My First Overnight Festival: Cosmic Reunion

I've been to a few concerts and back. I've even accidentally snuck into a music festival on it's last day. It really was an accident though...really.

Despite all of that, I have never camped at a festival. Bonnaroo has always been on my wish list but for some reason I never have an extra $400 to spend at the beginning of the summer...weird.

Cosmic Reunion (or hippiefest as I and many others have so lovingly named it) is a music/ art/ craft festival a little ways outside of St. Louis, MO in the quiet town of French Village in the even quieter crevasse of Astral Valley. A friend told me about it back in April and I figured for a measly $65 for four days and no vendor's fees, I couldn't go wrong.

Vocalist: "There goes the naked man again."

At first glance, the festival seemed pretty understaffed but it didn't matter. Within the first thousand feet of the entrance, my eyes feasted upon art installations anywhere from a few inches to fifty feet tall. Vivid colors scattered across the open meadow in front of the half rickety looking, half uber high tech stage. Crafters, masseuses, wild mushroom hustlers and other vendors were packed to the brim (my spot saved, of course) along the dirt road everyone called "shakedown street". Despite the lack of clear guidelines outside of a very general map, everyone somehow figured out exactly where to park camp and exist without getting in each other's way. The setup was pretty perfect.

"This thing seems a bit unstable."
"Eh, it's fine."

"Your bike is awesome."
"Thanks! It glows in the dark."

Cosmic Reunion changed me in many ways. Coming from where most people either blindly mind their businesses or are all up in everyone's businesses for the most superficial of reasons, it was wonderful to see the amount of sharing, bartering and community going on. While selling my bags, my jewelry-making neighbors, Kim and Jake passed around rum. After a nice conversation with the bag lady next to me, she handed me fresh hot pancakes. On the last day, a man complimented one of my bags so I gave him a tote. In return, he gave me a beautiful piece of blown glass. After that, I traded a couple of more bags for tie-dye overalls and priceless cheap fabric-finding information. Those without much money were always willing to trade and people were mostly happy to agree.

Not only was there an active trading community; there was a surplus of creativity. Everyone, seemed to have something creative to contribute, even if they didn't bring an installation. On my first day, there were but a few rock sculptures along the river. By the last night you couldn't walk a few feet without seeing even the smallest of rock sculptures. Even kids got to paint and draw on a few installations. Between the amount of creativity and the people who were giving out "free hugs" I thought I could stay in that atmosphere forever.

The festival changed me. It reassured me that there are still many people in this world who are 100% willing to live outside of an oligarchical system that focuses on helping oneself.  Here everyone put away predisposed prejudice and paranoia  to help one another out. Even the artists forsook credit for their art. Who built that giant intricate 50 foot bird's nest? I have no idea.

While the festival played a big part in my changing my perspective, the preparation played a big part in my confidence. About a month or so before Cosmic Reunion I had stumbled upon about 50 or so free burlap coffee bags from a local KC coffee place (thanks Craigslist!) so I bought a sewing machine and gathered all of my acquired fabric, went at it and made whatever I thought would sell.

Mentally, I'm extremely self destructive so while I was going through the learning curve of making bags, my usual self explained -quite loudly and in detail- to my self esteem why this was a horrible idea and a waste of time and how I won't be able to enjoy the festival and it would lead to nothing. I actually cried a little. I'm pretty hard on myself. But this time around I just pushed on and kept telling myself that I could do it. And guess what?! I did it! I finished up with a reasonable amount of product, sold most of it and I got to enjoy the festival.

 So now here I am, a couple of weeks later. Bug bites healing. Van all cleaned out. Preparing more burlap to be turned into bags. Googling how to do fire poi.  The tingle of Cosmic Reunion has finally worn off. It's another day. But thanks to the festival, I'm another me.


-T.

