Events of the Current

Photo Source: http://bemetweb.blogspot.com/

I drove past St. Vincent's Hospital late this morning and all the entrances were boarded up with wood. For a taxi driver, not many things could be classified as eerie sights. I had heard of its closing on news radio for days now. I didn't think much of it, aside from my geographic mind mapping out the routes and distances ambulance drivers would now have to detour towards, from any given neighborhood. But as I drove past this morning, it hit me. The familiar buzz of hopeful eyes exiting its doors. The urgent (if open) eyes being carried in on stretchers, as I do my auto-pilot wiggle around double parked ambulances. It's as if none of that was ever there now. The residential rents are are so high in that area. Couldn't someone with all that money put some down on behalf of the community? I guess their insurance plans are only good in other hospitals.

Another highly disappointing situation I heard about in the cab is the oil spill in Louisiana, right at the very lips of the mouth of the Mississippi River. It's quickly on its way to being on par with Exxon Valdez, if that means anything to you. Basically, complete ecological devastation. It's times like these that I question my role as a burner of fossil fuels. However, I stick to my guns (guts) on the idea that my job is a highly efficient, and mostly necessary use of petroleum. It just needs to max out in passenger capacity more often, and run on hydrogen. If we operated with the organic resourcefulness of taxicabs in the third world, we'd be pretty damn eco-friendly.

What's left among current events that is relevant to my occupation? Immigration. Every now and then I get someone run up to my window with a look of desperation on their face.

"Do you speak Espanish?"

"Si, claro."

"Me puedes llevar al consulado Mexicano? (or whichever it might be)"

Of course I can take you to your consulate. I know where the ones are for Colombia, Philippines, Peru, Poland, Indonesia, Pakistan, Mexico, and a few others. I find out real quick where they are if I don't already know. I usually just remember where it was I've seen the flag drooping down from the second or third floor. Yes, I have 98% of the world's flags memorized by color and design. Capitals too. (I've been obsessed with geography since I was 6 years old.) I always slice off a dollar or two from the fare for my fellow immigrants who are on an urgent task to secure their opportunity to work (and/or live) in this country. If I charge them the full fare, I can't help but feel as though I am some sort of COYOTE, taking advantage of their urgency.

I too was born abroad. In 1984 I immigrated to the U.S. with my parents (as a 4 year old on a tourist visa.) Our arrival in Los Angeles coincided with the summer games of the XXIII Olympiad. A year later we were granted Green Cards, thanks mostly to the fact that my step grandmother was a U.S.- born citizen. That was an easy excuse back then. Not anymore. We remained safe, sound, and content as resident aliens until 2006. By then the Bush administration had thoroughly inspired us to get naturalized ("love it or get the hell out," so to speak). If that hadn't done it, present-day Arizona would have. In observance of May Day tomorrow, there will be an Immigration Reform march in downtown Manhattan. It starts at 10:45 AM, by Federal Plaza, and goes down Centre, Park Row, Barclay, Church, Worth, and back to Foley Square.

Copa Mundial In 42 Days

Ever since I was a little kid this event has meant a great deal to me. In fact, it's the only major sporting phenomenon that has always kept my attention. Otherwise (to me), sports is something you do on the street or in the park with friends, not on the couch in front of a television. What makes this televised occurrence special is that it brings together all of humanity in mostly good-natured competition for a handful of weeks. As an ethnophile, I salivate over which of the 32 teams that made it through the heartbreaking eliminatory stages might be my favorites. As a New Yorker, I can't wait to rant and rave, laugh and cry with everyone.

Some interesting details about this particular cup's qualifiers: Can you believe both North and South Korea have made it to the world cup? There is in fact a small possibility they might both end up in the finals. Wouldn't that be weird? The two Koreas battling it out on the field?

Above are another two teams that curiously qualified in the same world cup: Slovenia and Slovakia. In the early 1990s each of these countries broke away from unions with neighbors. Algeria (emblem with crescent moon) was the only Arab nation to qualify. No middle eastern nation made it this time around. Not Palestine. Not Israel. Not that either of those ever do. Nobody. Not even Iran or the Saudis, who are often present. No Andean nation qualified either, which includes my dear Colombia. How sad. Virtually every non-Andean country in South America did get in. For Honduras, it's their second ever appearance. Obviously, I'll be rooting for such underdogs. Other teams on my favorites list include Portugal, Ghana, Greece, and Mexico.

Do Something About This

Half of the bathroom stalls at JFK's central taxi hold are out of order, with 5 gallon buckets stuffed into the toilets. It has been this way for a long, long time. Instead of 8 toilets for up to 500 cab drivers, only about 4 are functional. Mind you, hundreds of hacks remain trapped inside this massive lot for 2-4 hours.

This is how much respect and appreciation our city has for us. The worst part is that TLC ex-chairman Daus paid several visits to the lot and posed in pictures with smiling cabbies, which were shown in the Taxi Insider (a newspaper representing our transportation industry). Don't come and give us hugs, pretending to be our best friend on camera, and then leave the bathrooms in this state of disorder for months on end. I sure hope this new Yassky guy is more sensitive to our basic needs. Yes, that's right. We have a new TLC Chairman.

