Giving Thanks

At Central Park East Middle School, City Year thinks of exciting morning greetings to try to raise student attendance. Every week we pick a day to power greet (basically cheers), do other fun activities like limbo, basketball, and raffles for breakfast with City Year.

Today, it was my turn to be "point person" for the morning greeting. Deciding on a little early celebration of Thanksgiving, a cardboard cut out of a turkey was made and a bunch of colored feathers. On each feather, a student could write what they were thankful for. I wasn't sure what to expect from these 10-13 year olds who are usually pretty immature, but what they wrote in their shaky and often misspelled hand-writing shocked me. Most middle schoolers would be thankful for their playstation or their toys with a few additions of thankfulness for friends and family. On these colored feathers I saw many "I'm thankful to be alive" "I'm thankful to live another day" "I'm thankful for my teacher for helping me with my troubles" "I am thankful for my family" "I am thankful for food." I stood there taping up feathers on the turkey and realized again that I was surrounded by children who despite being little mischief makers during the day are actually kids who, deep inside, really care about life and the people around them.

These kids shock me in some way every day--good and bad. Yesterday morning, a 6th grader who I've closely worked with and struggled with (he is one of the "trouble-makers" in every class) since the end of September came up to me and said "Hi Stella!" and gave me a big hug. I stood there in awe and remembered to say "Good morning, Kashawn."

Two of the feathers said "I am thankful for City Year." But, I am thankful for them. Every day these kids make me see a new side of life. I am also thankful that I have had the opportunities I have had--that I have lived 22 years of my life in order to teach them, to support them and give them something (whatever it may be) that they might have never had.

Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite,

'Fool' said my Muse to me, 'look in thy heart and write.' -Philip Sydney

"Miss!" an 11 year old's face is 2 inches from mine. "Miss, you have pretty eyes. Your eyes are blue!" The chocolate eyes of the young child gazes into mine. This is the 8th kid to compliment my eyes. It makes me think of Toni Morrison's story The Bluest Eye.

It's only been 3 months since I've been working with the middle schoolers, and I already have grown attached to a large amount of them. They aren't bad kids, they just behave badly, and who can blame them when you realize that most of them are the product of adults who act and behave just like them.

A majority of these middle schoolers have the reading level of a first grader.

60% live with someone other than their parents.

Many of them live in the projects across the street, but some show up late or skip school.

By 8am, a student has been handcuffed and taken away, 2 students have gotten in a fist-fight and a mob of kids have run to watch the violence.

Conversely,

A majority of these middle schoolers that I have talked to want to go to college.

The majority of them don't get enough attention, but when they do they smile and they thrive.

Many of them know my name and give me a hug or high five in the morning.

By 8pm, I've had conversations with students about their weekend, their classwork, how they are feeling, and what is going on in their life.

Right now, I couldn't see myself in any other place. I really want to help these kids because I believe in them. I want to see them when they're my age, when they're heading in the right direction and know that I might have contributed to that. Every day is rough for me. It's emotionally, physically and mentally draining. Many days I work for 12+ hours. But it has/it's going to be an even rougher road for them. I just have to keep everything in perspective.

A Book for Free Spirits

Sometimes the urge to write becomes so strong for me that I have to stop whatever I am doing or even get out of bed, turn on the light, let my eyes adjust and start spilling my thoughts onto paper. (For those who don't like writing, it feels like the urge to urinate after you just downed a Vente at Starbucks and a glass of water. If you don't write or drink coffee, I feel bad for you son). One of these moments occurred on the M1 just now at around 92nd street. So, I ran the steps of my walk up to the 5th floor and here I am--realizing that I haven't written anything here for months.

Writing about my New York City experiences became too overwhelming. With the combination of a lack of time and sensory overload, I decided to quit writing for the masses.

I suppose I could say that a friend of mine inspired me to start writing again (in a semi-ambiguous fashion). This friend is just as unequivocal as the re-birth of this blog. This friend I have yet to meet and his voice has only been heard by myself for about 30 seconds total. (You may ask how can you have a friend you have never met? I say, "Why not? It doesn't hurt anyone to have a friend.). Nonetheless, I asked him for advice (via QWERTY) like I have on several other occasions--getting insightful answers with each. This time it dealt with philosophy. I posed the question: Which philosopher should I read first? He replied indubitably: Nietzsche.