The Essence of a Person

"You still work at that place?" the bus driver asked as I climbed aboard the 35 going home in Kansas City. "Yeah, it's that bed and breakfast down on 46th. I'll be moving soon, though." As the words left me I felt a twinge of sadness at the potential loss of my usual bus driver. I have a strange relationship with bus drivers. On the rare occasion that my schedule becomes routine I manage to enjoy the presence of a few of them. This particular woman is fun because she's always in a rush and I never see her at the same time. It's almost as if she's driving the bus just for me. Even in the morning the Max driver has begun to greet me with a knowing smile. Though with all the layers I have on I doubt he actually knows what my face looks like. One of my favorite drivers was the man who drove me from my farm apprenticeship to my store front apartment (where I'd quickly wash all the straw and chicken shit off of me and then bike in my booty shorts and heavy eyeliner to my serving job in KC's version of New York  -Power and Light District).

He picked me up without judgement. He was a quiet man. He was a light-skinned, lean man with a full, white, santa beard (sideburns and all) and bald head. I could never identify his race. Bold round facial features on his long face and fair skin always had me in a tizzy trying to figure it out.

I hadn't thought of him in a while but the kindness of the 35 bus driver brought forth my memories. He reminded me of a man I used to work with. Similar build, Santa beard and always smiling. I remember looking forward to seeing him at my not-so-fabulous job selling shoes at Sears. Everyone loved him. His energy. His conversation. He was an oasis in my corporate, commission/ no base pay desert. I used to think of him as my crazy uncle. He made the place feel like family. Then one day he announced he was leaving. He had cancer.

Everyone grieved his absence. The place wasn't the same.

The strange thing is while I think I may have an idea, I don't remember his name. How could I not remember his name? He clearly made an impact on my life. Then I thought about it some more. I don't remember his name. But I remember him. Who he was as a person (at least while working at Sears). Names are common. We share them with others. But we as people are unique. We have a soul. An essence. A gestalt -if you will. His essence was comfort and peace.

Much like the the bus driver's. He picked me up without judgement. I would wait for the bus on the corner of Blue Parkway and Eastwood (apparently a big meth area) with my dirt stained overalls, moldy chicken shit smells, taped up shoes and buckwheat hair. As I sat on the ground on the side of the parkway, people would stop and offer me money. At some point a guy offered me a slice of pizza. It took me a few hours to figure out why. I walked into Burger King famished and upon ordering some fries, the person looked me dead in the eye and said "you are wearing shoes, aren't you?" Took me a while to figure that one out, too. The bus driver on the other hand didn't pass me by. He didn't turn his nose up at me. He didn't shoot me dirty looks. One time, he even waited for me at the bus stop while I crossed the impossible Blue Parkway. He was wonderful and I loved him (as much as a human can love a complete stranger). We struck up a conversation at some point where I [finally] explained that I was working at an urban farm down the street. A few weeks later he told me he was transferring bus lines. I baked him cookies with some strawberries I got from the farm. The next day the new bus driver drove right past me.

Sometimes our smallest interactions will lead to a legacy we could never anticipate. We toil and struggle so that people remember our names but perhaps we should make it that they remember our essence.

-O.T.

3 Folks Doing Crazy Sh*t For Travel

Pic from Askmen.com

She looks over the grand ravine winding into the horizon. A cool breeze pushes past her sunburned face. She whispers a thanks to God for this small token of mercy. Her skin is burned, her hair is a kinky mess, her feet are swollen and from what it feels like, that damn blister on the back of her ankle has finally busted. She's been eating canned food and crackers for days. She ran out of money about a week ago. Her family worries for her safety traveling alone. "What?! You travel alone? Aren't you scared?" she recalls the strangers on her journey who pry for answers. "So why are you here exactly?" She laughs to herself as she remembers the immigration woman questioning her.

Why not?

 She's come too far to stop, now. She's been "bitten by the travel bug" as they say. She picks up her life in the form of a giant, over-stuffed backpack and makes her way toward the falling sun. 

Whether it's selling all your possessions and hitting the road, moving for the 16th time or going on your fifth vacation in three years, you know you've felt it. It's an infection sparked by the curiosity of the human spirit. We ask ourselves questions like: Can I go farther? What's over there? What are those people like? 

