A Rare Compliment to the MTA

As many of you well know, I loathe the MTA.  For many years, I have commuted on the Long Island Railroad and New York City Transit subways and buses.  Since starting my commutes to Manhattan, I have had to endure countless delays, cancelled trains, service cuts, and fare hikes.  For a while, I tried to defend the system.  I have an infatuation with transit systems.  I find them fascinating and New York's is one of the biggest and oldest in the world.  It takes a lot of resources to move the people of this city around in a halfway efficient manner, but the constant service cuts and hikes have made even me a hater.  


Today, however, I am putting the hate on hold and applauding the MTA.  For the first time in a long time, New York City transit finally did something right.  My current commute, on a day when I have school and work, looks something like this:  Around 9am, I take the N/R train from 8th St/NYU to Times Square and transfer to the 1 train uptown to 116th St/Columbia University.  Then, after class, I take the 1 train back downtown to 79th St and transfer to the crosstown bus, M79.  I take the bus from Broadway over to 2nd Ave where my office is.  After work, I hop on the M15 2nd Avenue bus downtown to St Marks Place and walk home.  Its an annoying commute, but I've gotten used to it and don't mind it anymore.  


The M15 is usually the worst part of the commute.  Its a crowded bus line and even the Limited bus takes forever to get down to the Village.  But those crappy qualities made it the perfect bus line for the MTA to test out a little slice of Europe on New York straphangers.  Over in Europe, you buy a ticket for the bus or metro, validate the ticket (stamp it at a machine for time and date), and board the mode of transit.  This proof of purchase method is extremely efficient.  And for the first time, it's now in New York!

My ride home tonight was a pleasant experience...  A type of experience that is not often associated with the MTA.  After work, I waited at the 79th St stop for the M15.  After a couple of minutes, a brand new bus, wrapped in blue signage, with two blinking blue lights pulled up.  I boarded the M15 Select Bus Service, the new proof of payment bus line.  While people were initially confused about how the system works, in the end, I saw a definite improvement.  While stopping at 42nd street, a very popular stop, about 25 people juggled positions on and off the bus.  Under a normal ride, this stop would take about 10 minutes, but alas...  2 minutes!  The same thing at 57th and 34th streets!  This was amazing.  My bus ride, which used to take about 40 minutes took about 25 minutes.


So, MTA...  I still hate you, but I can admit a job well done on this new venture.  Now please apply it to the M101 Limited and the M79 crosstown!

Sometimes Slowing Down Just Isn't an Option

Life is a supercar.  I like to pretend mine is an Aston Martin DBS, but thats beside the point.  The raw horsepower produced by the magnificent machine, which is me, allows me to go through each day with strength and to put forth full effort into everything I do.  As we all sit behind the wheel of our life, we decide how fast and in which direction to go.  Its our life to do with as we please.  Something that I am learning is that while it's important to slow down occasionally, sometimes, you just can't, for what ever reason.  And in other cases, even if you could...  Maybe you shouldn't.

Back in August of 2008, my brothers and I escorted my Grandfather to Germany.  We were taking a week's vacation to drink some beer, eat some kartoffel knodell and help my grandfather find information on his grandparents.  We flew into Munich, using that as our home-base to explore surrounding areas.  The information my grandpa was looking for, however, was almost 300 kilometers away, ugh... wait, about 190 miles, stupid metric system.  In order to plan out our trip to find our origins in Wurzburg, we headed to the hauptbahnhof, or the train station.  I love taking trains in Europe.  You get to relax and watch the european countryside zoom past while enjoying a snack or a drink.  It really can be stylish and adventurous traveling on a train.  Unfortunately, we quickly learned that it can also be an expensive venture.  How expensive?  180 euros per person!  This was a problem...  We had come a quarter of the way around the world to find information and now were going to have to pay an extraordinary amount to get to it.  I didn't know what to do and thats when my grandfather suggested renting a car.

Wait...  Hells no!  I have travelled all over Europe and have vowed to never drive over there.  Those people are nuts!  As far as I could tell, all european cities either lacked traffic laws or people just didn't care.  The cars were tiny weird looking things with odd names like Citroen and Peugeot.  And I had almost lost my life countless times walking through Rome, Athens, and Paris.  The Greeks seemed to be the craziest drivers of all...  So, no.  No driving.