I first became interested in knowing more about the philosophers behind the words when my mom would slip quotes into my brown bag lunches. From there, I began to read more quotations, which then grew into bigger passages. Finally, I decided to start delving into the real thing. I started out with a smaller one--The Art of Loving by Erich Fromm (easy read, so I read it twice--in two parts of my life). It was taking too long for the Nietzsche book to be shipped to the Harlem branch the block over from me, so this evening, I made the trek to the NY Public Library. I ended up in the Schwarzman building near 42nd. This library is the library of all libraries. Tourists were everywhere, and it didn't feel like anything more than a museum till I walked up 2 flights of marble steps. I felt like the odd one out with library card in hand rather than cam-corder. Frescoes were covering every wall and statues of writers in every corner. I soaked it all in and told myself that if I do end up making it into a law school in NYC, I will gladly study in the stacks of this mansion of a library. Sadly, my book wasn't waiting for me in this library. The branch it was shelved at was 1 block down (obviously, NYC loves it's libraries like it loves it's Starbucks). I left the white marble palace of books, the big lion statues guarding the wealth of knowledge inside and the tourists snapping pictures left and right.

A block down, I came to the Mid-Manhattan branch. I began to open up my purse for the lady handing out bags for wet umbrellas but stopped midway; realizing gazing into personal belongings was only procedure for the Schwarzman building. This building looked much more like a library. There was a line at the checkout and books came into view right away. Here were the people who actually lived and breathed NY. Two libraries, two different worlds and only a block away. I have come to realize that theme carries through to many aspects of NYC (2 neighborhoods: Harlem and Upper East Side, which are for me, one subway stop away. Each a world of difference).

Human, All Too Human in hand, I sat on the bus and began to read-- forgetting about my weakness of getting car-sick. I stopped reading when the nausea started to set in and flipped through the 395 pages. I came upon a maxim that caught my eye:

Pleasure tourists.- They climb the hill like animals, stupid and perspiring; no one has told them there are beautiful views on the way.

And with this, the pressure to write erupted. So, that I did.

The itch was scratched. I plan on writing occasionally for all to see when my appetite strikes again. I prefer to write about snippets of my life in NYC that I find interesting or meaningful rather than generalize every little thing that I do.

So here's to my new beginning.

-Stella

if you want to fit in, call kool-aid flavors by the color unless its grape because purple is something else

aaannnd.....the Kool-Aid mascot is a big glass pitcher who says "Ohhhh Yeahh!" and crashes into a wall. Very interesting. This will all make sense, if you decide to peruse this poignant post.

The whole death of Michael Jackson has probably died down in other areas of the country, but here in Harlem, you can still hear the cacophony of "Candy Girl," "Beat it" and "Thriller" mixed with cars honking and the sounds of busses purring to a stop. If you didn't pick up an MJ memorial shirt, button, poster or hat you can still get a variety at any of the tables lining 125th.

Speaking of iconic figures, if you love Bob Marley, you can get his paraphernalia (shirts, flags, posters, incense and probably ganja) next to the Uptown Juice Bar on 125th. The Uptown Juice Bar is the epicenter of Rastafarians. They always set up shop outside morning till night in authentic Jamaican clothing. It is also one of the only vegetarian/vegan restaurants in Harlem. If you say no to eating animals, have fun trying to find a place besides UJB that will satisfy your needs. Luckily, I'm okay with eating animals, so a week ago I chowed down at Amy Ruth's with a couple friends. Amy Ruth's is notorious for fried chicken and waffles. YES. TOGETHER. So, my friend, Nicole, and my roommate, Renee, and I ordered the "Reverend Al Sharpton" plate. We decided to go all out and order the Kool-Aid flavor of the day--Grape, a side of collard greens (amazing!) and mac and cheese. Delicious cornbread came out beforehand and shortly after the last bite was swallowed, we started pouring maple syrup all over our waffle and fried chicken. "Hey why not pour it on the chicken, too?" I said. This is a Harlem experience and we should do it like it's supposed to be done. Everything was delicious. Maple syrup and all. The Kool-Aid, which I jokingly nick-named "purple drank" was wayyy too sugary. I swear a half cup of sugar was in my cup alone and I could only drink half. Someone must have spiked the Kool-Aid because I started getting the giggles (side note: Don't worry. I didn't see Jim Jones or Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters hanging around Amy Ruth's). I had a slice of sweet potato pie in mind for dessert, but we couldn't possibly manage because, by that point, we all had food babies.