And while "normal" more "stable" people look at you lopsided you know that what you're doing makes total sense in your head...maybe...at minimum it feels right. Why do we do what we do? Why do we leave our loved ones and comforts of home to see the big wide world? How many of us really know? Here are some folks doing crazy sh*t for the sake of who knows what...

Who Wants To Go For A Walk?

Pic from Refuga.com

Former British Paratrooper, Karl Bushby hit traveling "G" status after one day deciding to  walk around the world. Yep, walk. Around the world. I've witnessed a coworker drive across the street from his job to the local bodega to get a sandwich and this dude is walking around the globe.  In 1998, he started from Punta Arenas, Chile and planned to walk the 36,000(+) mile trip to his home Hull, England. He estimated he'd get home around 2012. But like all epic adventures, there was hiccup. After trekking the Bering Strait -on foot- with adventure badass Dimitri Kiefer (did I mention a good deal of the Bering Strait is melted?) he victoriously knocked on Russia's door...and was handed a five year ban from the country. Determined to continue on, he went on a second walking adventure. Anyway, I won't give it all away. 

Lemonade, Anyone?

Pic from Vimeo

Traveler, author, TV guy and now Lonely Planet Pathfinder Aric S. Queen decided to slip out of main stream media and pursue a humble life of single-handedly circumnavigating the globe via a  refurbished boat while selling lemonade. I mean who doesn't love lemonade? Terrorists, that's who. The problem is that his knowledge of boats may have been a bit subpar for buying one and now he's stuck in North Carolina with not much but fundraisers and Lonely Planet to help him fix his wreck of a boat. Why is he still trying? Why not just scrap the whole thing, sell the boat for parts and cash in on his travel celebrity status to get a professionally edited Bourdain-style travel show? Check out  Maritime Lemonade Stand.

Solo Female Hitchhiker's Guide To Earth

Pic from http://tomislavperko.com/

If you were born into a "normal" US middle class family like me you were taught a few things. Look both ways before crossing the street, don't take candy from strangers (except on Halloween?) and don't get into cars with strangers. While hitchhiking was more popular in the US in the 60s, the activity is currently frowned upon by most Americans. Even in Europe the thought of a young woman, hitchhiking alone brings about a certain stigma. Despite all of that, Ana Bakran has been hitchhiking alone across Europe, Asia and the Middle East. She even offers no holds barred advice, which is exactly what travelers need to hear. I mean how many people will tell you that while you travel "People will show you their penises"?  Check out her advice here.

-O.T.

Apartment Hunter's Guide to Interpreting Craigslist

From Indianapolis to Europe, I've lived a LOT of places. I've seen a lot of people and a lot of things and after all this time, not much surprises me. Finding a new place can be ridiculously stressful. Who am I going to end up with? Are they going to be psycho murders? Will they be obnoxious partying potheads? Will they come in my room to start vacuuming at six in the morning? Despite all these questions consistently pounding on the side of my skull whenever I pack up my bags -or in this case, bag, tent and sleeping bag- I find one aspect of moving to be highly entertaining, and that's the classifieds. In my search for a place, I've noticed an interesting pattern that I feel most people (especially all of you new apartment hunters) should  know about. With that, I give you The Apartment Hunter's Guide to Interpreting Craigslist!

Everyone in the world of apartments wants/ needs your money; hence they are caught between telling the absolute truth and making their place sound like the road to enlightenment. Why are they stuck in the middle? Well, landlords and potential roommates don't feel like wasting their time with a lot of foot traffic and appointments when they know damn well a successful CEO isn't going to want anything to do with a room with bunk beds. At the same time they don't want to admit that their place is a dump either. They have a lot of other ads to compete with; consequently, landlords dust off their diction and dive into the world of copy writing. Ads are littered with words dancing around the actuality that you either really can't afford this place or you are likely to be shot upon entrance. Here are some phrases to look out for:

"Beneficial Housing Arrangement"
Nice diction here. Watch out for this one ladies (and in some cases, gentlemen). Also disguised as "free apartment" this one is usually a request for a lovely younger lady to live with an older, lonely, not so lovely man in exchange for...something. If you're lucky, maybe 1 time out of 10 it's a family asking you to be their nanny or personal assistant (though they tend to make it less suspicious sounding). One thing's for sure, if there's no such thing as a free lunch, there's no such thing as a free apartment.

