First Day in the City of New York

Today I flew into New York City. Before I even left Detroit though I had a celebrity sighting. I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure I saw a WNBA basketball player. She was tall, had a tattoo, and was wearing a hot pair of kicks. Anyways, while on the plane I enjoyed peanuts in between extreme bouts of turbulence's. It is amazing how clouds which look so calm and peaceful can toss around a plane like it's a leaf blowing in the wing. Unbelievably, we made it through what felt like a tornado and arrived at LaGuardia around 3 PM, over half an hour early, leaving me with an entire day of exploration. After getting off the plane and following the directions towards baggage claim I see what appeared to be a nice Chinese man roughly 5' 6" holding a sign that reads, "KATSARELAS." I approach the driver and we get off to a great start. For one, he has a funny accent, and two, he carried my bags even after I insisted I was quite capable of carrying them myself.

Once we get in the car I tell the driver, let's call him Ping, I want the crash course of New York City. Ping starts off by saying, "Well, if you're a party guy and enjoy smoking pot..." which then proceeded to cause an awkward silence and a frantic Ping to scramble in broken english, "but you're not a party guy I can tell, but it's alright. The city is expensive. You have an internship, right? Good. Yeah, the city is expensive. You like table tennis? I watch it on television occasionally. I don't live in the city though, too expensive. I own this car. It's a Lincoln Town Car. Taxi drivers don't own their cars. I used to watch basketball but then M.J. retired. I saw a lady get hit by a taxi driver. Don't stand too close to the curb." Because Ping drove around 70 MPH on the 278, an expressway with a speed limit around 50, I was at the front steps of my building in about 10 minutes. After saying farewell, Ping scooted off and I checked into my new digs.

Apparently I'm a hybrid of a Greek and a Albanian because my last name is in the records as, "Katjarelas." Note my I.D. card. It is kind of cool if you're into the smelly and hairy south eastern European thing. After signing in and becoming the newest resident of 1760 3rd Avenue nestled between East Harlem and Yorkville, I went to my room on the 6th floor overlooking 3rd Avenue (view my Flickr page for the pictures). The room isn't bad, plus I have digital cable, a flat screen television, a lounge with a stove and oven across the hall, a fitness center, internet library, laundry facilities, my own bathroom, and am only a few blocks away from Falafel Express, the coolest little Middle Eastern restaurant. After dinner, which was really cheap, $8.50, I dropped down around $40 on shampoo, soap, a toothbrush, and cereal. It was worth it though because how many times will I walk into a corner grocery store and see a obese man take out a stand of Kashi crackers because the aisles weight and size limit were exceeded? Maybe never because that didn't happen, but it is completely plausible with how cramped these stores can get. They need to enforce size restrictions on their patrons.

Because I consistently forgot the side streets my building was located and generally how to get around at all without getting lost, I spent a good 30 minutes on Google Maps trying to virtually familiarize myself with the city. From there I spent another 30 minutes researching the subway so I could figure out how to get myself to work and back. Throwing down another wad of cash on subway fare, I began my trek downtown to 51st and Lexington, a few blocks away from my office. Luckily the subway is easier than I thought, but finding a Jamba Juice proved to be a little more difficult. My phone had already pointed me in the wrong direction twice, so I started searching. I asked people who looked like city slickers, "Do you know where Jamba Juice is?" Nope. Nobody did. Twenty blocks later I found my coveted juice bar, but it was closed so I bought myself an apple. At least I snapped a few awesome skyline shots during the aimless wandering. After trudging back down the grimy stairs into the subway, I made my way back up town promising myself I will get Jamba Juice soon.

But first I start my internship. 10 AM, Monday morning, 777 3rd Avenue- Grey. I like to think of it like I'm a moderately overweight person trying to shop in one of those tiny grocery stores or a someone who rides around in rickshaw which just enchants white people. In other words, it is going to be interesting and I can't wait.