But, as we went back to the hotel room, I examined our options.  The train tickets were just too expensive and I couldn't tell my grandfather no.  So I checked out google maps to see what kind of drive we would have been looking at.  It didn't seem too bad.  A9 north from Munich towards Nürnburg, then the A3 towards Frankfurt...  Whoa.  The Autobahn.  After some discussion, it was decided, we were driving.  

The next morning we went down to Europcar and rented our mighty steed.  Here we are... in the heart of Bavaria, in Germany, renting a car to drive on the autobahn!  BMW, Mercedes, Audi, Volkswagen... the greatest cars in the world and we were gonna get one to drive though the German countryside!  Thats when we got our roomy, powerful, reasonably priced Ford diesel.  Sigh...  You see, it was the only automatic they had available and while I knew the logistics and theory behind a stick shift, I wasn't about to start practicing while driving in downtown Munich.  I needed to be able to focus on the road and traffic, so this little Ford automatic was going to have to be up for the job.  

As I pulled out of the parking garage, my nerves were getting to me.  It took a little while to gain my bearings and get accustomed to the signage and laws.  We left Munich after the morning rush and made our way to the northbound highway.  Merging on to the A9 highway was nothing different than getting on I-95 back home.  The speed limit was a slow 80 kph or about 50 mph.  I drove, Steve sat shotgun, with Nick and Grandpa in the backseat and we were now cruising, passing the Allianz Arena (home to FC Bayern Munchen), and leaving the small metropolis of Munich behind us.  The further from city limits we got, the faster the speeds went.  Eventually we passed a sign saying the new speed limit was 100 kph (62 mph).  The lanes were wide and smooth.  Trucks minded their business and kept to the right as an array of different european cars flew down the road.  These people knew how to drive and it was an honor to be amongst them.  Eventually, we passed a sign indicating the new speed limit of 120 kph (75 mph) and collectively, all the cars sped up accordingly.  

Another dozen or so miles later, we passed another speed limit sign.  This one was not a number.  It was a symbol: ///.  A sign with three slashes to indicate that all previous speed restrictions are removed.  That was it.  This was the autobahn that was so famous: wide open, no speed limit.  This was a driver's road.  So drive I did.  I mashed the pedal of my little diesel and took off, as did all the cars around me.  The poor Ford had trouble keeping up with the Bimmers, Benz's, and Veedubs.  But I was still having some fun and I started to drive faster than I ever had before.  In the back seat, grandpa was calculating the conversions as he informed me that I was now at about 105 miles per hour.  The coolest part was that it was legal.  

At that point, traffic picked up a little, but was still moving at that pace.  I came up on a truck rather quickly and decided to make a pass.  This required me to enter the left lane of an unrestricted autobahn, something I wasn't sure our car could handle, but I went for it anyway.  In true racing style, I let off the gas and put some space between the truck in front and myself.  I examined my mirrors.  There was no one behind me and no one to my left.  I floored it.  As my car sped up, using the runway I gave it behind the truck, I check the mirrors again... nothing.  With the coast clear, I turned my signal on and merged to the left lane.  I was now in the fastest lane of the fastest public road in the world.  What an amazing feeling that was.  I was a driver on a driver's road in a driver's country and I was in heaven.  That was until I checked my mirror again and right on my rear bumper was a brand new Mercedes AMG.  Where the hell it came from, I have no clue...  He must have been going 200 mph cause he literally appeared out of know where and scared the bejebus out of me.  My pedal was still floored and the car couldn't get out of its own way.  The benz got impatient and rode my bumper until I bravely retreated to the middle lane.  

Needless to say, Steve was not the most comfortable person in this situation.  I give him and my other passengers credit.  Steve told me that he thinks I should slow down.  I probably wouldn't feel too comfortable in such a car at such a speed, either, but really...  As a driver, I didn't have too much choice.  First, Im on the freakin' autobahn.  I don't get to drive like this too often and I wanted to make use of it.  Second, if I slowed down, we'd probably get run over by the surrounding traffic.  Sorry guys, but this is one of those times that even if I could slow down, I wasn't going to.  We reached Wurzburg around 11am and spent most of the day there.  Grandpa found the information he was looking for and we headed back to Munich.  This time traffic was heavier as we entered Munich during rush hour.  We returned to the parking garage and dropped off our little car that had fought gallantly in battle on the fastest roads in the world.  Our adventure had come to an end, but I had a full throttle experience that I will never forget.