"Great for students!"
I fell victim to this once. It's probably the trickiest wording I've encountered, but I believe I've decoded it.
9 times out of 10 this usually means you will be sharing your place with two or more people. It also means the place is pretty small and sometimes a complete hole in the wall (almost literally) with, very likely, no kitchen. If you live in the Los Angeles area, it can also mean you essentially will be staying in a hostel or dorm. You know the deal; bunk beds, furnishings, maybe roaches and all the fixings.

Also look for the word "Travelers".

"Professionals"
Fabulous word. You want this word. As I mentioned. There are standards involved in the place. It usually means the people there are towards the end of their college career or have a job. This usually involves the age range of 23ish to 32ish.

Note: Another interesting thing I've noticed is that when you pair the word "professionals" with "students", you get a good combo. It means there are standards but the roommates aren't too "mature" for you. The best place I found was a four bedroom top half of a duplex with the best room mates, an awesome kitchen, a living room, dining room and back yard.

"Artist Space"
As an artist, this one is my favorite. Usually means no kitchen, no furnishing, no heat, probably no walls. The only real bonus is that it's usually a big space. Great for skating.

See above "Great for Students!"

"Cozy"
Small as hell.

"Cool People"
Tricky one. Usually what it says it is but it depends what your definition of cool is. It usually ranges from hipsters to potheads.

"Incredible"
Incredible. Usually people don't use that word unless it's genuinely incredible. But make sure the price matches the word. If it sounds too good to be true. It is.

Now that you've found out what to look out for, you have to know what a roomie or landlord looks for in you. First impressions are very important so when sending your initial e-mail, tell a little bit about yourself. Not a novel, just four or five sentences. Be sure to mention your name, your job and an interesting fact.  Especially if it would benefit the new roomies. If you're a baker, like to brew beer or work for Gucci, say so. People like potential perks. Leave your pet peeves and drama out of the e-mail. Not many people will take you in if the reason you are moving is because you painted your boyfriend's Harley pink in anger and now he's out to kill you...just sayin'. Show interest in the space and the people, show that you can mesh with them well but don't become over-excited. One ex-roommate of mine was thrown off by, not only one woman's over-excitement about the place, but the fact that she e-mailed him a picture of her plant. Yep. A plant.

Lastly, SPELLCHECK! I commented on how my previous landlord managed to continuously pick four random people off of Craigslist who got along 95 percent of the time. I asked him how he did it. He said he starts by checking their sanity via spelling and then a quick phone call. It sounds crazy but when you think about it...it works? The willingness to spell correctly and formulate decent sentences indicates that you are taking getting a place seriously. So remember, no slang. No computer colloquialisms. Keep it mature but fun, folks.

So that's pretty much it. If you'd like to share any advice I've missed,  feel free to post a comment!

****

And for your further entertainment...A few ads I found entertaining:

$875 Looking for another Gay Male Nudist for Roommate (West Hollywood/Hollywood)

Seeking another Gay Male Nudist roommate with no barriers living.

2-bedroom--2 Bathrooms with balcony to share

-Parking -WiFi- Laundry in Bldg--Included

Be small dog friendly

I'm in 40's Slim easygoing.

****
(I had to cut out a lot of this because it was about 3 pages long)

FUNKY (FUN) GAY GUY/FUNKY PLACE - SMOKER

I am searching for the most Unique person (male or female, gay, bi or
straight) to share the most Unique living situation. Includes
utilities, and minimal Cable. It's in the heart of Echo Park, so this
is your chance to be a Nouveau Hipster!

