Top 5 reasons why snow is better than rain.

Well it’s been a while since I’ve written anything.  I can’t say this is any more worthwhile than anything else that’s happened in my life but it’s my blog and I’ll post when I want damnit.  Here are the top 5 reasons why snow is better than rain.

5. Rain makes things dreary, snow makes things pretty.

4. You can carve various shapes and words in the snow on people’s cars.

3. Rainman is a movie you can buy at K-mart, snowman is definately, definately  an activity.

2. You don’t get soaking wet during a snowstorm.

And the number one reason why snow is better than rain:

You can consume a handful of snow you picked up from the sidewalk.

The Final Frontier

Today I venture where no man should ever have to and no, I’m not talking about the Delta Quadrent.  I shall brave into the unknown territory of a land called “New Jersey.”  What I’ll find and what dangers lurk are unknown.  I’ve only been warned of a strange sub-humanoid species that lives there drinking beer with their cut-off jean shorts and faded Rod Stewart t-shirts.  Also, there was something about flip-flops.

Bone Chiller

Here I am, up at 7am. Checking my weather forecast I see that it’s 24 degrees outside. And being the inquisitive type, I must see for myself. Shoes on, I step through the wood portal. My breath stays vaporized for several seconds, the heat is ripped from my body, and a bone chilling cold rushes in. 24 degrees is really fucking cold.

GOAL!!!!

After beating Fable: The Lost Chapters I was invited by the guys at Duffy to go play some soccer with them, there’s an indoor field a few miles away that they somehow secured for the night.  I didn’t have to pay so I didn’t ask.  Turns out I’m a crappy goal tender with a sub 50% block rate.  After twenty or so minutes, I was demoted to the sidelines and started watching the time and talking the phone.  Idle chat is not usually my thing but that was the most time I’ve [willingly] spent on the phone outside of work in almost a year, thanks Maddy. (I know you’re going to read this.)  Anyways, it’d been awhile since I did anything worth writing about so BAM!

Bawls in my mouth!

Computer games, pizza, and energy drinks: a near perfect combination for a LAN party.  My parents realized early on that I wouldn’t be a sports kind’ve kid and being they were pretty good ones, they did their best to nurture what talents I did show.  In middle school and further blooming in high school I got hooked on computers.  I didn’t really party the same way other kids did, so when I wanted to have some friends over to play vid’ya games they went for it.  LAN parties introduced me to the sweet sweet nectar that is Bawls energy.  It’s hard to find in most places but I discovered some in the Broadway mall in Hicksville NY.  Huzzah!

Three flavors of canned Bawls, yummy.

This is my Bawls. There are many like it but this one is mine.

There’s Bawls in my mouth…I got some funny looks for this one.

Shenanigans, Pt 2

I never realized how often I check the time, even if I have nowhere to be, until I’m in custody.  From the time that I was picked up until the time I was bailed out nearly twenty-four hours later, I saw only two clocks and being that I still wasn’t sober, my mental grasp on time was loose at best.  The first holding cell was at the MTA PD; there they take all my information, make arrest records, give me some gum, take some pictures of my face and tattoos, scan my fingerprints, and talk…a lot.  The cop doing my paperwork is clearly out of practice or new, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing and has to be guided through every step, asking multiple times for directions.  The officers assured me that I’d be walking out of custody by about noon when they transferred me to a detention center.  Either they were wrong or flat out lying.  At the time I believed them, it was some sort of hope that I’d be finished with this ordeal sometime soon.  I’m still cold.

After a shortish drive, we pull into the detention center, it’s a very old building.  One of the officers comments to the other how he brought his kids here for a demonstration day thingie a few years back and the S.W.A.T. team was repelling from the roof.  I’m in handcuffs so I don’t really get to choose where we go, they lead me to what appears to be a front door but has a sign on it “Do not enter, use front door,” (or something to that effect) they take me up the steps and slowly figure out that this isn’t the entrance, then we go to the actual front door where we wait to be buzzed in.  Through the lobby and into a waiting room I’m seated and handcuffed to the wall, I wasn’t going anywhere anyways but I figure compliance will be the best thing for me right now.  We wait, and we wait, and we wait some more.  The MTA officers who brought me in are finally asked for the paperwork.  Oh no, they need three copies but were only instructed to bring one so one of them goes to a back room out of my sight to make more, then we continue to wait.

