounced John Paul who at one time played for the LA Clippers, and now occasionally leads the team devotional and prayer time for the New York Giants.) Liz is holding out a Starbucks travel mug and speaks only two words, “Fruit smoothie?”
“Are you serious?” I reply.
“Yeah, I was just making smoothies in my apartment and I thought you might like some.”
I smile and accept the Starbucks mug, “Thank you!” I take a sip of the delicious morning treat. “Funny, I was expecting to see Becca with the phone – this is way better than the duty phone.”
So that was this morning, at a rather reasonable hour – 9:30. However, last week the wake up “calls” came at a much earlier hour of the day.
Thursday morning my doorbell awakens me from my deep slumber - my cell phone tells me that it is 6:45, and my body tells me to stay in bed and ignore the door. But I can’t, so I crawl out of bed and when I answer the door I find two peppy girls (obviously morning people) dressed in work-out clothes. One of them enthusiastically inquires, “Hey! Want to go running with us?!”
“Actually, I think I’m going to sleep some more, but thanks for the offer.”
“Okay, have a great a day.” And they are off, and I shut the door, head back to my bedroom, and slide under my covers to get some more shut eye.
The very next day my doorbell buzzes at almost exactly the same time, and once again, my body fights, not wanting to get out of bed. But this time my mind quickly sides with my body as flashbacks of a recent conversation with a student surfaces. I recall the words, “Oh, you live right down the hall from us. That’s awesome. That means we can mess with you and play pranks on you.” I reason, that it is probably the same girls going out for a run, sending me a little “love” on their way.
I almost determine that I’ll ignore the doorbell and continue on with my sleep, but something inside won’t let me. And so I get up, answer the door, and a girl who I had not yet met, is standing there in tears. She explains, “I’m so sorry to bother you. But I didn’t know where else to go. The cops just showed up at our apartment, and evidently a girl fell out the window from the 25th floor and landed right outside of our window, and I just can’t be in our apartment right now.”
“Oh sweetie,” I hug the girl. “Please do come in.” I do my best to console her, as the question races in my mind, is it one of my girls whose body is lying on the rooftop of the second floor?
Our university leases a select number of apartments from large apartment building, and so only a small percentage of the tenants are my students. I call the front desk inquiring if they know whether or not it is one of my students who fell. They inform me that they don’t know, but for some reason right after that call I am prompted to open my apartment door. I see a policeman walking down our hall and he is able to confirm for me that it isn’t one my students. Although still a horrific and tragic situation, I am slightly relieved to learn that it isn’t one of my girls.
Moments later the other two roommates from the same apartment join me in mine. They further explain that cops and investigators are utilizing their apartment to access the rooftop area where the girl landed to her death. I spent the morning with the girls – just being there for them and providing a safe place for them away from the chaotic activity occurring in and right outside of their apartment.
On their way out, one of the girls thanked me and insisted, “You are a Godsend.” Her words stuck with me, because it’s only the second time in my life that someone has said those words to me. The other time was in July, when I was in New York for my interview. It was in our final wrap up conversation of the day, that my now colleague Stacey said, “Our team is really excited about you. We have no reservations and we would like to move forward in offering you the position. You are a Godsend.”
The more I ponder that phrase, the more I realize how true it is. And that’s not to sound arrogant or conceited, but rather it is the reality that God has sent me here – to New York City, to The King’s College, and as one of my colleagues Ms. Hamilton recently prayer over me, “For such a time as this.” (See Bible, book of Esther).
Camera crews swarmed our apartment building all day, and by noon I had learned that it was a 17 year old girl – daughter of the US ambassador to Thailand – who had fallen to her death. She had simply had too much to drink and fell out of a window. She was about to start college, had the world ahead of her… only for her life to end tragically and prematurely. I can’t help but wonder if this girl’s story might have been different if I would have had the opportunity to interact with her, and perhaps inspire her to a better way of life, that would have stirred within her the desire to make better choices, and to perhaps embrace the greater life and story that God intended for her to live.
