A Dog-Eat-Dog Place (Or Just An Expression?)

This city is unbelievable. I used to see something blog-worthy a few times a day last year, and I'd hold onto one or two until I got the change to write for the day. Here, I'm bombarded from every side and through every sense I have by things that I've never seen before and that I'll never see again. I've quickly learned, therefore, that never again will I be able to remember something all day, because as soon as I write the first sentence in my head about something unique, something else catches my eye and I begin another different blog entry all over again.

But today I got one. I was on my walk to the gym, about 8 blocks total, and just as I got to there I passed by the dog park. I love this place. There's always at least one dog owner there, playing frisbee or running around or just reading while their dog trots around, catching relentless whiffs of unfamiliar scents. It's obvious that these moments have become routine for the dog-owners, yet the whole park just seems to exist outside of the agenda of New York. It seems like these people wait all day for these minutes, and even though there isn't even any grass, it's important to them to do something nice for their dog. Even if they still have miles of paperwork, even if they're just beginning their day, this part of their life is home.

And then the dogs themselves, they're something else. One day I saw a beautiful fluffy white dog hop out of the kiddie pool, filled with hose water, and run across the pavement to her owner. There's almost always a golden retriever somewhere on the streets in this neighborhood, and the dog park is no exception. I even saw two full grown retrievers wrestling outside a store one evening, obviously having fun, while their owner looked on and smiled and everyone walking by (including myself) couldn't help but watch. And today, at the park, I saw something very funny - a retriever exhaustively playing fetch with his owner, while a big fat bulldog slouched alone on a bench and watched them like an old man watches little kids jumping rope.

I know that the dogs are often the reason their owners want to come home at the end of the day. I can see why here, more than anywhere else, taking care of something so loving and simple can be so crucial for one's spiritual health. I know that a life indoors and on pavement isn't what these animals were meant for, but I can't see how they could belong anywhere else than catching a frisbee thrown by someone who finally managed to put down a cell phone and get some fresh air.

Live, from New York, it's Monday Morning

So here we are. Or, I should say, so here I am. Broome Street, New York City. I don't know how else to put it. It's great.

OK well I do still have a lot of adjusting to do. Not many people have moved into the dorm yet, and I don't know anyone other than my roommate, but already it just feels better than HC ever did. It's going to be more of a challenge to meet people, but that's the kind of thing I need or else I'll just mosey around and wait for someone in my orientation group to say something. This time, there's no orientation group, no floor meetings, and no obnoxious programs that I'm obligated to go to. The fact that I can keep to myself is probably what I recognize to be most familiar, and it's just what I need. I need to take this time to adjust, and I'm finding that if I'm left to do it on my own it happens the way I want it to. Crazy? Perhaps.

My roommate and I are very quiet, but we went out for sake and then to a club last night, which was very fun despite the fact that the club was small, amongst other things. But I felt at home for some reason, and I don't know why but I don't think there's any way that could be a bad thing. It's a different New York, down here in SoHo - not as many crazy tourists and more people just going to work and living their daily lives.

Perfecto.

I Like This Song

My Private Nation
Train

Why you gotta treat me like I'm a low down dirty
Climbin' up on thirty
Dress like a kid to make me feel young punk
And talk junk
You musta fell out of your bunk
And smacked your head
Or your face or somethin'

I don't need nobody flyin' in my jet stream
Take the bus
Go on and get yourself your own dream

This is my own life keepin' me down
Where I wanna be in my private nation
I'm alone all thinkin' life's a phone call
Here for just a while when in my private nation
You can ride or you can go

Why you gonna step on shoes
When you don't know whose been in 'em
Have you ever been more than a bump
On a rock that likes to roll
In the middle of a soup bowl in the sky
Use your eyes
It's all you got till you die

I don't need nobody flyin' in my jet stream
Take the bus
Go on and get yourself your own dream

You can ride on, it ain't free
Leave a light on, so you can see
How to get back when you go

How to get, how to give
How to make ends meet
How to lose, how to win
How to stay on the seat
How to use momentum to keep the two wheels straight
How to wait after it feels like you waited so long

And I don't need nobody flyin' in my jet stream
Take the bus
Go on and get yourself your own dream

You can ride on, it ain't free
Leave a light on, so you can see
How to get back when you go

Note From The Weary

I am completely exhausted from one of my longest but also certainly one of my best days this summer. I'm too tired to write anything at all, but I'll throw this one out there. I was digging on my purse in the car at 9:45 at night, on my way home after literally working since 7:15 AM, and I pulled out a sterile scalpel and a pair of wool socks (that were a free sample at EMS). That pretty much describes it all. :-)

Oh and this surgery thing? It's for me, all right.