I ♥ N Y

Contrary to what seems like popular opinion, the "Shake Shack" in Madison Square Park isn't really all that spectacular. After reading up on it, all exceedingly positive reviews, I tried a frozen custard there a few days ago (cloyingly rich soft-serve ice-cream), then today decided to splurge ($10, after a half-hour wait in the midday warmth) on a shack burger and strawberrry milkshake. The burger was tiny, juicy but I've had better; the milkshake had only a hint of strawberry flavour. Lee's Hoagie House makes better ("extra thique") milkshakes. All in all, wholly disappointing. But maybe my sense of taste is irrevocably warped; barely anything I've eaten in the past few months has fully satisfied my taste buds. If the Shack can boast 1-hour average wait times, they must be doing something right. Sadly for them, I will never find out what it is.

I got a library card today at a little nearby branch. Flashed my HKID, was rejected (comme d'habitude), then whipped out my Employment Authorization Card, which worked (will try again to open a bank account with this). Good news, I don't have to pay the exorbitant 100USD out-of-state charge because I'm apparently working here for 3 months. Bad news, the library is tear-provokingly small (oh Van Pelt-Dietrich, how I miss thee) and I managed to find only 2 out of the numerous "young adult" novels I had intended to read as preparation for the internship. I don't think they even had a real children's section. How sad. But I got 2 Robert Cormier novels and Catch-22, a John Grisham, and the Portable Oscar Wilde--partly to offset any judgments the check-out person might've made on my literacy levels. Yes, I can't help but be self-conscious. People in general judge too often, and too quickly.

I walked past a man in a suit smoking a cigar in front of what I assumed to be the building where he works. I've heard of cigarette breaks, but--cigar?? Bizaare. I also walked past 2 kids--no more than 12 yrs old--walking along, sniffing coolly from some aerosol can and then spitting on the street. It horrified me a little bit.

SVA is situated next to a public school, a Japanese restaurant and a Chinese bakery selling overpriced buns. I wish Chinatown were within walking distance. SVA is overrun with Penn kids.

Mel left this morning. It is a bit lonely and sad being in this room with all her stuff gone. It's been really nice having her around not only because settling in completely alone would have sucked (prodigiously), but also because we rarely really hang out for any amount of time at Penn besides the occasional lunch or dinner gathering, so it was nice just to chill (when she didn't have training).

I'm going for my second babysitting session tomorrow. We're going to the Museum of Natural History by Central Park... haven't been in almost 6 years. Yippee.

The occasional siren from the street below (these windows are not at al soundproof) reminds me of Hill, freshman year. Except this time we got a more or less normal-shaped window. But no rocking chairs. And no Allison Castel or Julie Rothe to watch over us (not that they really did back then).

Laters.

NY Sojourn, à la Boswell

So begins a summer, an adventure, a 12-week pursuit of happiness of sorts, à la James Boswell. He went out into London at the fresh young age of 22, living on an allowance but otherwise on his own, naïve and full of hopes and expectations, learning about people and about himself through experience—and that is the best way to learn, is it not? Pia and I have established that I will in some manner try to follow vaguely in his footsteps, though by no means literally (ie. I will not meet Senor Gonorrhea), and make the most out of being in this huge and wonderful city called New York. I can only hope it doesn't overwhelm me, the sights and sounds and intense diversity that only fully struck me two days ago as I sat in Madison Square Park, people- and squirrel-watching and eating a gyro from a food truck.

My meaning of happiness may be different from Boswell's (after all, he was an 18^th century white male in England, I a 21^st century Chinese female in the US), but it is with his enthusiasm and optimism that I begin this journey. I hope to learn—not through his writing nor necessarily through other people's lives (though I will no doubt be influenced by what I hear)—how to make my "choice of life", or to get closer to doing so during the course of the summer. After all, the summer after Junior year is essentially a prep session for the real world… and so it will be. And where better to do it than in NYC—formerly the city of my dreams, now a(n albeit brief) reality.

Boswell's purpose of keeping a journal had been to "know himself better…by attending to the feelings of his heart and to his external actions", and though I do not expect to "know myself" by the time the summer is done (or ever?), I do believe that the journal—both writing and reading it—is an immensely useful tool for learning, remembering, planning. It records events, captures thoughts at a given time, things that will otherwise fade from memory. It is very individualistic and pretty solipsistic and narcissistic perhaps, but often contact with others increases the desire to be in contact with oneself, especially mentally and emotionally… and that is where the journal comes in. Expect more Boswell quotes as this journal progresses.

But enough of introductions. This is my third official day in New York and I am leaving in about half an hour to go up to the Upper West Side to meet the kid and mother of the kid I will be babysitting. I have been doing some intense shopping the past two days, both for clothes and for household stuff. I have already spent too much money, but I am hoping this babysitting gig will relieve of some of my financial woes.

Not having my passport with me has been of utmost inconvenience. I can't open a bank account with Bank of America. Damned Patriot Act.

More later.