I immediately check my cell phone to see what ungodly hour of the morning it might be. Rather than the time, my cell phone displays a notification that I have a new text message. I open and read, “hey katrina its becca! since school is closed today want me to just go to your room and give you the phone?”
Ah yes, the emergency duty phone. I work with college students, specifically in Residence Life, which means I live among students and am often on call to respond to anything and everything. Becca’s text came as somewhat of a surprise because I didn’t realize I was scheduled to hold the phone for the day (and actually, I learned later on - I wasn’t.)
Gaining consciousness, I roll out of bed and go to answer my door. I expect to see Becca with the phone, but rather it is Liz, one of my other stellar student leaders (who just so happens to be dating a guy named Gia Paul pronounced John Paul who at one time played for the LA Clippers, and now occasionally leads the team devotional and prayer time for the New York Giants.) Liz is holding out a Starbucks travel mug and speaks only two words, “Fruit smoothie?”
“Are you serious?” I reply.
“Yeah, I was just making smoothies in my apartment and I thought you might like some.”
I smile and accept the Starbucks mug, “Thank you!” I take a sip of the delicious morning treat. “Funny, I was expecting to see Becca with the phone – this is way better than the duty phone.”
So that was this morning, at a rather reasonable hour – 9:30. However, last week the wake up “calls” came at a much earlier hour of the day.
Thursday morning my doorbell awakens me from my deep slumber - my cell phone tells me that it is 6:45, and my body tells me to stay in bed and ignore the door. But I can’t, so I crawl out of bed and when I answer the door I find two peppy girls (obviously morning people) dressed in work-out clothes. One of them enthusiastically inquires, “Hey! Want to go running with us?!”
“Actually, I think I’m going to sleep some more, but thanks for the offer.”
“Okay, have a great a day.” And they are off, and I shut the door, head back to my bedroom, and slide under my covers to get some more shut eye.
The very next day my doorbell buzzes at almost exactly the same time, and once again, my body fights, not wanting to get out of bed. But this time my mind quickly sides with my body as flashbacks of a recent conversation with a student surfaces. I recall the words, “Oh, you live right down the hall from us. That’s awesome. That means we can mess with you and play pranks on you.” I reason, that it is probably the same girls going out for a run, sending me a little “love” on their way.
I almost determine that I’ll ignore the doorbell and continue on with my sleep, but something inside won’t let me. And so I get up, answer the door, and a girl who I had not yet met, is standing there in tears. She explains, “I’m so sorry to bother you. But I didn’t know where else to go. The cops just showed up at our apartment, and evidently a girl fell out the window from the 25th floor and landed right outside of our window, and I just can’t be in our apartment right now.”
“Oh sweetie,” I hug the girl. “Please do come in.” I do my best to console her, as the question races in my mind, is it one of my girls whose body is lying on the rooftop of the second floor?
Our university leases a select number of apartments from large apartment building, and so only a small percentage of the tenants are my students. I call the front desk inquiring if they know whether or not it is one of my students who fell. They inform me that they don’t know, but for some reason right after that call I am prompted to open my apartment door. I see a policeman walking down our hall and he is able to confirm for me that it isn’t one my students. Although still a horrific and tragic situation, I am slightly relieved to learn that it isn’t one of my girls.
Moments later the other two roommates from the same apartment join me in mine. They further explain that cops and investigators are utilizing their apartment to access the rooftop area where the girl landed to her death. I spent the morning with the girls – just being there for them and providing a safe place for them away from the chaotic activity occurring in and right outside of their apartment.
On their way out, one of the girls thanked me and insisted, “You are a Godsend.” Her words stuck with me, because it’s only the second time in my life that someone has said those words to me. The other time was in July, when I was in New York for my interview. It was in our final wrap up conversation of the day, that my now colleague Stacey said, “Our team is really excited about you. We have no reservations and we would like to move forward in offering you the position. You are a Godsend.”