YOU MUST:
- smoke (or be extremely OK with a smoker environment).
- be a night owl (or be totally cool and able to function with one in
the household).
- be very sexually enlightened and OK with my frequent sexing, or
sexual yourself in similar ways.
- be OK with the tight quarters involved and sometimes-discombobulated
living room.
- be OK with a cool Kitty in the mix.
- be financially stable (I don't believe in credit checks on roomies,
so not that); simply seeking someone who can afford it and isn't
constantly broke.

I AM:
- a 40+ permanently-single gay guy; I sex a lot -- often here.
- I smoke cigs and love it. This is a smoking environment. I am a very
clean smoker.
- I drink copious amounts of beer, but am hardly ever inebriated (it's
the German blood). I am an occasional dabbler in 420, and that tends
to be it; I rarely, but once in a blue moon, will indulge in other
things; and I avoid Meth-heads like the Plague.

*****

$850 * * * P R I V A T E * * * LOFT BDRM - avail D E C 21st / J A N U A R Y (Midtown East)

APARTMENT 23 is in need of a NEW addition to our apt........ YOU!!


POP QUIZ
Are you a good person?? Are you wanted by any law enforcement agencies?? Are you able to share your toys and play with others?? Do you believe in life on other planets?? Are you one of those RARE & SPECIAL individuals who have a hard time SEEING DIRT?? How many casual sex partners do you plan on having in your bedroom on a weekly basis?? Do you believe that you need to stockpile guns for a future uprising?
answers: 1. all depends on whose value system you're using?? 2. depends on what agency exactly 3. yes, I always share my toys INSIDE of others 4. which planet? 5. i LIVE for dirt 6. if i blindfold them and they don't know where we live, it shouldn't matter?? 7. i am NOT a republican and i don't live in florida!!

*****

-T.

Comfort Zone

Last entry, I wrote about stagnancy when it came to life decisions and whether or not it is a good investment. This time around, I want to talk about a different type of stagnancy...

It was a cool Tuesday night. I stepped in my favorite bar to meet a friend and play pool. As we began to play, he told me that a couple was acting rather suspiciously. The two had been fighting since he first arrived. I didn't really think much of it other than another case of a failing relationship and continued on with my evening.

Later, the couple became the spotlight of the night as the young man began to get loud with the young woman. Everyone, including myself, stared on as he got loud with the, clearly uncomfortable, woman. Soon after, he took her purse and began to walk out of the bar. As she chased after him, red flags flew throughout my head. Still, I stayed and watched hoping that it was nothing more than a lover's quarrel. She ran outside after him. We could see the two through the window. Using the purse to lead her outside, he started to yell at her mercilessly. I watched, hoping that the few people outside would do something. They sat by and watched on as he cornered her near the fence. After seeing that nothing would come of waiting, without much thinking (or perhaps without caring for the consequences), I walked outside towards the couple. As I walked outside, he pushed and pinned her against the fence. While walking outside, I could hear everyone uncomfortably saying "you shouldn't do that" and "cut it out", yet not doing much of anything else.

Somehow in my insanity, I finally reached the couple and grabbed the man. I knew (and expected) what could happen next but it didn't matter. The punch in the face that I definitely should have gotten would have been completely worth doing something.

"What the hell is your problem? Give her back her purse. Get off of her, right now," I somehow managed to say.

With a confused look, he looked at me as if I had two heads. "I don't even know who the hell you are."

"You don't have to know. Give her back her purse," I said, guiding him away from her.

The girl grabbed her purse from him, thanked me and ran off. As she ran off, he started to go after her. I grabbed him again. Eventually, I let go because I couldn't hold him forever. As he went after the girl, my friend gave me the phone to call the cops. Fortunately, at least someone beat me to that. A few of the bars patrons and staff began to follow the couple to the parking lot to make sure nothing happened.

We went back inside, I went to the bathroom and cried my head off. As I sat there, balling my eyes out, I thanked God that somehow He gave me the strength to act. I also thanked Him for not having the guy beat the mess out of me. As I forced my tears back in, I grew angry at the fact people are so used to their comfort zones that even when something is so evidently wrong, they still do nothing. There were at least five men smoking outside and they did nothing except verbally"poo-poo" the man from the comfort of their current positions.