Anyhoo, when I get tired of fried chicken, or I just need to give my body a break from the Soul, (and I must postulate that Harlem-ites must need a change from fried meat--giving that UJB is extremely popular) I can just turn the corner and get some vegan food or some Bob Marley bling.

microwave trek

I've fallen victim to perpetually looking at Craigslist for free and cheap finds to furnish the apartment. Yesterday, I went to pick up a microwave which was listed as being in the Upper East Side. It turned out to be more Midtown, but that wasn't going to stop me because it was $10. The $10 was the highlight of this microwave journey. I had no idea how far East 10th Ave. was from the subway stop, so I ended up walking about 10-12 blocks just to get to this CLister's place. (P.S I love looking at people's apartments who live in different areas. Most are extremely small, while others have the perks of air conditioning, or a doorman, or an elevator for about 2,000 more than I pay a month). Anyways, 12 blocks later, I learned I was wearing the wrong shoes. There really are no right shoes in NYC unless you've got tennis shoes on or those shoes they wear in Portland, OR. Blisters popping out from all sides of my feet, I was glad to finally see the microwave. It looked brand new, great for 10 bucks. I asked the CL dude if there was a closer subway to his place and he said Grand Central on 42nd and 7th Ave, so I was happy to hear that.

I picked up the microwave and gasped. This is heavier than I thought it was going to be. I kept on telling myself (cheapskate that I am) "$10. Do it for the 10$). Out I went. The doors were my first obstacle. It looked like I was trying to embrace this microwave like it was a fat person (I could hardly get my arms around the thing). The hard corners of it jabbed into my skin of where my arms bend and I already had sweat pouring down my back as soon as I got outside. Grand Central was a long way from his place. Especially with a 40 lb microwave in toe. Every 1/4 of a block I had to readjust. My hands were slipping from the sweat. People were staring at me. I'd pull my knee up to bump it up when it was slipping, hoping for a place to set my leg, so that I could rest it. The thing was huge and I shouldn't have been doing this alone I realized. 20 minutes later (brief breaks included) I arrived at Grand Central. Oh nooooo! I yelled in my head. This is the station that is huge. To get to my train I basically would have to walk another 3 city blocks underground. NYC blocks are really long blocks. My arms were shaking, I was soaked with sweat, but I had no other ideas except to move forward. I thought about a cab, but I figured I was already there, so I might as well continue. Plus, the microwave would no longer be 10 dollars if I took a cab. Swiping my metro card and getting through the turnstyle, which in this case happened to be the door kind was tricky. Two people helped me swipe my card and move the revolving door. I almost thought I'd get stuck. How could they not have a service entry when I need it most?? I was through, but now I had basically 3 blocks to get to the 3 train. Sometimes, when things are this physically hard, you think you're going to die. My arms had little strength left. I tried to walk faster, but it kept slipping from my grasp. "What if I dropped it at this point?" I thought. I didn't think I'd be able to go any further as I set part of it on a side railing to give my arms a break. An older lady came up to me and started talking and I had to explain to her what I was doing. I knew she couldn't help me. "Dios mio" she said in Spanish. Yes. Exactly. "Dios mio." I continued. I tried to run to get there faster, but the blisters were shouting. I had basically a block left when a tourist guy offered to carry it for me until he got to his train. This was a much needed break. He and his girlfriend were going to see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island and in exchange for carrying my burden of a microwave, I gave him solid directions on which train to take and where he should get off. I felt like a real New Yorker despite my trembling arms. We parted ways and I carried the thing down the steps to go uptown. Finally, the train came and I sat it on my lap like an obese baby with lead weights in his diapers. I never wanted to get off that train. I was sitting in the air conditioning and dreading the call of my street number on the scratchy intercom. I looked around at the muscular men who I might be able to ask to help me. One more stop till I had to get off. Panic. What was I going to do? There was no way I could make it. The doors opened and a blast of heat hit my face sending me into a lightheaded wave of misery. I swung my arms around the thing and went through the service door, up the steps and into the light. Nope. This was too much. I rested it on my leg and stood there for a few minutes. People asked me if I needed help, but I said well yeah, it's heavy but...and then they left me there. Finally a tall black man with a good English accent came up to me. Somehow I managed to say "I'll give you 5 dollars to walk this to my apartment." I knew it had to be this way otherwise, I would have stood there on the steps all day. We conversed as we walked. He was much more capable of handling the microwave than I was. Turns out he was from Senegal, Africa and just moved to NYC. "Do you know Africa?" he said. "Do I know it? Yes. Only in studies, though" I replied. Then he asked me if I had a man. "Obviously not." I stated. From this question I knew that I wouldn't open my apartment door until he left, even though he seemed like a fairly okay guy by the time we climbed the 5 flights of stairs. There was no need for him to actually bring it in my apartment anyways. I wasn't a weakling, after all. I had already done all the dirty work (I have bruises to prove it). I handed him a 5 dollar bill, he thanked me and was off.