Eventually, an officer Hardic (Or some similar spelling) comes over says my name and since my hands are cuffed behind my back and to the wall I raise my foot up a little bit, literally no more than eight inches, and pronounce that I’m here.  This guy looses his shit, starts yelling at me, asking if I wanted to kick him in the face, blah blah blah, he’ll hurt me, blah blah blah.  He gets about six inches from my face and, still yelling, asks if I understand.  I say “Yes sir,” as seriously as possible.  The closest thing to a teddy bear I imagine a man could possibly be, this is the most non-threatening person (let alone cop) I’ve ever seen.  But I hold my tongue which wants to tell him to cool his jets and if he really needs to hit me just do it and say goodbye to his pension.  I get to wait some more.  I’m still cold, this place is worse than the first.

A few other arrestees are brought in and chained to the wall and I’m eventually brought back out to the lobby area where I answer some questions I’ve already answered and sign a piece of paper.  They take the cuffs off so I can sign, frisk me, instruct me to take off my socks and shoes to be inspected.  This is actually the second time my shoes are inspected and it begins to dawn on me just how redundant this whole process is.  The redundancy is obviously just procedures that have to be followed as a prisoner enters a precinct and I just happened to be transferred between multiple precincts; still, I make a mental note on how inefficiently our justice system operates.  I’m finally taken to a holding cell with a big wooden bench.  I’m exhausted, cold, and alone.  I don’t know when I’ll be moving on but since the cops here all seem pretty rude I figure if I need to be up they’ll make sure I am, I lay down and attempt to sleep.  Eventually I succeed but wake up to the cold, I pull my arms inside my shirt and drift back off for a while.

It could be a few hours later, it could be five minutes but I’m up for good now.  Some other guys are taken to the cell next to mine and I too am transferred there.  Two by two we’re cuffed together.  All cuffs go on the right hand which is retarded but my left wrist is killing me so I don’t mind the awkward sitting and walking.  I notice there’s a door that simply exists, it’s the door the MTA tried to enter the first time.  There’s six of us in the cell, all are quiet.  We’re taken outside to a van, this is no simple matter, police with guns everywhere.  There’s two things going through my head, “Fuck it’s cold out here,” and, “I hope the guy I’m chained to doesn’t try to make a break for it.” The van takes us all to another place which turns out to be the Nassau County District Court.

We wait in this van for an eternity, waiting has accounted for a good ninety percent of this entire process thus far.  Eventually one of the fellows in the van starts asking what the others are all in here for, it’s all DWI except me.  About now I start seeing similarities between my uncle Larry on my mother’s side and myself.  Drinking to the point of blacking out and getting in trouble with the law are not some inherited qualities that I want.  I seriously consider giving up the bottle, I can’t think of why I should drink at all to be perfectly honest.

We’re herded to a holding cell and uncuffed.  One by one we answer the same questions again, we’re frisked, our shoes and socks inspected for weapons/drugs, and we sign another paper.  This is the first place I’ve been since the bar that didn’t feel like a meat locker.  We wait, eventually eat, and chat with the other guys in the cell.  Some people sleep and, after a while, a lawyer comes around and gives counsel to each of us.  He tells me that breaking into the train could actually be considered a felony and my demeanor, which has been very upbeat thus far, shatters.  In groups, everyone gets a chance to go upstairs to the courtroom to see the supposedly lenient judge, I’m no exception.  My group goes up, there’s one violent offender with six felony charges (assault) but mostly DWI.  All but two of the DWI’s in my group get off with probation and a suspended license.  I have another court date on the twelfth and since I’m not a local, bail is set to the tune of five hundred dollars.  I’m sent out of the room to wait for the one remaining hearing.  I try my damnedest to remember Alex’s phone number but I can’t, I’ve only dialed it once, when I entered it to my address book.  The only phone numbers I can remember are my mom’s home and school numbers, my dad’s work cell, and Alex’s parents’ house but it’s not time to make a call yet.  I’m led to a room where I’m instructed to strip down to my underwear, my clothing is inspected.  After getting dressed again, it’s time to go back into a holding cell and wait for whatever’s next.