Stagnancy can become a very dangerous thing. According to a few psychologists, this is called the "bystander effect". This theory is that the more bystanders present, the less likely someone will do something about the situation. A horrifying case, I learned about in English 101 comes to mind when I think of this. In March of 1964, a New York waitress was stabbed to death by a man, 20 feet from her apartment door. Her name was Kitty Genovese. According to a police report, the attack began at 3:20 a.m. but the first 911 call didn't occur until 3:50 a.m. Later, it turned out, there were approximately 13 witnesses that heard her cries of "Oh my God! He stabbed me! Please help me! Please help me!" Even the man who managed to peak his head out of the apartment window and scare the assaulter off, did little else to aid the woman.

I've seen the bystander effect occur as I was walking past a bar in West Orange. A man was pulled out of his car and jumped. People gawked as if nothing was happening. The police station is literally three blocks away. I called the cops and they managed to catch the men. While hanging with some friends in Newark, we all clearly heard a scream. I didn't have a cell phone at the time (a common occurrence). I asked one of my friends to call the cops. They refused and decided to write it all off as if nothing happened. In the end I had to fight even my boyfriend to give him my phone because they didn't want to "get involved". Later, I got the crazy look and the patronizing, "you are noble."

The truth is, I'm not noble. Society has just gone insane. I see it as simple cause and effect. Something bad happens, you do something about it. I would want the same for me if I were those women. Wouldn't you? Never be afraid to step out of your comfort zone in any aspect of your life. It can be something as complicated as standing up for what you believe in or simple as approaching someone you like. Yeah, some bruises may come along the way, but how do you expect to grow if you stay in your bubble?

Even now, I think back to last night and wonder:

Those people that followed her to make sure nothing happened, if something actually did happen and the cops didn't come, would they really have done anything?

A Piece of Our Lives

About a week ago:

I walked along, lugging my cart o' laundry through the piles of snow on a sunny weekend afternoon. I love the strange looks I tend to acquire from fellow Montclairians as people try to decipher if I am homeless or not. As I walked down a certain street, I heard a voice call "how are you?" I turned around and met eyes with Ms. T. (see "Ms. T." blog) as she stuck her head out of a cab window. It had been a long time since our last conversation. I hadn't seen her since November but I figured if she were anything like me, in the winter she would try to leave the house as little as possible. "So how are you?" I asked. "I haven't seen you in forever."

"I moved" she said, leaving me in shock. We continued on with our niceties and went our separate ways. I trekked on as her cab sped pass me and faded into the horizon. As I waved a final goodbye to the shrinking figure I couldn't help but feel a tad bit sad. We've only known each other for about four months. We've spoken probably no more than ten times. Our meeting was a very small blip in the history of meetings. Despite that, I can't help but feel the impact our meeting has had on each other. I can't help but think we all affect each other in some strange cosmic way. From a casual glance or admiring of clothing to lasting friendships and relationships, we all leave a piece of ourselves with that person. The longer the interaction, the more affected we are when they leave. It's as if watching a piece of ourselves leave or die. Though they have taken a piece of your puzzle, you are left with their piece. All that is left is to figure out where it belongs. With all of our interactions, we are left with millions of pieces to complete a picture of experience and memories. How will you use this piece in your life?

A few days later:

A new girl has taken the room next to mine. We will call her CeCe. She is a very social creature with an open door policy...quite literally. It is interesting how someone's attitude completely changes an atmosphere. In this case, for the better. For the past few months, I could feel the walls closing in. The stifling silence was slowly maddening. I somehow take her moving in as a sign to stick around for a little while. With one door closed, another opens.

-O.T.