Like me in that little Ford diesel, we all control the pace and direction of our lives.  We control how hard we press the gas in our supercars.  There are times to slow down and savor moments in life.  But then there are moments to just mash the pedal and go for it.  If there is something out there that you want to do, something you want to achieve, do it.  Put all your energy into that something, floor it, and feel your life running on all cylinders.  I used this mentality when I focused on losing weight.  Now I'm using it through school to become a doctor.  Its helping me make new friends, experience new things, and rebuild my life for the better.  I go day to day excited for what full throttle adventure awaits me tomorrow.  Sure, one day I'll let off the gas.  But for now, I'm only going to do that to make a run and pass slower cars in front of me.  

Wait... You Own a What?

I pretty much grew up in the water.  I remember taking guppy lessons at Newbridge Park Pool when I was really really young and progressed into swimming lessons, a lifeguard class, the high school swim team, boogie boarding, kayaking, and eventually surfing (stay tuned for a story on this).  I love everything to do with the water, except for one thing.  Fishing, and everything involved with fishing.  I hate catching them, I hate touching them, and I hate eating them.  I have an agreement with the fish...  They don't eat me while I am surfing, therefore I won't eat them.  So far, its worked out well for me.  However, just because I don't eat them, doesn't mean I won't help buy and cook them, and thats where this story begins.


Saturday, July 24th, 2006...  My mom, older brother Steve, and I went down to local fish market in Freeport.  We were buying some fish (and then some meat for me) for a special occasion dinner.  On the following Monday, both Steve and I were starting new jobs.  Steve had left his previous job to try something new and I was about to begin my four year career as a programmer, I think that calls for a special occasion, don't you?  For such an occasion, the family wanted scallops and tuna steaks for dinner (gross!).  So we were heading to a place called Cap't Ben's, located on what is called the Nautical Mile, a street packed with marine related stores and restaurants.  Marinas, boat sales offices, fish markets, bars, and even some trinket shops all lined both sides of this street.


Parking is usually a pain as the place can be pretty popular, however, it was raining and windy, so the Mile was essentially empty.  We pulled up in front of Cap't Ben's and parked across the street, the closest we could get since the weather was so terrible.  Coincidentally, across the street from the fish market was a place called Kydd's Marine, a boat sales office.  Out in front of the office was a brand new 16 foot fishing boat.  It was the type with a center console and plastic seats all around.  The boat was designed to catch, gut and clean fish and then just hose the inside down after to clean the mess.  On the trailer was a sign indicating a monthly payment as low as a hundred dollars per month.  This caught Steve's interest.


After he got out of the car, he went over for a closer inspection, while Mom and I followed.  He looked the boat over and turned to me and said, "wouldn't this be cool?"  I, with my hatred for fishing, replied that a boat in and of itself would be cool, but this one was not.  I like a little more luxury as opposed to the utilitarian fishing purpose that this boat had.  Either way, he was not deterred and went into the office for more information.  Mom and I continued to follow.  As Steve was casually inquiring about the boat out front, I walked around the office looking at the other boats on display.  As the office manager was talking up a storm about how great that boat was, I started looking at, climbing on, and playing with a little bow-rider in the showroom.  The thing was beautiful.  It had plush seating, a sundeck in the back, a swim platform, seats in the bow (hence bow-rider), and a 135 horsepower engine.  This was a cool boat.  


Steve and the manager stopped talking and I called Steve over.  I explained to him that this is what I would want in a boat.  Something that's comfortable to go out on, its fast, you can swim, etc...  The boat was perfect to me.  He complained that fishing in this boat would be terrible cause it would make a mess of everything and that the boat was not in fact perfect.  As we were arguing over the perfectness of the boat, the salesman came over.  He started talking up a storm about how great this boat was and how much better the bigger version is.  Steve expressed his concerns while I was curious about the bigger one!  With out saying a word, the salesman went into the boat and turned all the seats upside down and proceeded to take the carpet out.  He turned to Steve and said... "plastic floor, plastic seats... here's your fishing boat."  We were both speechless.  This one boat was exactly what both of us wanted and after some more selling on the part of the manager, we had one last question...  "Do you have it in blue?"