Names are called and in pairs we’re cuffed together again, I’m cuffed to a particularly crazy guy who won’t shut up about what happened.  He was driving home (drunk) and this girl who has a restraining order on him ran him off the road, got out of her car and tried to open his car door.  He tried driving away, dragging her behind him.  How can he be completely innocent?  I don’t see it, but I’m not going to cause any trouble, not now.  We’re brought outside and guided up into an armored short-bus.  This particular bus has exhaust leaking in.  The guy behind me is talking about how he’s been in and out of prison for the past few decades, particularly when he wanted to get a shot or any sort of medical care.  He’s milking as much money out of his imprisonment as he possibly can, on purpose.  I can’t fault him for taking advantage of the system but I am a little pissed off that he has free health-care equal, and in some cases better than what I was paying several thousand dollars a year to get a couple months ago.

Led into yet another holding cell we wait as one guy is going to bail himself out, I would have too if they accepted debit/credit cards.  The jail only accepts cash and certified bank checks, lame.  I’m slowly coming to terms that I’m going to be in jail for four nights until my actual court date on the twelfth.  I’m maintaining a mostly calm composure but I’m thinking at c.  Eventually we start getting called in to do some more paperwork, answer the same questions again, sign in to the jail, and get a chance to make five minutes worth of phone calls.  The phone system in jail is nothing short of theft.  You are assigned a PIN which you dial in order to make a phone call, your first five minutes of calls are from phones that call for free but every other phone in the jail accessible to inmates requires you have money placed in an account.  Even if you are going to place a collect call, you need to have money in your account.  When you leave the jail, your account is closed and you don’t get that money back, where I’m from that’s called stealing.  I understand this system is in place to keep people from being on the phones during all the open hours but it’s still really dumb.  I call my mom’s house phone, the call doesn’t go through.  I try again, still nothing.  I call my dad’s cell, I leave a message that I’m in jail.  I try the third number I can remember off the top of my head, Alex’s parents so that he won’t think I’m dead when I disappear for four days, but it doesn’t go through either and I’m out of time.

From the administration and phone room, I start my trip though the labyrinth to the ID room where I get an official “Inmate” name-tag that I’m bummed I don’t get to keep, it was actually a good picture of me.  Next it’s to the clothing room where I sign in for clothes, I get to keep my shoes because they’re a higher quality version of the ones the jail issues.  Before actually getting clothes, I get to wait in another holding cell!  Huzzah! After a relatively short wait, I get my orange jumpsuit and follow the hallways to the medical block.  I have to give a urine sample in a bathroom that’s flooding, I get a free physical, they offer me a flu shot and if not for a high school outbreak, I would’ve gotten a TB test.  The doctor spends most of the time on her phone and I eventually get to the “seventy-two block.”  The cells you spend seventy-two hours in before being transferred to the regular population.

I freak out a little bit while making my bed and getting my dark cell organized.  A few of the other inmates come in one by one, ask what’s up and reassure me that it’s gonna be ok.  If you’ve ever had any sort of break down, “everything’s gonna be a’ight” is really not what you want or need to hear; nevertheless, I calm down and go mingle a little bit.  The Shawshank redemption’s line that “everybody in here’s innocent,” holds true based on all the inmates’ perceptions, pseudo including mine.  Not one person in the joint says to me, “Yeah I did it.”  Just like in the movies, all the other guys on the block are incredibly nice.  One, the equivalent of Morgan Freeman’s character in Shawshank, even gives me some juice packets and a tangerine.  I chat with some other inmates, read through my inmate’s handbook containing some ninety rules and at ten pm we get final count and lights out.

The mattress is like a flexible piece of asphalt but less comfortable.  I’m exhausted and fall asleep anyways, warm for the first time in twenty-four hours.  Over the loudspeaker I hear something about cell four, mine.  I dismiss it thinking I was dreaming but I’m awake now and can’t get back to sleep.  A guard comes and tells me I made bail, I’ve never gotten out of a bed and collected my things so fast in my life.  I go get my clothes back, get fingerprinted one last time, sign out and get the hell out of dodge.  I convince them to let me keep my toilet paper because everyone at Duffy house uses their own but I can’t convince the last guy to let me keep my badge.  I follow another hallway and finally I’m out of the jail.  I’m in a gated parking lot, a fence opens on the other end and I walk through it and up a ramp.  The civilian parking lot guard instructs me to the car I need to head towards.  Alex and Julia are in it.