Like Clockwork

On the way to class, I sprinted out of the door -as has been my routine for the month or two. It was a cold fall day but I was blessed enough to have the heat come on in my room. I ran to the bus stop. As I caught my breath, I couldn't help but admire the trees in the park at the high school. It metamorphosized from a lush verdant park into a lovely, bright orange. Fall, for whatever reason, reminds me of William Cullen Bryant's Thanatopsis. Fall is a beautiful death but somehow it brings room for more life. And yet through all of that, like Bruegal's Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, life goes on: it's like clockwork. As I thought upon this I noticed how so many things are like clockwork.

Last entry, I wrote about the poor woman with the dog who always comes to the library. I think that people only fully notice the world that surrounds them when everyday they live the same life.

As I was sitting at the high school, waiting for the bus, I watched time unravel in the same way it had for a month. I would run to the stop with no one in the streets. After I sat, I would space out for a minute. Soon after, the crossing guard would magically appear. She is a short older black woman with gray hair and glasses. Every now and then she carries a giant walking stick. It isn't an especially beautiful walking stick, just a huge branch of some sort. Then two "scene" boys walk along towards the freshman building with a boy who is rather over-eager to ride his skateboard. It is amusing watching him because I am convinced that he is one of the many kids who are following the newly re-established skater fad, thanks to Lil' Wayne, Lupe and a few other music artists.

I say this because he waits until he gets right down the street from the school to start riding his skateboard. Because there is a slight hill and his friends walk super slow, he rides the back of it at the rate they are walking. I'm sure this will likely result in a broken skateboard by the end of the school year.

After the scene kids trek to the freshman building, a dark haired girl rides towards the freshman building on her hot pink -formally, baby blue- bike. Her backpack always looks painfully large. A few minutes later a tall man with glasses, sweatpants and a baseball cap comes jogging with his leashless, brown and white cocker spaniel. He stops and talks to the crossing lady and then runs across the street down the hill of the park as his dog follows behind. Soon after, the bus pulls up and I cannot remember the myriad of kids who come off the bus but I do remember the random girl who enjoys wearing multi-colored spandex shorts in the bitter cold.

It was interesting watching these people and I will miss them now that the bus schedule has changed. Now, I am at the bus stop a half an hour earlier or ten minutes later. I can still look forward to the local librarians, the woman and her dog and the extremely loud man who carries around a giant stuffed shark, now donning a tie-dye hoodie because fish get cold in the winter, I guess. One day they will leave me or I will leave them. Even so, life goes on.

-O.T.

Man's Best Friend

I pretty much live at the library. I see a lot of the same people everyday and I wonder, sometimes, if they see me. As of late, considering the number of people pointing me out (I'm known to store owners as the girl with the bike), probably.

Lately I've been seeing this one women. She never actually comes in the library. She hangs around it. Everyday she wears a jacket, red hat, blue sweat pants cut at the bottom and white sneakers. Every singe time, she ties her black and white dog to the bike rack and he (or she) waits patiently as its master searches through the trash cans. After observing this for a few days I thought about the homeless person I saw with his dog in Time Square. What I would like to know is: are homeless people better off with pets?

For some people the easy answer would be yes. They serve as companions, ease loneliness and perhaps give you something to live for. Depending on the kind of dog, they might be good at hunting squirrels, rabbits and other animals. Not to mention I'm sure they'd probably make great personal heaters.

On the other hand, you'd have to share your food with them so you might go hungry longer. Plus, I'm sure most homeless shelters don't take in animals so you'd have to make the difficult decision to leave your friend out in the freezing cold alone or staying out in the cold, yourself. To some people that decision might not be hard but most pet owners know you develop some type of a bond with your animal that is hard to break. Imagine if not only you have a pet but it's the only thing you have. The only thing that's there for you when the world kicks your butt. I'm 99 percent sure that bond is ridiculously huge. Now think back to that decision at the homeless shelter. Would you abandon them?

It's hard to determine if you are better off or not. Personally, I would want a dog if I had a choice and I was homeless. What about you?