A couple of days later, we cruised to our new dock on our brand new boat, lovingly called "First Purchase" as this was the first thing we both spent our new paycheck on.  Talk about an impulse buy.  This was pretty uncharacteristic of Steve (not so much of me, ha) but neither of us have had any regrets towards the purchase.  Sometimes you need to take a big leap and just do something crazy.  We went to buy fish and came home with something that has since provided countless hours of entertainment, memories, and good times.  Be impulsive.  Be spontaneous.  As I have learned so many times recently, great things can come of it.

I Don't Want Money. Just Enjoy The Music.

Last week, I sat down on the local 1 train going downtown, heading home from Columbia.  That particular day, I had an awesome squat and deadlift workout, I learned about nuclear decay in chemistry and did terribly on my chemistry quiz.  Needless to say, it was a long day and I was tired.  There I sat, headphones in, listening to Hockey (my favorite band of the week), dazing in an out of consciousness as the subway rocked back and forth.  Like countless times past, the train pulled into the 79th St station and people began that little dance, negotiating positions as they try to get on and off.  Just as the doors start to close, a group of three Mexicans jump on board.  All three wore huge cowboy hats, two had guitars and the third carried an accordion.  Glancing around the train, there were a mix of reactions...  The few tourists onboard took out their cameras.  Most of the commuters rolled their eyes and raised the volume on their iPods.  I paused my music in anticipation of their performance.  I wasn't about to fight the volume and risk going deaf.  The musicians played their piece, asked for money, and switched cars as the train rolled between stations.  New Yorkers know the tune...  Anyone whose ridden the subway has heard the music before.  They come on, play some music, and ask for your money.  Judging by the reactions of my fellow subway riders, everyone immediately knew what was going on and what to expect.

A couple of weeks before this, a very similar situation ensued.  I sat on a downtown N train near Central Park as this young, scruffy, and dirty looking guy got on the train.  He had a violin in his hand and a box tied to a string, hanging around his neck.  Once again, eyes rolled, people moved away, others pulled their belongings in tight.  As the train left the station, he began to play.  The dude was phenomenal.  I could have closed my eyes and imagined myself in Carnegie Hall, listening to a solo from the philharmonic.  I took out my headphones and listened, gazed in amazement.  I looked around.  The passengers were all as stunned as I was.  The train pulled into the next station and instead of getting up and asking for money, he continued to play.  The violinist eventually got up and began walking around, stopping by each passenger.  As he got closer to me, I reached for my wallet.  Yes, even I was prepared to give this guy some money.  Then I finally saw the box.  More importantly, I saw the sign on the box.  "I don't want money.  Just enjoy the music."  

Stunned.  Absolutely, unequivocally stunned.  That guy got on the subway and everyone, including me, made a snap judgement as to what he wanted, what his angle was.  Everyone has an angle, right?  This guy didn't, yet we all judged him.  Judging people based on their surroundings, appearance, and overall characteristics is natural and we all do it all the time.  It happens to me quite often lately.  Just the other day, I was walking through the office wearing a lab coat.  As I walked into the kitchen, a pharmaceutical company representative proudly held up some drug and said "hello, Doctor, I'd like to show this to you."  I politely declined, grabbed my coffee, and walked back to my desk with a huge smile on my face.  

We've all heard the phrase that to assume is to make an ass out of you and me.  And it's true, but it's impossible to not make assumptions.  Like I said before, it's in our nature.  Sometimes, making quick judgements can protect your property or even save your life.  You don't necessarily know why people do what they do and therefore, try to reserve judgment.  People do things out of their own ambitions, necessities, and even fears.  Who knows why that kid decided to get onto the subway and play his violin.  Was it a social statement, a political one?  Maybe he just needed a place to practice.  Who knows.  But he taught me a very valuable lesson...  Sometimes you need to just clear your mind and enjoy the music.  

Hey Mom... I Got a Plan. How About Daytona?