The more I ponder that phrase, the more I realize how true it is. And that’s not to sound arrogant or conceited, but rather it is the reality that God has sent me here – to New York City, to The King’s College, and as one of my colleagues Ms. Hamilton recently prayer over me, “For such a time as this.” (See Bible, book of Esther).
Camera crews swarmed our apartment building all day, and by noon I had learned that it was a 17 year old girl – daughter of the US ambassador to Thailand – who had fallen to her death. She had simply had too much to drink and fell out of a window. She was about to start college, had the world ahead of her… only for her life to end tragically and prematurely. I can’t help but wonder if this girl’s story might have been different if I would have had the opportunity to interact with her, and perhaps inspire her to a better way of life, that would have stirred within her the desire to make better choices, and to perhaps embrace the greater life and story that God intended for her to live.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Craigslist Missed Connection
New York Craigslist > Manhattan > Personals > Missed Connections
Runner in the Rain on 5th Avenue – (Midtown)
Dear 5th Avenue Runner,
It was exactly two weeks ago (Sunday afternoon, August 22nd) that our paths crossed somewhere between 34th and 59th Streets. I was heading south, returning home from Central Park and I’m inclined to believe that you were on your way to Central Park. We were both drenched from head to toe, and I’d imagine, quite the sight to see as we both continued pounding the pavement through the downpour.
We were the ONLY ones on the sidewalk because everyone else, even those with umbrellas, had taken cover in stores and under awnings. But not you and I, we continued on our way, enjoying our run though the summer rain. As we passed, we exchanged smiles, acknowledging our ridiculousness for pressing on through the torrential rains.
I suspect that you’re not married, because if you were, your wife would have cautioned you from going out for a run on such a precarious afternoon - and you would have probably listened to her. But instead you went out, knowing very well that it was rather probable that you would return home soaked. And I think that is why I could potentially like you.
* For the record, no, I didn’t post this on Craigslist, but I have to admit, I was tempted.
Runner in the Rain on 5th Avenue – (Midtown)
Dear 5th Avenue Runner,
It was exactly two weeks ago (Sunday afternoon, August 22nd) that our paths crossed somewhere between 34th and 59th Streets. I was heading south, returning home from Central Park and I’m inclined to believe that you were on your way to Central Park. We were both drenched from head to toe, and I’d imagine, quite the sight to see as we both continued pounding the pavement through the downpour.
We were the ONLY ones on the sidewalk because everyone else, even those with umbrellas, had taken cover in stores and under awnings. But not you and I, we continued on our way, enjoying our run though the summer rain. As we passed, we exchanged smiles, acknowledging our ridiculousness for pressing on through the torrential rains.
I suspect that you’re not married, because if you were, your wife would have cautioned you from going out for a run on such a precarious afternoon - and you would have probably listened to her. But instead you went out, knowing very well that it was rather probable that you would return home soaked. And I think that is why I could potentially like you.
* For the record, no, I didn’t post this on Craigslist, but I have to admit, I was tempted.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
A Blog Not About Cockroaches
My 2nd hottest guy friend forewarned me that there are a lot of them in this city, but I didn’t realize the extent of their population in NYC until today. And no, I’m not talking about cockroaches – although, there are plenty of them in the city too… but rather, I’m referring to Michigan alumni. And perhaps some of them convincingly fake their ties to the university (as my friend Colin Campbell does) for their love of Michigan football, but regardless, I wasn’t expecting the masses that I encountered when I entered Professor Thom’s to watch the game.
I suppose I should explain…Professor Thom isn’t actually a professor, but rather he’s a bar tender at a sports bar on 2nd Avenue, just a few blocks from Union Square. I had caught wind that Michigan fans gather there to watch the games and being that I have no television in my apartment, I ventured to Thom’s to join the maize and blue community of NYC. Honestly, I wish I could have taken someone with me, but my friend base in NYC at the moment is rather limited, so I entered the bar alone. (On a side note, if you know of someone – not married couples - who currently resides in the city and might want to be my friend, I’m currently accepting friend recommendations. I’d be particularly thrilled if you can recommend someone who is into rock climbing or Michigan football or might want to start a small group with me that would listen to and discuss LA Mosaic’s podcasts.)