So, it ended up being a $15 microwave. C'est la vie.

craigslist finds: microwave 10+5, kitchen cart rolled to apartment 15$. sack of potatoes and blender not included

I finally don't feel like a tourist.

Walking along Canal Street amidst the waves of tourists looking for their next knock-off purchase handbag or watch, I realized this: I finally don't feel like a tourist. I was trying to get through the crowd. They were slow, decked out in the latest "I heart NYC" t-shirts and showing off their shiny plastic looking purchases to their bffs while I was trying to get to my next destination. It's a good feeling to know that you are a part of the life of the City--not just the life that stays there for a weekend and leaves. While getting stuck in the tourist trap, I wondered what NYC would be like without all the tourists--maybe just for a couple days. There is still something very NY about having the tourists and the locals side-by-side. I get a kick out of people watching, in general. I think that's one reason I like the subways so much. But, you have to be careful that you don't look at someone too long. Some people just don't like it.
My roommate is coming tomorrow. I've had the luxury of lounging around in the heat sans clothing because I'm the only one here, but it will be nice to have another CYer to talk with. I took some pictures of my room for those of you dying to see (I still need a couple more rods 4 curtains:

Central Park, 843 Acres of Green

Thus ends my mom's short visit to NYC. Her help was much needed. "That's what mothers are for" she announced at the end of her stay (not while laboring up 4 flights of steps a gazillion times with boxes/instruments/tubs and mattress in hand). We'll leave those words up to the imagination. Besides exerting ourselves with my move, we ate at a pizzeria called Patsy's and took an extensive walk in Central Park. Patsy's was less then great despite popular reviews, but Central Park is still all it's cracked up to be.
Miss Ruby (for those reading who have not yet met this character in my play of my life, she is the family border terrier and bearded sister I never had) came along for the jaunt from 125th to eventually about 73rd. Her four legs must get a lot more tired than our two because every 15 steps, she wanted to lay down. So, if you were in Central Park today and saw us, you would probably have laughed like the many others upon seeing Ruby in one of our arms. We saw one of those mop looking dogs (Pooleys) whose vehicle of choice through Central Park was a baby stroller. Ruby and us humans would have liked that option much better.

We were on the quest to find my mom's favorite part of Central Park, which for identification/direction purposes we later found out to be called "The Mall." Tree lined and green, it doesn't get much better in the park. I'll have to visit that place every season and take a picture because I'm sure it is just as beautiful in the fall when the leaves are changing colors and in the winter, when the trees are covered in white against the blue sky. We sat down on the benches and enjoyed the surroundings. Every bit of green is cherished in the city. If you have any bit of green in front of your apartment, you are paying extra or you can find people ooing and ahhing over potted plants and a 3 Square foot area of planted flowers. Central Park is green overload for the city dweller and inhabitants definitely take advantage of every foot of the expansive park. You can escape from the traffic and the tall buildings and another nice part about it is that you can keep exploring from every angle because it's so big.