Whats the craziest thing you've ever done for the sport that you love?  Wait in a long line for tickets?   Paint yourself in the colors of your favorite team?  Maybe it was you who got up and danced while being broadcast on the jumbo-tron.  Thats all good and crazy and all... but I mean really out there, to the point that people say 'what the hell?' when you tell them of your deed.  Well, my first crazy sports related adventure came back in the summer of 2005, when my mom and I went to the Pepsi 400 in Daytona, Florida.

My family and I became NASCAR fans back in 1997 when, for Christmas, I got a computer game called NASCAR Racing 2.  It was a racing simulator.  I spent hours designing cars and racing them.  Usually my races ended in a fiery crash with my car somehow always tangled with the 24 car of Jeff Gordon.  Later that year, in the summer of 1997, my mom informed my brothers and I that she had purchased tickets for the Pepsi 400 in Daytona, FL and that we were going to go after a family vacation in Orlando.  At the time, the sport was nothing more than pixels moving on a screen, so the only reaction I had was... "Why?"  Looking back on it now, I kinda feel bad.  She was all excited and I had no real interest.  Oh well...  Sorry mom!

During the four hours of that race, two crucial events took place that would shape my sports life for the next thirteen years.  The first, Jeff Gordon hit the wall.  The crowd burst into cheers and applause.  Not really knowing what was going on, I wondered why everyone loved the fact that he crashed and I felt bad for the poor guy.  Little did I know that everyone hated him because he was literally the best racer on the track.  What was done was done, I was now a Jeff Gordon fan.  The second thing happened when I went to get a snack.  Down by the concessions was a fence that separated the pack of cars barreling down the track at 200 mph and the fans.  At the time, safety rules were much more relaxed and I walked up to the fence just as all forty something cars came flying by.  Words cannot describe the rush from the wind and noise.  I was almost knocked over and deafened.  It was awesome.  I stood there for a couple of laps waiting for it to happen over and over again.  I was hooked.

Since that family vacation, we have gone to a race at least once every year.  For the most part, we stuck to the Pennsylvania 500 in the Poconos.  It was local, cheap, and an easy trip overall.  In 2005, however, my mom and I were eager to go to another race and we began scouring the schedule for one that we would be able to go to given our school and work schedules.  That's when we saw that tickets were still available for the 2005 Pepsi 400.  Ahhh, nostalgia... our first race from almost tens years before that, however this time, there was a huge difference.  The year after we first went to that race, it was switched from Sunday afternoon to Saturday night.  Specifically, the Saturday night of July 4th weekend.  Huh... interesting.  The race would start at 8pm, so we could fly down that morning and then just stay over Saturday night and fly home Sunday.  Good deal!  One problem...  all the hotel rooms from Daytona Beach to Jacksonville were booked.  Crap.  But wait!  If the race is Saturday night, why not just fly home first thing Sunday after the race.  No hotel room is needed.  Now we had a plan.

So we booked!  We got a Delta Airlines flight from JFK to Orlando, with a connection in Raleigh, roundtrip.  I packed just a backpack with my favorite Jeff Gordon t-shirt and hat, my mp3 player, and some snacks.  My mom packed roughly the same stuff (except all of her apparel had a large 8 on it with pictures of Dale Earnhardt Jr, ugh).  At JFK, we boarded this tiny little airplane where we had to walk out on the tarmac and up the steps.  I took this opportunity to act much more important than I was and as I approached the door of the plane, at the top of the staircase, I turned and waved to my amazing fans and public....  Okay fine, it was just the baggage handlers and they didn't even wave back.  Jerks.

We arrived in Raleigh at about noon and had a delightful lunch before flying down to Orlando.  At this point, we reviewed our plan...  We arrive in Orlando at about two in the afternoon.  We pick up the car and drive the hour and a half drive to Daytona (expecting race traffic, probably much longer than that).  We hang out at the track for pre-race activities until eight o'clock when the race starts.  At about midnight, we get the car and drive back to Orlando and wait until our 5:30am flight back to New York.  Everything was perfect.  What could go wrong?