The place was packed - so much so that I suspect that we were breaking fire code - and everyone was sporting some sort of Michigan t-shirt or jersey, and there were those that even went as far as to wear face paint. The game, which could be viewed on over 25 flat screens throughout the place, blared over the chatter and cheers of those in the bar. Although we were in Manhattan, miles away from Ann Arbor, it kind of felt like we were there - at the Big House, experiencing everything firsthand. There was “that guy” with the cowbell who would lead the “Go Blue” chant and with every touchdown Hail to the Victors would play over the sound system and we would all sang along.
I love those moments in life when feel and know that you are a part of something bigger and greater than yourself – where there is a spirit celebration and joy that can’t really be explained, but it is there and your soul knows it is right and how things should be. I think that is what we ought to experience in our faith journey, and what Jesus was referring to when he said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”
Shortly after half time I met a couple of guys - Toby and Bruce. Toby asked if I had just graduated. I laughed and explained that I had graduated a while ago, and that I had just moved here from Southern California. He informed me that he had graduated in 2005, and then continued digging for my age, by insisting that I tell him what year I graduated. And so I did (and honestly, I have no problem stating that I graduated from college in 2000 and that I am currently 32 years old. If anything, I just wish men under the age of 25 would stop hitting on me.)
Toby is 27, and although within range, he’s not within possibility. I’m rather certain he would agree with me. I asked what line of work he is in and he told me that he’s a youth director – at a synagogue, and that he is also in a band. He told me he’s supposed to be a role model, but he doesn’t always feel like one. I argued that the very fact that he is pursuing his dreams makes him one, because so many people don’t. At the end of Michigan’s win over University of Connecticut (30-10), Toby asked if I wanted to meet up later that night; I passed on the invitation, explaining that I already had plans for the evening, but that perhaps I’d see him back at Thom’s for another Michigan game sometime in the near future.
I suppose I should explain…Professor Thom isn’t actually a professor, but rather he’s a bar tender at a sports bar on 2nd Avenue, just a few blocks from Union Square. I had caught wind that Michigan fans gather there to watch the games and being that I have no television in my apartment, I ventured to Thom’s to join the maize and blue community of NYC. Honestly, I wish I could have taken someone with me, but my friend base in NYC at the moment is rather limited, so I entered the bar alone. (On a side note, if you know of someone – not married couples - who currently resides in the city and might want to be my friend, I’m currently accepting friend recommendations. I’d be particularly thrilled if you can recommend someone who is into rock climbing or Michigan football or might want to start a small group with me that would listen to and discuss LA Mosaic’s podcasts.)
The place was packed - so much so that I suspect that we were breaking fire code - and everyone was sporting some sort of Michigan t-shirt or jersey, and there were those that even went as far as to wear face paint. The game, which could be viewed on over 25 flat screens throughout the place, blared over the chatter and cheers of those in the bar. Although we were in Manhattan, miles away from Ann Arbor, it kind of felt like we were there - at the Big House, experiencing everything firsthand. There was “that guy” with the cowbell who would lead the “Go Blue” chant and with every touchdown Hail to the Victors would play over the sound system and we would all sang along.
I love those moments in life when feel and know that you are a part of something bigger and greater than yourself – where there is a spirit celebration and joy that can’t really be explained, but it is there and your soul knows it is right and how things should be. I think that is what we ought to experience in our faith journey, and what Jesus was referring to when he said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”
Shortly after half time I met a couple of guys - Toby and Bruce. Toby asked if I had just graduated. I laughed and explained that I had graduated a while ago, and that I had just moved here from Southern California. He informed me that he had graduated in 2005, and then continued digging for my age, by insisting that I tell him what year I graduated. And so I did (and honestly, I have no problem stating that I graduated from college in 2000 and that I am currently 32 years old. If anything, I just wish men under the age of 25 would stop hitting on me.)