Alex let’s me use his phone to call my mom.  Turns out my dad called her and she spent about four hours tracking me down; when I left the message on my dad’s phone, I forgot to say which jail I was in and my parents only know I was in the city for my birthday.  She tells me to call her back in the morning.  We get back to Duffy house and I lay my free ass down on the amazingly comfortable couch.  The next day, Alex and I borrow a housemate’s car and get my stuff from the original precinct where the cops play with my iPhone and see Alex’s Halloween costume, mistaking him for a hottie.  They even call another officer in as a trap.  Alex and I head to Home Depot to get some plumbing stuff for the house, I make some calls, and catch up on what I missed in my twenty-three hours of confinement.

I’ve decided to quit drinking, I think that’s probably a good idea.  I still have a court date on Wednesday, November twelfth at nine thirty am, but I’m gonna try my hardest to get the charges dropped.  I’m also going to call the Howard Stern show to call High Pitched Eric a douch cougar, or something to that effect.  It wasn’t his fault that I got arrested, the fault was entirely mine, but if he hadn’t called I would’ve had an entirely different story to tell and I still thing he’s a d-bag.

Long Beach Shenanigans…

Upon leaving for my half cocked trip around the major metropolitan areas of the United States I told myself something that has turned out to be more true than I could have possibly imagined: “If everything goes flawlessly I’ll have some good stories.  If things go absolutely horribly horribly wrong I’ll come out with some great stories.” Sunday, November nineth at two am I was released on bail from the Nassau County Corrections Facility, hereafter known as the ‘NCCF’ or simply ‘jail.’

I’ll back up a bit, start from scratch, square one.  For a post birthday I was invited by Nicole to go out bar hopping in Long Beach with her and her best friend, a no brainer if you ask me.  I got on the 8:39 train from Hicksville to Long Beach, meeting up with Nicole in Mineola.  After a transfer and a little over an hour of total train time; Nicole and I are at the end of the line, Long Beach.  The salty sea air is cool and crisp.  It’s not exactly raining, but there’s a constant mist falling from the sky.  My t-shirt and jeans are clearly not warm enough if I’m outside for long but I’m about to get a little liquid heat so I deal with it.

Nicole and I make our way to her friend Jess’ house, then the three of us go meet up with Nicole’s cousin who’s name escapes me then it’s off to Minnesota’s for drinks and dancing.  It’s lady’s night so the girls are drinking for free and my price ain’t bad considering how stiff the bartenders are mixing.  The night is young!  Since it’s lady’s night the ratio is more than healthy and I feel like I’m in a fish tank.  The only ones fishing are using the most terrible bait, I can’t help but watch and laugh when these guys strike out epic-fail style.  One of them actually comments on Nicole’s luminously green shirt, “That’s a really green shirt,” wow.

The drinks are flowing; the music is bumpin’; and to be perfectly honest, this is where my memory starts to fade so what I know is based on what the cops tell me and a few text messages.  Eventually, we hop over to The Beach House where at 1:28am I sent a text message to Madrina, “I just got kicked out of a bar for being too drunk…woot.”  Clearly that’s not actually something to be proud of but the fact that I was able to send that message without any spelling errors really is a testament to the iPhone.

 

Point A is The Beach House, the bar that kicked me out; B is the Long Beach train station. The white dot is a ~2:10 time stamp based on text messaging records.

 

 

At 1:50am, Jess asks where I am and I tell her, “I got kicked out. Where are toy?!0” and it’s not until 2:10 that she responds, clearly surprised, and asks for an update on my current location, Laurelton Blvd and Beech St (white dot), based on the time stamp on my text messages this gives me a general time and place.  I have a text that I can’t explain dated November 8 at 2:02am from someone not even in my contact list. ‘mta’ sent me, “Ma.info/ just go with it. U want to get home”  The only thing mta brings to mind is the Metropolitan Transit Authority, the train cops (also the ones that picked me up).  http://www.mta.info/ is the website for mass transit in the state of New York.

The next time and place I know for sure is 2:49am: I bought a one-way off-peak Long Island Rail Road ticket from Long Beach to Hicksville that has “239 Duffy Av HIX” on the back in someone else’s handwriting.  At 3:01am, I claimed to be at Jamaica “atststiob” (Station) which is impossible as Long Beach to Jamaica is a 30 minute ride, the time stamps just don’t add up.   Where exactly I was picked up I don’t know but I’ll update this post when I go to the MTA and figure it out.