It's hard to find quiet in the city. I think I'll get used to it, eventually. Even the park has it's musical acts, performers and street people trying to earn their living by making noise. (I thought a long time while walking about bringing my own bass into the park to make a bit of money). I slept better last night. Busses and cars pass by my apartment at every hour, but it is slowly becoming just a natural noise. I'm feeling a lot more settled about life here now that curtains are up, mattress is in place and I've got some food in my refrigerator.

All for now.
.S.

Harlem is the New Black

I've been to my apartment a few times now. The yellow awning marked Soul Food is my landmark for which way to turn (right or left) on 125th, once I get off the subway. Papa asked me on the phone what the area was called, and I guess technically speaking it's the heart of Harlem . From block to block on 125th, Harlem changes. Walk the length of it from West to East and you will see stores change and people change. On my walk from the subway to my apartment the other day, I inhaled the smells of different foods, incense being sold by the Rasta guys and the fresh sweet smell of pineapple on skewers and mango salad being sold by hispanics. Papa asked me me what kind of people lived in the area, and I told him it's mostly black people. "What percentage do you think?" he said. "I don't know. A lot" I replied. "Well just give me an estimate. 70%?" Walking down the street that day, I realized I was the only white person and it being hot, I was showing a lot of my pale legs. I don't mind being the odd one out. I'll be working in this environment in City Year, and I'm pretty used to the big black population in the city of St. Louis. People seem nice, so far, and I'm thinking prices might be a bit less for dinner at the local BBQ or Soul Food joint. But, where did all the white people go? Are they afraid? This area is so exciting and filled with so many interesting people! The Apollo theater is only a couple blocks away from me, and I hear that it was the place to be when Michael Jackson died. Whoever is afraid is missing out on a big part of NYC. Some white people got off on the subway when I got off, but then it seemed like they disappeared. Very strange. So, I did my cleaning in my apartment for a couple hours, and then returned to the subway. I couldn't help thinking again why there weren't any white people on the street except for me. This time, I had to go across the street to the subway heading downtown, which is where the Starbucks resides. I looked inside and at the people going in and out and realized "This is where the white people go."

Besides Starbucks, I'm also near a Dunkin Donuts, fed-ex, hardware store, pharmacy, outdoor markets, delis, marshall's, H&M, Body Shop and a whole bunch of other places. Everything I could ever need is around me. This makes my apartment louder than most that I was looking at, but once it gets cold, the windows will be closed and less people outside. Besides, I sleep with ear plugs in. With each day, I think the apartment will get a better vibe, as it will become homier and more mine than the last girl's. I look forward to getting a mattress, hanging curtains and putting up pictures of my friends and family. Once everything is fixed up nicely, I'll take pictures. Oh and I'm missing my bass. I plan on pulling out some excerpts as soon as I get my bass in the place and a chance to settle down.

Think I might go out to Dive Bar with Lara for a beer tonight. (Brooklyn Brewery is pretty tasty.) She's trying to make it her neighborhood bar a.k.a get on the bartender's good side, so she can get drinks cheaper.

Later,
.S.

A week after apartment search day 1...