-O.T,

Things Fall Apart

I waited on the porch from 8:45 to 9:00 in the morning. We were supposed to go cook for some kids. I was a little nervous about the situation and frankly, tired. Nevertheless, I waited for Ms. T. for about 15 minutes. At about 9:06 a man appeared at the door, also waiting for Ms. T. I’ve seen him around before. He is another interesting person who, due to certain unmentionable actions, I believe he is in a gang too. We will call him Terrence. About 20 years old, his dark brown skin sets off his perfect locs. If I could guess his past, by the strange long-johns he donned, I'd say he was previously on a football team. He floats around the building at random hours of the night. Though he seemingly lives here, he doesn’t have a key. I learned later he is the non son-son of Ms. T. and the actual son of a woman who I have yet to meet, though her name has been floating around since my first encounter with this fateful house. We shall call her Nadia.

After calling and banging on Ms. T’s door for some time, she eventually came to the door yelling at Terrence. She wore a large white, floral night gown and slippers; her hair was in a doobie bun which made the tattoo of two tear drops on her left eye stand out. I don’t recall what tear drops mean but if anyone would like to comment on the meaning, please feel free to do so.

Apparently, she forgot our planned rendezvous. This was fine with me being I was overdue for some sleep and freezing my tocus off. After she apologized I said it was fine and opted to go back to my room. She stopped me and had me listen to her story. She spoke about the unfortunate events that occurred last night with her sons and the trouble they were in. she then stopped to note: “You always seem to be around right after something has happened.”

“Maybe it’s a sign,” I replied. “Or I’m just bad luck.”

After explaining her situation that resulted in a late night and two (hopefully) temporary new tenants I offered her some extra towels, blankets, washcloths and toilet paper. She then, offered me tea and a bagel. We spoke for a bit while she started the tea. She spent the rest of the time on the phone, catching her friends and family up on the situation. I sat listening while “The Hills” played in the background. Now that I think of it, it is a very ironic show compared to the situation. Eventually, I pointed out my tiredness and stated I should probably be on my way.

As I began to leave, she stopped me. She continued to tell me some of the sadness that occurred in her life and I asked her if she prayed on it. “I prayed, cried and everything,” she said. I’m not one for praying in front of people over anything besides food but for some reason the urge to ask nagged at me. Once again, my decision became a pride issue. Before I’m even sure I made a conscious decision I managed to blurt out “do you want me to pray with you?” She said yes. We held hands and I prayed. She began to cry. I hugged her, thanked her for the food and went on my way. Sometimes I wonder what God is doing to me. It's funny how things work out.

-O.T.

Ms. T.

Sept. 25, 2009

I've stumbled upon a very interesting woman. We will call her Ms. T. Ms. T. is a heavy-set woman with a caramel complexion, seemingly in her mid thirties. Her hair is an unnatural light reddish brown, cut just below her ears. She always seems pensive as her lonely gaze catches you through her one eye, the other stuck or perhaps sewn shut. She is a church going woman and volunteers on a consistent basis. Ironically enough, her gang connections are anything but limited as she offered me a job through such connections --which I quickly declined. She has the kindest of hearts but the saddest of fate being that, after I moved in, she was diagnosed with cancer.

The day I came to check out my current residence was the first day we met. I saw her sitting on the stoop. While waiting for the landlord, I sat next to her. We had a long conversation, leading to her offering the perpetual use of her phone, if I decided to move in. Our next few encounters were short. Being the "bisy backson" (see Tao of Pooh book) I am, I did not wish to stop to chat. A few days later I succumbed to her inquiries and she rewarded me with tea, toast and dinner whenever I wanted it. As of yet, I have not redeemed her dinner offer, due to my awkwardness and lack of social skills outside of excellent customer service and the professional environment.

Today, as I ran out of the door, she once again showed her kindness towards me as she offered practically a grocery store worth of food that she got from some unknown source. I accepted and offered to help her cook dinner tomorrow for 500 kids, who are in gangs? I'm not too sure if she means they are currently involved, involved by association or previously involved. Either way, kids are kids. If you're hungry, you're hungry. I don't know what exactly I am getting myself into by associating with this woman but once again, it should be interesting.

-O.T.