Darkness invades as I set out for a journey, a journey to the City. Long, hard, and thick the pavement takes a beating from my lust for barreling down I-95. The weather is transcendent inducing visions of bars , people, culture and life holding a square dance within my mind. A squawker then brings them to a crashing halt with an abrupt "Thump, Thump,Thump!". Hail and rain pound against my car. The hail beats fiercely causing me to nearly abandoned my stern will resolve to inhale the City with cancerous intent. Nay, I have already traveled to far to allow my body to be transformed into salt, like the Sodomites looking back upon the city in ashes.
I drive hard and fast with reckless abandoned. I'm in a race against the sulfurous rain that seems to be gaining on me. Onwards I press, driving only by wit and distant headlights. Blinded by the rain I hear the frequencies of the City and smell the smog in the air, Its Manhattan. Manhattan, I have arrived at the springboard of modern society once again. I plead with the rain for peace, a moments reprieve. Always having the last word rain gives me the finger and stays for another hour. The night begins.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Epilogue: Stamford 7/25
On my way to my place I stopped off at a diner. In this diner I decided to talk to the people that so dedicatedly served me at 2am on a Wednesday night. Many people have hopes and dreams and goals, from the young immigrant going to community college and the old lady struggling to survive longing for her childhood memories of distant Greece.
The question I had been struggling with is where do I necessarily fit in this picture. In the global sense, how do I connect with these people that make up America. It then occurred to me that my interest in finance could actually benefit them. If I were to become a fund manager, I could make the dreams and hopes of the wealthy and not so wealthy come true. If I consistently beat the market and knew how to manage risks well. The Greek retirement and decent grad school could be realized.
In this I found that by learning about those that I don't talk to on a day to day basis lends to some self realizations.
The question I had been struggling with is where do I necessarily fit in this picture. In the global sense, how do I connect with these people that make up America. It then occurred to me that my interest in finance could actually benefit them. If I were to become a fund manager, I could make the dreams and hopes of the wealthy and not so wealthy come true. If I consistently beat the market and knew how to manage risks well. The Greek retirement and decent grad school could be realized.
In this I found that by learning about those that I don't talk to on a day to day basis lends to some self realizations.
Epilogue:Sascha. Pacha, Gotcha
While wandering around the street we happened upon a curious place called KFC. Simply stated go to Kennedy Fried Chicken, revelation of the night.
Stamford Rack-n-Roll: Wacky Wednsday 7/25
In the land of commuters nothing hits the spot like a wacky Wednesday company social event. Rack-n-roll is your standard pool hall. Its interior is nice littered with well maintained tables xm radio for music, all very standard. Its not the place that grabs you, its the people. If you were at a restaurant and the waiters makes sure your glass is a bottomless pit always filled with beverage, and is amicable you tip well. Rack -n'- roll is the waiter that pulls out all the stops. The service is top notch , while the draught selection is limited its does a good job of maintaining a selection of cheap but tasty beers. Showing its ability to serve the masses of alcoholic beverage consumers they also keep a quality selection of alcohol on hand and can make a good Zombie.
If you want to hangout in the commuter town, shoot some pool, and have a few drinks, Rack-n- roll isn't a decision you need to make . Just go.
If you want to hangout in the commuter town, shoot some pool, and have a few drinks, Rack-n- roll isn't a decision you need to make . Just go.
Sasha, Pacha, Gotcha
Light flickers on and off as I'm rocked gently, back and forth. I soon become acutely aware of the growing sensation that I might not be riding on the Metro North line, that I'm really a patient in a psych ward. However, I'm knocked into reality when I recognize all the familiar trappings of the Metro North commute.
Club Pacha isn't the Metro North line, but its close. If you ride the Metro North for the first time you're immediately captivated by its spacious seating arrangement , wood paneling, and its shiny burgundy leather seats. Then in minutes of sitting reality settles. You notice the seats are not exactly quality leather and the wood paneling is really making you feel cramped. Pacha does the exact same thing for $30 you see a mob of people, listen to clean acoustics of the building a perfect arena for randomness. You think that you have arrived, then reality settles , you immediately become aware of the wood paneling. However, this time the paneling moves and elbows, for a lack of space.
Once you've gotten comfortable and the Metro North is moving the burps and hiccups prevent the ride from being entirely enjoyable, but it does get you were you're going with relative ease. Pacha upholding club tradition, is trite has two floors, and it lends itself,if can tolerate it to good acoustics, club ratio, and horribly expensive bottom barrel alcohol ; at $10 for Capitol Gin.
Sure Metro North has its downsides, but the personality of NY commuters is riotously entertaining. If you don't just enjoy the comforts of your dreams, the commuters make the ride enjoyable. Pacha is a ride that will take you were you wanna go,but without any personality. There are other ways to travel and I prefer those.