We picked up our Chrysler Sebring convertible (we were living large) after dodging all the cruise, resort, and timeshare salespeople that bombard the newly arriving passengers.  An so we cruised to Daytona with the top down and our shirts and hats proudly displaying where we were going and who we were rooting for.  As we arrived in what had literally become NASCAR City, we were directed to park in the lot of some university many miles from the track.  Shuttle buses then took us to a lot, much closer to the track.  As I stepped out of the bus, I heard a squishy sound and feel under my foot.  Mud?  What the hell!?  Where did all the mud come from?  The lot was a disgusting mess!  Well, that goes to show how much I knew about Florida weather and the random rain storms that would move through.  Wait, what?  What was this about rain?  NO! Nononononononononono.  The slick rubber tires of a race car do not mix well, or at all, with rain.  

With sky looking clear, my mom and I basked in the gluttony that makes a NASCAR race.  Sausage and pepper sandwiches, lemon slushies, pizza... oh man, its great.  There is a reason why a lot of NASCAR fans look the way they do.  Pre-race activities began as paratroopers flew in from the sky and we found out seats by the Start/Finish line, much closer than the first time we came, when we sat in the Depalma box, almost half a mile down the the track, jeez that was far away.  Lisa Marie Presley sang the National Anthem as three F-16 Fighting Falcons flew overhead causing all 100,000 plus people to gaze at the awesome power of the nation's military.  Shortly after, the most important words in all of motorsports, this time, Donald Rumsfeld, the then Secretary of Defense proudly told the drivers to 'start their engines'.  And that was when Florida rained on our parade.  

It poured.  People put on ponchos.  Others went underneath the grandstands.  Teams brought out covers for the cars and NASCAR started up their jet dryers (jet engines on the back of pickup trucks which heat the track).  My mom and I sat there, in our one set of clothes and sneakers, staring straight ahead, soaked to the bone, and waited.  Hours passed.  I had never been so drenched in my life and I am a swimmer!  At times the rain lightened up or stopped which gave us all hope, only to start pouring again.  The wind picked up and the temperature dropped.  No, I didn't have a sweatshirt or anything, it's Florida in July, why would I have a jacket!?  I went down to try and find some coffee.  The only concession stand with a cup was down in the Depalma box, oh no...  Our original seats, about a half mile away.  At times, while sitting there, my mom cried.  Hell, even I cried.  Our perfect plan ruined!  This was not fair...  we were getting ready to leave, to fly back to New York, without having seen a race.  At 11pm, NASCAR had dried the track enough and called drivers to the their cars.  Amazingly, to the surprise of the diehards, neigh, idiots, still in the stands, the race was on.

The green flag dropped at about 11:30 and racing commenced.  It was worth the wait.  Still soaked to the bone and freezing cold, we now cheered on our favorites with all the energy that we had left.  Mark Martin, my little brother's favorite driver, took a spin and crashed into the wall right in front of us.  Boris Said spun out and took his car through the grass kicking up mud and splashing water in a spectacular display, causing the fans to jump up and scream.  A couple of hours later, Tony Stewart survived the rain and mayhem and won the race, climbing the fence for the first time, to celebrate with his fans.  Jeff Gordon placed seventh and Dale Earnhardt Jr finished third.  

It was two o'clock, Sunday morning when we finally got back to our Sebring and started the trek back to Orlando.  We fought through post race traffic while a sensational fireworks display went off above Daytona International Speedway, and eventually made our way back to I-4 en route to the airport.  It was 3am and the roads were empty, we were hungry, we were tired.  "Are you alright, can you drive?"  "Yes mom, I'm fine" were the only phrases that made up a mostly repetitive conversation during the drive back.  We decided to pull off and get something to eat and some coffee.  At an exit near Deltona, I pulled of the highway, followed by another car behind me.  Figuring Deltona was a bigger city, there would be someplace to get food, Florida's version of a 7-11 or Wawa or something, anything!  As we come off the exit to the cross road, I looked left, I looked right.  As far as the eye could see, which was not very far, was total darkness.  The road disappeared.  No lights, no signs, no food, and most importantly... no coffee!  I turned the wheel hard to the left and pulled a U-turn on the exit ramp and drove back down to I-4.  There was no way in hell, I was going on that creepy dark road.  Apparently, the guy behind me thought that the same thing and followed with the U-turn, smart move (yes, I was a little worried that they were following me, but I was too tired to really care).  We eventually found a cup of coffee at a rest stop on the highway.  The place was filled with NASCAR fans fueling themselves up for whatever trip they had in front of them.  