Toby is 27, and although within range, he’s not within possibility. I’m rather certain he would agree with me. I asked what line of work he is in and he told me that he’s a youth director – at a synagogue, and that he is also in a band. He told me he’s supposed to be a role model, but he doesn’t always feel like one. I argued that the very fact that he is pursuing his dreams makes him one, because so many people don’t. At the end of Michigan’s win over University of Connecticut (30-10), Toby asked if I wanted to meet up later that night; I passed on the invitation, explaining that I already had plans for the evening, but that perhaps I’d see him back at Thom’s for another Michigan game sometime in the near future.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Elevator Indecision
I have to admit, I almost didn’t step into the elevator. Because when it opened the sight that I saw was more than unpleasant - it was repulsive.
You see, there were two of us waiting on the third floor to go up. I didn’t know the other party, but I suspect that she is kind in nature, because when the elevator opened, she motioned for me to go in first. And I would have…except, I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to get into the elevator, and so I insisted that she go ahead. So while I continued my mental deliberation, she stepped in without any hesitation; it was evident that she didn’t have any concern, but I certainly did. Because there were three men already standing in the elevator, and one of them was wearing this t-shirt whose sight was enough to make me sick to my stomach.
But I knew that I had to big bigger than the red O that spread across this man’s chest. I would share the elevator with an Ohio State Fan. And so I got in, and explained my delay and indecision. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into the elevator when I saw your t-shirt. I’m a Michigan grad.”
The Buckeye responded, “Oh, I feel sorry for you guys.”
To which I replied, “Yeah, the past few years have been rather brutal.”
My football friend, Coach Keith Schulte, later told me that I should have responded by saying, “Don’t feel sorry for us. Michigan has one of the greatest running football programs in college football history, and we have at least a dozen more wins over Ohio State than they have over us.”
Coach Schulte is right. And as we shouted and sang out after our Rose Bowl win in 1998, “It’s great – uh huh – to be – uh huh – a Michigan Wolverine!”
Go Blue!!!
You see, there were two of us waiting on the third floor to go up. I didn’t know the other party, but I suspect that she is kind in nature, because when the elevator opened, she motioned for me to go in first. And I would have…except, I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to get into the elevator, and so I insisted that she go ahead. So while I continued my mental deliberation, she stepped in without any hesitation; it was evident that she didn’t have any concern, but I certainly did. Because there were three men already standing in the elevator, and one of them was wearing this t-shirt whose sight was enough to make me sick to my stomach.
But I knew that I had to big bigger than the red O that spread across this man’s chest. I would share the elevator with an Ohio State Fan. And so I got in, and explained my delay and indecision. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into the elevator when I saw your t-shirt. I’m a Michigan grad.”
The Buckeye responded, “Oh, I feel sorry for you guys.”
To which I replied, “Yeah, the past few years have been rather brutal.”
My football friend, Coach Keith Schulte, later told me that I should have responded by saying, “Don’t feel sorry for us. Michigan has one of the greatest running football programs in college football history, and we have at least a dozen more wins over Ohio State than they have over us.”
Coach Schulte is right. And as we shouted and sang out after our Rose Bowl win in 1998, “It’s great – uh huh – to be – uh huh – a Michigan Wolverine!”
Go Blue!!!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Considering Cubic Zirconium
Assignment:
In your first month in New York
1. Meet three, interesting, out of the ordinary type people
2. Do something random and adventurous
3. Stumble upon a job for me.
The assignment was given to me by one of my former college students who dropped by my place the day before I made the big move to the Big Apple. I thought perhaps it might be a wee bit difficult to accomplish the task of meeting three unusual people in such a short time frame, but oh no - I’ve met well more than three. In a city like New York, meeting interesting people is not difficult to do.
In fact, my very first week in the city I met this guy named Andres from Colombia. The start of our conversation was rather confusing because I assumed that he was student studying at Columbia. Once we finally established that he was from Colombia (i.e. the country) and not going to Columbia (i.e. the university), we chatted about coffee. He insisted that the coffee you find in Colombia is far superior to any coffee you will ever drink at Starbucks. I believed him and told him I would be sure to try the coffee next time I’m in Colombia.