My memory sputters back in sometime around 3:45am and I’m sitting in a squad car, handcuffed.  My vision’s a little blurry.  There’s no less than four officers outside, talking.  I’m confused and a little pissed off because I don’t know where’s my iPhone.  After a while we start moving and the cops are talking about something but I cant understand what the hell is going on, I’m still not really coherent.  I probably blacked out again because the next thing I know, the squad car stops and we’re at the MTA station: 565 Commercial Ave, Garden City, New York.

I’m put in a holding cell and they tell me what’s up.  It seems I broke the little glass panel covering the emergency door release handle, pulled said handle, opened the doors, got in the train, and passed out.  This particular glass panel is about four inches wide by about six inches tall, I didn’t kick in the big windows or anything like that.  I’ll reiterate the fact that I don’t remember doing anything so I just assume what they’re telling me is truth for now.  The cops seem overly excited to tell me that High Pitched Eric from the Howard Stern show is the one to have reported me to the police and, in fact, if not for that douch cougar (my words, not the cops’), I would’ve gotten to Jamaica station scot free.  Where I would’ve ended up from Jamaica is beyond me but it didn’t happen. I’m in a jail cell, cold, off the grid I’m used to, and on one I’m most certainly not.

 

This is an example of the plexiglass I broke. The ruler to the right is 6 inches long.

 

 

To Be Continued…

Memories through the smoke

Been a little while since I wrote something coherant but I’ve been taking it easy letting my foot rest up for the journey ahead.

The other day I went down to an Apple store here on Long Island and passed by a hookah lounge that I decided to make for tonight. I’ve made some great memories in places just like this one over the years, it’s such a relaxingly ambient environment; big comfy couches, a good soundtrack, preferably good company though it’s looking like I’ll be on my own for the night. Duffy house, with it’s fourteen permenant residents, always has something happening and people coming/going.

Halloween was completely nuts, biggest house party I’ve ever seen. We had well over a hundred people at any given time between the hours of roughly eleven and three. The cops were there but pretty cool, only telling us to keep everyone inside. I was one of the blue man group (pictures on my gallery) and my knuckles are still stained a light shade of blue. There was a dj and much boozing, a blast from the majority of the night I remember.

I’m pretty much done with New York for now though I’ll most certainly come back, only sticking around to party with the NYIT guys and gals on my 22nd birthday which is this coming Thursday. I need to make a few calls to family in Massachusetts because that’s where I’ll be heading this weekend, the ultimate goal is Boston and I’ll probably dip down into Philly for a sandwich :-).

It’s strange to think that my closest friend for some time now is a girl from Apache Junction that I met on the Internet almost a year ago. The two of us have never actually met in person but I feel I know her better than just about anyone I’ve ever had a close proximity friendship. Madrina, thanks for always responding. Day or night I can always pose my random questions and thoughts knowing that of anyone you’ll get back to me. I have a good relationship with both my parents and an increasingly verbal relationship with my brother but it’s not the same as a close friend who’s always available. There’s something about most other people that I feel like a nuisance and I’m far too independant to allow that. I’ve had a few people over the years that have filled the same roll for me. Jeremiah, Ashley, Katherine, Sasha; I’m equally grateful for all of you even if you don’t read this post.  Orphaned screen names are still etched into my memory and many of the conversations we had are still preserved on a hard drive burried in a closet.

In case you read this, happy birthday Matt!

Meandering about Long Island

At roughly 2:30 in the morning, I decided that no one at the party was really worth talking to so I put on my hat & coat and went to Dunkin Donuts which is less than a mile away! Bagel and a few donuts, yum. I’ve even got a bit of leftovers for breakfast, hooray! I feel almost as if I’m in the college lifestyle that many people pay so much for; I’m getting it ostensibly free. The party is pretty much dead here now at quarter after 3 but there’s still a couple lingers’, learned a lot of what Ive missed out on the past couple years and now rather glad I skipped them.

At any rate I’m kind’ve putting fingers to keys really wasted to see what turns out, and I’m going to post it out of spite to myself.

New hobby

What with me being oot and aboot most of the time I’ve developed sortbe a new hobby/pasttime: finding power. I’ll literally walk into a place of business, usually a restaurant, walk the length of the place and, I don’t see any outlets I’ll move on unless I’m SUPER hungry. When I look into a building while window shopping power outlets pop out.