We arrived at Orlando Int'l Airport at 5:30am, just in time to watch our Delta flight leave, sigh.  I was tired.  I was hungry.  And now, I wanted to be home.  That is a terrible combination of feelings.  We spoke to Delta and they put us on a Song Airlines (Delta's failed attempt to compete with Jetblue) flight at 7am, direct to New York.  WOOHOO!  No connection.  By this time, our clothes had dried, we had our flight home, we saw the race, everything had worked out.  As we boarded the plane and took our seats, the flight attendants had new age music playing.  There were TV's in the seat-backs, pillows, and food... what a glorious flight home this was going to be, I was excited.  Three minutes later, I was sound asleep.  I don't remember taking off, I didn't get any food or even my usual in-flight orange juice.  I woke up while on approach to JFK, in time to see us land safely at home.  After a short train and car ride back to our house, out adventure had come to an end.  I feasted, I slept, and I began planning the next one...

Forget 'Great Expectations', Try No Expectations!

Twelve college students, walk into the woods...  Sounds like the beginning of a horror movie.  One by one, each student is killed in some gruesome way while going through the woods.  Maybe one is carrying a video camera, documenting the torture to their fellow classmates.  This could also be the beginning of a terrible joke.  Twelve students walk into a bar, they all collectively say "ow!".  I know, terrible...  I didn't laugh either.  But no, this is not a horror story or some terrible stand-up routine... Sorry to disappoint.


I joined the Columbia Hiking Club in an effort to meet new people and get a change of scenery.  I love New York City, but nothing beats the occasional escape into nature (just wait until I start talking about a place lovingly called "Upstate").  I signed up for this hike a couple of weeks ago and eagerly awaited for the day to finally come.  On Friday, the destination was posted... The Delaware Water Gap.  I was even more excited than before.  I had driven through the Water Gap many times on my way to destinations further west, yet never explored the area.


6:00am on a Saturday arrived rather early and my alarm went off reminding me of the adventure that awaited me.  I had no idea what to expect from the day ahead.  Usually, I hate that.  I am someone that likes a plan, not necessarily a broken down itinerary, but at least a vague idea of what the day will bring.  This time, nothing.  I didn't know the people and I didn't know anything about the destination.  No expectations.  By 8:00am, campus was just coming to life.  Sports teams were boarding buses, students were looking for breakfast and lounging out by the steps to Low Library, and I was standing quietly at the 116 st. and Amsterdam gate.  Slowly, a small group of people with backpacks and hiking boots began to gather.  Some quick introductions were made as we boarded the rental van.  A van is pretty close quarters for 12 people, especially for an hour and a half drive.  Initially, the van was silent.  Gradually, some more introductions were made.  The guy sitting next to me introduced himself as Josh.  Eventually, the van was buzzing with the conversation of students meeting students.  "Which school are you in?"  "What degree program are you in?"  "How long were you in Butler (library) last night?"  Everyone seemed nice and friendly.  Josh even made the point: it takes a certain type of person to get up early on saturday and go hiking with people you've never met before, you're not going to get a bunch of jerks.  Hmm, good point.


We arrived at the trailhead, now a group of acquaintances as opposed to being just co-members of a university club.  As we set out on the hike, we were all single file and quiet.  That didn't last long as the conversation started right back up, probably scaring most of the wildlife from there to Pennsylvania.  Stories about people's lives and backgrounds, jokes, and laughter filled the forest as we traversed the rock and dirt path.  At times, the path became steep.  Sweat started to pour, breaths got deeper, conversation slowed and stopped.  Hours passed and we got higher and higher above sea level.  A newt skittered past, a snake slithered and stuck its tongue out at us.  An older couple sitting on a log informed us that we just missed a black bear wandering in the woods.  An actual real life BEAR!  Im kind of glad we missed that one...  We looked down an abandoned copper mine, saw the autumnal effects on the leaves, and eventually came to a vista overlooking the beautiful Delaware river and surrounding woodlands with awe.