...I have keys in my hand. 4 of the 7 keys (the rest go to my roommate, Renee) unlock the many doors of my new NYC apartment. I'm presuming that the more keys you have, the more expensive rent is...just a hunch. I started out with 3 roommates, a map of specifically where I wanted to live, and a list of brokers. 20 or so apartment views later, I ended up with 2 roommates, a totally different area, a lot less money and sore muscles from walking and sleeping on the floor. I found a great apartment after the 1st day. I started the application process and the next day met one of my roommates, Patrick. I showed him the place and he really liked it, too [read previous post]. After a couple days of trying to lasso all my roommate's info together for the application (this was a lot of info), I thought we'd be signing the lease any day. Then I got not a call, but a series of text messages from Patrick saying "he'd have to find another place." There was no real explanation and I was shocked and stranded--still trying to figure everything out here by myself. It had already been exhausting trying to find the right place, and now half way through the process, I was minus one. I told him to call me and we'd talk it through and try to work it out, even if it was a problem with his guarantor submitting information. Instead, I got a text saying "I'm out." I had to start all over from the beginning unless I could salvage the deal and find a 3rd roommate fast. I advertised the room to all City Year corps members, but most didn't want to pay the almost $700 a month per person. My next plan was to look for a 2 bedroom apartment. I viewed several 2 bedrooms with not too much luck. Everything seemed overpriced for an uncomfortable looking apartment, although I did get to practice Spanish a bit with the Super (the guy showing me apartments knew none, oddly enough). Mom had found a sublet for a year from one lady in a different area, and so I decided to look at that. The set up looked really good and the price (considering NYC) seemed fair. Not without bumps (I could go on further but I'll spare you), I sealed the deal, leaving my sweaty palms with the keys. I get to move in tomorrow and Mom, Pete and Miss Rube are coming Sunday with the rest of my belongings. Everything is still not completely settled with the broker. There are a lot of conniving people who try to get your money in every fashion possible. My unexperienced 22 year old self has been trying to do the best she can, but my mom is the super-heroine if there ever was one. She deserves an award for threatening to "even call the mayor of NYC." We'll just leave it at that. She's good at standing up for herself, me and others. I, on the other hand, seem better at standing up for others when I'm not the one in the range of fire. Guess she had to learn young as the only girl with 5 brothers. Hopefully, I can learn from her and this whole experience.
Not every minute of my time here has been work and tears. I've had some fun times, too. I met several people at the hostel who I wish lived in NYC. They are really great people, interesting and very friendly, but they're all off to their respective lands. I invite them all back to the Big Apple any time. We did a pub crawl one night, followed by two nights of clubbing at a couple of the biggest and best clubs I have ever been to--Webster Hall and Pacha.
Everyone is alive and awake here at 3:30am. Walking with my Australian friend, Hamish, we noticed how fresh and excited everyone looked. There aren't too many blubbering drunks around who are yelling and screaming just for the fun of it (which can be seen in St. Louis outside the corner bars every weekend night). He told me, he too, was surprised people weren't looking "dodgy" at this hour and I laughed and said "dodgy?" Well yeah...he said, "like sketchy or in this case drunk." We went on to discuss if you could shorten dodgy to dodge like you can shorten sketchy to sketch. The conclusion was no. Nothing like late night conversations about foreign language/colloquialisms and customs during a long walk to find the subway. Did you know you can get food here around the clock? How convenient. To all my UNCG readers, remember all those times we got hungry at 10:30pm and everything was closed save the Jimmy John's? You can only eat so many cold sandwiches.
Something that I miss here is a "local" coffee shop. Maybe I was overwhelmed by the abundance of them while visiting Portland or maybe I don't know NYC, yet in terms of joe. While I'm not the biggest coffee drinker, I like it once and a while along with chai tea lattes and pastries. Plus, they are great places just to relax. Starbucks is on every block and sometimes there are 2 right across from each other. While coffee is good there, you just don't have a cozy atmosphere like your neighborhood cuppajoe go-to and prices are ridiculous. Likewise, people don't know your name, finding a seat is either impossible or uncomfortable and I can't find any free wi-fi! (side note: I did see Kelsey Grammar of Frasier in one near Rockefeller Center while taking a bathroom break. We were within arms distance and we both looked each other in the eyes and I smiled. (P.S Starbucks is great for cheap toilets!) If someone can tell me the name of a coffee shop that fits my "local" description please pass the word along because I have a feeling that once winter time comes, I'm going to need something hot that doesn't come in "tall", "grande" and "venti" for $5.

Until next time,
.S.

Day 3

Day 3. One of these days, it's not going to be so easy to count how many days I've been here. I've come to the conclusion that I'm pretty lucky to have this experience of living here. I've always wanted to but never thought how it could be possible. I'm starting to feel more accustomed to the city. The trains are getting easier to understand, the layout of streets are becoming more second nature (at least of the upper west side where I've been spending most of my time) and I don't have to walk around all the time with a map in my hands.