A few days later at the subway station I met another man from Colombia. He asked me a question about one of the subway trains and I made the mistake of replying. He (Ricardo) insisted on continuing the conversation onto the subway train where he sat down and made himself a little bit too comfortable beside me.
I’m beginning to think it might be a good idea to invest in a cubic zirconium ring to wear around the city to ward off creepy men. The problem with wearing such a ring is that I would also ward off potentially quality men at the same time. Perhaps I ought to get engaged and married for real to help alleviate the amount of creepsters hitting on me. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Or if it’s too difficult to find someone to marry, I suppose I could pretend not to speak any English. I could create my own language or perhaps just speak in tongues (see Bible, book of Acts.)
Before I exited the subway train, Ricardo informed that I would be married within a year. I’ll take that – as long as it’s not to him. Although, if it was to him, I might have the chance to go to Colombia and try the Colombian coffee that Andres was raving about. Hmmm… maybe I should have given him my number after all.
I know the assignment said three, and I only mentioned two, but I’ll be back with more stories – perhaps about the carriage driver at Central Park, or the cyclist, or that missed connection that I’m tempted to post on Craig’s List. And how can I forget that guy from New Zealand, actually make that two guys from New Zealand, and that other guy Sweden. And then there is my favorite - a friend I made on the plane on the way to New York – Julia, the yoga instructor from Norway. We recently met up at Union Square at a place called The Coffee Shop, which oddly enough specializes in Brazilian American food and drinks, not coffee.
In your first month in New York
1. Meet three, interesting, out of the ordinary type people
2. Do something random and adventurous
3. Stumble upon a job for me.
The assignment was given to me by one of my former college students who dropped by my place the day before I made the big move to the Big Apple. I thought perhaps it might be a wee bit difficult to accomplish the task of meeting three unusual people in such a short time frame, but oh no - I’ve met well more than three. In a city like New York, meeting interesting people is not difficult to do.
In fact, my very first week in the city I met this guy named Andres from Colombia. The start of our conversation was rather confusing because I assumed that he was student studying at Columbia. Once we finally established that he was from Colombia (i.e. the country) and not going to Columbia (i.e. the university), we chatted about coffee. He insisted that the coffee you find in Colombia is far superior to any coffee you will ever drink at Starbucks. I believed him and told him I would be sure to try the coffee next time I’m in Colombia.
A few days later at the subway station I met another man from Colombia. He asked me a question about one of the subway trains and I made the mistake of replying. He (Ricardo) insisted on continuing the conversation onto the subway train where he sat down and made himself a little bit too comfortable beside me.
I’m beginning to think it might be a good idea to invest in a cubic zirconium ring to wear around the city to ward off creepy men. The problem with wearing such a ring is that I would also ward off potentially quality men at the same time. Perhaps I ought to get engaged and married for real to help alleviate the amount of creepsters hitting on me. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Or if it’s too difficult to find someone to marry, I suppose I could pretend not to speak any English. I could create my own language or perhaps just speak in tongues (see Bible, book of Acts.)
Before I exited the subway train, Ricardo informed that I would be married within a year. I’ll take that – as long as it’s not to him. Although, if it was to him, I might have the chance to go to Colombia and try the Colombian coffee that Andres was raving about. Hmmm… maybe I should have given him my number after all.
I know the assignment said three, and I only mentioned two, but I’ll be back with more stories – perhaps about the carriage driver at Central Park, or the cyclist, or that missed connection that I’m tempted to post on Craig’s List. And how can I forget that guy from New Zealand, actually make that two guys from New Zealand, and that other guy Sweden. And then there is my favorite - a friend I made on the plane on the way to New York – Julia, the yoga instructor from Norway. We recently met up at Union Square at a place called The Coffee Shop, which oddly enough specializes in Brazilian American food and drinks, not coffee.
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