As we approached this vista, a man walking past said that the "official bird counter" was up there observing bald eagles and broad-wing hawks.  Okay... bald eagles are pretty damn cool, but what was this about an "official bird counter!?"  What the ... Such a job exists?  Does it pay well?  Anyway, there literally was a man standing at the top with one of those little clickers counting the number of migrating birds, but I digress...  The bird watchers were all lounging out on top of the mountain with scopes and binoculars, eating lunches and chatting.  It was here that the ambitious learner quality that resides in Columbia students took over.  I learned more about migrating eagles and hawks than I did over the course of my life.  Way high above us, hawks used thermal updrafts to lift themselves 1000's of feet into the air.  Then they glide down, towards the south, until they hit the next thermal.  By doing this, the birds can travel thousands of miles using very little energy.  We sat and ate our lunches watching the birds and overlooking the Appalachian Mountains.

After forty or so minutes of resting, learning, and watching, we began our descent.  No longer just club-mates or acquaintances, but as friends.  We joked about politics, feminism at Barnard, and anything that came to mind...  How far the topics had progressed in such little time was astounding.  A couple of us already started planning an overnight hike and inquired about volunteering for the group.  On the way home, new friends discussed society and life, a far cry from talking about class and programs.  Finally, e-mails and phones numbers were exchanged and we all went our separate ways, for now.

I didn't expect to meet so many awesome people or learn about migrating birds or even sign up as a driver for an overnight hike, but I'm really glad I did.  No expectations.  Go try something with no preconceived notions or plans.  Always keep an open mind and as my swim coach used to tell me all the time, just go with the flow.  You might experience something great that otherwise may have disappointed.

Got Ca? It Does a Body Good!

I thought I'd post another quick lesson in health today, in between my chemistry/physics studying and programming work.  So, read and go be healthy!

I don't think I am going out on a limb when I say we all remember the bombardment of milk ads that we've all seen in life.  "Milk.  It does a body good" and "Got Milk?" were revolutionary ad campaigns promoting the dairy industry's number one product.  Maybe your parents also said things like 'a glass of milk is part of a balanced breakfast' or something to reinforce milk's consumption.  I know my parents did.  In fact, they took it to a further extent.  The rule in my house was that the only thing we were allowed to drink during dinner was milk.  Flank steak, spaghetti and meatballs, stir-fry, the meal didn't matter... a glass filled with the white liquid accompanied it.  In fact, thats all we were allowed to drink for the rest of the night.  Water was always an option, but I never really considered it.  So milk it was...  But why?  What made this stuff so special and so much better than my beloved orange juice or soda?

Well, I may have not enjoyed that rule, but to this day, my bones are still thanking my parents.  You see, milk and other dairy products are a human's primary source of calcium (Ca).  Calcium, is a mineral that is essential to human life, especially early on while the skeleton is developing.  As the skeleton grows, calcium is used to build bone structure.  In fact, bones are the primary storage location of the mineral.  Around ninety-nine percent of the body's calcium is found in bones, providing them with their strength and structure.  Deficiencies in calcium would, in turn, lead to weaker bones and osteoporosis (fragile, porous bones that break easily due to lower density).  

Calcium deficiency problems arise due to the fact that bone density is not calcium's only purpose in the body and intake is inadequate.  The mineral is used in everything from muscle contractions, blood clotting, nerve impulse transmissions, enzymes, and neurotransmitters.  Here's the kicker...  The body considers all of those purposes more important than the strength of its bones.  So take a guess as to what's going to suffer if calcium intake is not up to par.  The body will sense a drop in blood-calcium levels.  It will then proceed to pull calcium from bones (as well as try to absorb more and excrete less) in order to bring those levels back to normal and balanced.  However, if the deficiency continues, the body will continue to use the bone's calcium stores to maintain the functionality of vital systems, like the contractions of the heart.

Okay, finally the importance of the drink makes sense...  Growing up, I had no idea.  So how do you get your 1,000 milligrams?  Or even more if you are above 50 (closer to 1,500 mg).  A glass of milk contains about 300mg of absorbable calcium, so drink up.  Other food sources include cabbage, broccoli, and other green veggies.  The problem with some green veggies, like spinach, is that the calcium is not absorbable.  So heed the ads, get yourself a milk mustache and do your body good!  Try it with your dinner, I know I still do!