Yesterday was an exhausting day of looking for apartments ending with rain, tired feet and one place that I want. I met with 2 brokers, going back and forth from downtown/chelsea back to the Upper West Side 140s. Originally, I wanted to live in Morningside Heights (around 125th, but apartments down there are even more expensive and smaller). The place I like is on Convent in between 142nd and 143rd. Technically, it's called Hamilton Heights and it's in between Morningside and Washington Heights. The street is quiet, tree lined and the apartment has 2 bathrooms, an elevator, and new appliances. A couple blocks away are the bustling streets, Amsterdam Ave and Broadway, which supply various fruit and vegetable markets, flower shops, bars and restaurants and businesses run by hispanics. (I will get a chance to practice my Spanish!). Despite the hefty price and fees, everything comes down to the max price we originally wanted to pay. All we need now is for the landlord/company to accept our application. It's a very long and involved process. I hope everything goes smoothly from here on out with the apartment. I really really don't want to do this again.

Today, I met one of my roommates. He went to the broker with me in the morning and then I showed him the place and the area. He approved. I knew I had good taste. I'll be glad when everything is settled and I've got the keys in my hand.
After we looked at the place, we went our separate ways and I got off on 103rd and Broadway to get a bite to eat. I don't know what is recommended or what the locals like, but I decided to go for a big slice of pizza at this place called Hot and Toasty bakery and cafe. It was delicious. Maybe I was just really hungry--but the fresh tomato and basil pizza washed down with a orange n' cream soda really hit the spot.

I'm going to relax a little while and then tonight I'm going out with some people in the hostel to a hip club called Webster Hall East 11th Street. We get a $1 cover, although the drinks are supposed to be expensive. Whatever. I just like dancing. I don't need a 13$ drink to make me happy. I also had the opportunity to go to a Quincinera 80s theme party of a friend who is in City Year with me. How often do I have 2 options in one night--let alone any?! Rhetorical question.

That's all for now from the City that never sleeps (which has been myself for the past week).
-S-

New York City Girl--It's Official

Okay...so I've only been in NYC for a couple hours and only in my hostel for a half hour, but I already feel the need to shout out my happiness of being here. I took the M60 bus from LaGuardia for $2.25 and got a brief taste of the city through the streets of Astoria Queens, Harlem and the Upper West Side. Crazy drivers, taxis, and people everywhere, vendors selling ice cream and shaved ice in little dixie cups and cut up mangos on every corner to quench the thirst of New Yorkers on a 79 degree day. So many people everywhere and the noise of the city are music to my ears and art to my eyes.
I was trying to walk East to my hostel and had no idea which way East was and a friendly New Yorker--yes. FRIENDLY. helped me out and pointed the direction without me even asking. I guess the suitcase, sleeping bag on my back, laptop case on one shoulder clued him in to the fact that I was an out of towner. Hopefully not for long. I plan to know the subway system and streets like the back of my hand soon.

I'm sitting in my hostel--"Jazz on the Park" (right on the edge of Central Park), listening to an eclectic mix of Euro-pop in their cafe area with free wi-fi. Tonight I meet with my friend, Stephanie, who is in City Year with me. We've only communicated via email and texts, so we are both excited to be finally meeting each other. After I check in here at 3, I think I'll take a walk around and explore.

Until my next post,
Stella

I'm still in St. Louis but felt it my duty to write before I change cities for the 3rd time in three months. I figure this post will be my link to the past (in the writing sense), as I imagine that NYC and City Year (CYNY) will bring a new perspective on life to me. Look on here often, if you're curious about my life in the Big Apple.
I have already made some connections with corps members in CYNY, and it's settling to know that all of these people strive to do the same work as I do. I am really eager to meet all the people in person that I have been talking to through email. It is also exciting that I will be in the same city as my best friend, Lara. For those of you who don't know our history, we met at Interlochen Arts Camp the summer after our 8th grade year. Ever since, we have been pen pals and have visited each other, but we have always been on opposite sides of the country. She'll be going to grad school at Mannes.

I will be getting a one way ticket to the city at the end of July to meet with a future roommate/CYNY corps member in order to apartment hunt. Hopefully, we'll find a place, so that I can move in around August 1st.

I watched a documentary last night with my mom and Pete on Howard Zinn. His words and inspiration to others caught my attention and seemed to parallel to the work I will be doing with City Year. He beautifully elocuted: "And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory."

I hope to help and inspire many to make a change in the world because I believe that helping others and the community spreads like fire, but instead of destroying, it creates something beautiful.

.S.