Club Pacha isn't the Metro North line, but its close. If you ride the Metro North for the first time you're immediately captivated by its spacious seating arrangement , wood paneling, and its shiny burgundy leather seats. Then in minutes of sitting reality settles. You notice the seats are not exactly quality leather and the wood paneling is really making you feel cramped. Pacha does the exact same thing for $30 you see a mob of people, listen to clean acoustics of the building a perfect arena for randomness. You think that you have arrived, then reality settles , you immediately become aware of the wood paneling. However, this time the paneling moves and elbows, for a lack of space.
Once you've gotten comfortable and the Metro North is moving the burps and hiccups prevent the ride from being entirely enjoyable, but it does get you were you're going with relative ease. Pacha upholding club tradition, is trite has two floors, and it lends itself,if can tolerate it to good acoustics, club ratio, and horribly expensive bottom barrel alcohol ; at $10 for Capitol Gin.
Sure Metro North has its downsides, but the personality of NY commuters is riotously entertaining. If you don't just enjoy the comforts of your dreams, the commuters make the ride enjoyable. Pacha is a ride that will take you were you wanna go,but without any personality. There are other ways to travel and I prefer those.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Notice: Apologies
First and foremost I must apologize to you the unsuspecting reader. I have violated your trust and faith. You put your faith in my ability to post in timely manner and provide you with interesting tales of life. The reason was asinine. I had planned a grand unveiling of features , an interactive version that included audio and images moving, a freak show in its entirety. It was yesterday, that I came to my senses . I should place less emphasis in externally scoping other's view of these stories and improve my writing technique and style to pull you into my world. I won't abandoned you again.
-Zane
-Zane
Prologue: SONO hands in the ruck(England 1- US 0)
Prologue: SONO hands in the ruck(England 1- US 0)
With the night being done and slowly beginning to slip into a haze. I instinctively find someone with a good smoke to aid in my sobriety. Lo and behold it was Tory(UK guy) that came to my rescue and let me bum a good cigarette. Dunhill International, one of the smoothest cigarette's you can find. In the cool crisp night the less than sober people began to rouse themselves to mosey over to the door.
"Dunhillll's Dunhilll's Dunhill's don't taste good at all",booms a late exiter.
" I dunno Dunhill's are pretty fuckin' good cigarette", I state succinctly.
"American cigarettes suck," the Tory says aggressively.
"Not Native American Spirits, Native American Spirits are a Good Fucking Cigarette",I say with patriotic authority.
Not holding back and with a certain air of unwarranted arrogance the Patriot says, "I think that all American cigarettes suck, even Native American Spirits,"
Full of disdain I say,"Fine then lets have a fucking scrum and settle this".
We line up in position he gripped my shoulder and I gripped his. Thoughts of patriotism race through my mind. My heart beat just a little bit faster. I must defend America. He had defiled my beloved Native American cigarettes. They give back to Native American charities, Ryan Adams smokes them, and they're organic. How dare he challenge all that Native American cigarettes stand for.
"Crouch,Touch,Hold,Engage", I roared.
Shit, I can't get a grip in my work shoe. SOB I'm sliding backwards. Fuck! I lost. I don't believe this. End of match. I play it off friendly like, but inside I'm wreathing. I'm told that I looked visibly angry. However, I'm always civil and a loss is a loss. Sorry America.
This ended the social. I sat by my car drinking water and gazing at the railroad tracks. Work the next morning was fun.
Lesson learned if your in a scrum always , always wear shoes with grip.
With the night being done and slowly beginning to slip into a haze. I instinctively find someone with a good smoke to aid in my sobriety. Lo and behold it was Tory(UK guy) that came to my rescue and let me bum a good cigarette. Dunhill International, one of the smoothest cigarette's you can find. In the cool crisp night the less than sober people began to rouse themselves to mosey over to the door.
"Dunhillll's Dunhilll's Dunhill's don't taste good at all",booms a late exiter.
" I dunno Dunhill's are pretty fuckin' good cigarette", I state succinctly.
"American cigarettes suck," the Tory says aggressively.
"Not Native American Spirits, Native American Spirits are a Good Fucking Cigarette",I say with patriotic authority.
Not holding back and with a certain air of unwarranted arrogance the Patriot says, "I think that all American cigarettes suck, even Native American Spirits,"
Full of disdain I say,"Fine then lets have a fucking scrum and settle this".
We line up in position he gripped my shoulder and I gripped his. Thoughts of patriotism race through my mind. My heart beat just a little bit faster. I must defend America. He had defiled my beloved Native American cigarettes. They give back to Native American charities, Ryan Adams smokes them, and they're organic. How dare he challenge all that Native American cigarettes stand for.
"Crouch,Touch,Hold,Engage", I roared.
Shit, I can't get a grip in my work shoe. SOB I'm sliding backwards. Fuck! I lost. I don't believe this. End of match. I play it off friendly like, but inside I'm wreathing. I'm told that I looked visibly angry. However, I'm always civil and a loss is a loss. Sorry America.
This ended the social. I sat by my car drinking water and gazing at the railroad tracks. Work the next morning was fun.
Lesson learned if your in a scrum always , always wear shoes with grip.
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