Image Sources: Wikipedia and Verizon

Serene 17th (Part II)

Every so often people and places synchronize and line up like the planets, in my cab. That weekend my partner, Jenine, had come into town from Rhode Island, specifically to see the International Exposition of Sculpture Objects and Functional Art. She didn't bother asking me to go because she knew I'd refuse to spend $25 on admission, much less take the day off to go. Approaching 9 A.M., she was still asleep in my apartment as I hustled the streets for fares.

I made a pit stop at Starbucks on East 17th to go #2. I took exactly the perfect amount of time to complete that endeavor, because I immediately hopped back in the cab, made a left onto Fifth Ave., and magically picked up a woman who turned out to be one of the big dealers for that art show. Not one minute into the ride she handed me a free pass for two, good for all four days of the show (and $80 value!)

Now, as you hopefully read in the first half of this shift (previous post), I was having a really lucrative morning so far. I knew all of these things combined meant the universe was opening a window of opportunity for me to simply turn the cab in early today and go to the art show with Jenine. I couldn't contain my excitement, so I picked up the phone and gave her a rude, yet uplifting awakening. She went from cranky to ecstatic in 5 seconds. We agreed to wait an hour to see if I could will into existence a fare into Brooklyn. That hour went by and the closest I got was Battery Park City, so I decided to just hop on the Brooklyn Bridge and shoot down the BQE, since the Metropolitan exit lines right up with Ainslie, the very street that leads to my doorstep.

She joined me for my last two hours on-duty. We looped around the main drag of Williamsburg a few times and came out with a trio of the most delightful Ohioan tourists hopping flea markets. All they had to say was Fort Greene Flea and I knew exactly where to head. Jenine talked it up with them, so much to their enjoyment that they dished out $20 for a $10 fare. Upon crossing the Manhattan Bridge with an empty backseat, we parked in the Lower East Side briefly, so she could grab a snack from Babycakes (a vegan and gluten-free bakery). I also wanted to get a close up look at the three buildings on Grand and Eldridge that were charred in a blaze last week.

WE HAD THREE MORE MENTIONABLE FARES BEFORE TURNING IN THE CAB:
1. A Swedish couple, stuck in NY due to volcanic ash, who had a wonderful time chatting with and being transported to the Theater District by a dynamic taxi-operating duo, to see "In The Heights." Oh, how I love Jenine and her exquisite mind and spirit. And I must try to see that Broadway show. Never been to one, and I hear it's especially good if you love the anthropology of New York (as I obviously do!)

2. A lawyer who said most of her colleagues are buying East River-front condos in Brooklyn, hence contributing directly to the neighborhood's second wave of gentrification. First it was the Latinos. Now the artists and musicians who pushed them out. The history of SoHo repeats itself here.

3. A young New Yorker waiting for the B62 bus on Park Avenue by the Navy Yard. I drove past him and thought, "He's probably going to downtown Brooklyn. Why don't I just offer him a free ride, since it's in on our way to the depot?" Jenine looked at me funny as I stopped abruptly and reversed into the bus stop. The guy looked at me funny too, but accepted the offer without thinking twice. He'd been waiting 15 minutes for the bus and was so relieved to be given a free ride by a yellow cab, something that never happens. It felt good to do something I'd be so thankful for, if offered. And thankful he was! I even earned me a little peck on the cheek from a very beautiful co-pilot. He jumped out on Flatbush and Tillary.

We gassed up and turned in the cab. I mentioned a possible car problem to a mechanic at the garage, and he got upset that I hadn't brought the cab back when I first heard rattling noises in the axle. It started during my first two hours on the road. Returning the taxi then would have sabotaged this entire streak of luck. But that is not why I had neglected to bring the cab back. You see, at my previous garage in Greenpoint, both the dispatcher and the mechanics would have chewed me out for bringing a cab back that wasn't completely falling apart. As long as it ran, their policy was not to bother with it. Being the creature of routine protocol that I can be, I had that unpleasant and bankrupting scenario in my head when I chose to stay out.

The art expo turned out alright. Nothing I would have paid full admission for. Afterward we took the 6, N, and 7 trains out to Tito Rad's for a Pinoy meal. Lovely ambiance and tasty dishes, but the waitress didn't recognize the Pinay in Jenine, which was a bit of a bummer.

My favorite part of the entire evening were the two Senegalese men on the subway platform beneath 68th Street, playing and singing traditional Senegalese music that raised the hairs on my arms with its beautiful grace and humility.

Last but not least: I have a brief request for the folks in charge of TAXI TV. Is there any way you could refrain from playing that little recording over and over and over again, throughout every single fare..... the one that says, "Welcome to Del Frisco's" ? It's really drilling a hole through not only my head, but the heads of a number of passengers who've complained. And, if you could, when a passenger presses the off button, could you see to it that it actually does in fact go off, and not back on again without anyone's permission? I would really appreciate it, from the bottom of my heart!

Serene on the Seventeenth

Photo from fascinating Gothamist article about cabbies.

At 4:30 A.M. I depart the depot and come over the Brooklyn Bridge. Several vacant cabs hog the main off-ramp (Civic Center), so I opt for the Park Row exit instead. A vacant cab heads straight onto Barclay, so I go left down the Canyon of Heroes. Just before Bowling Green, I pick up my first fare. Up Avenue of the Americas. Right on 34th. Have a nice night (day).

Just a few feet ahead I stop for Craig, my second fare. We take Madison and Broadway all the way up to 161st Street. My taxicab is the friendliest, most non-judgmental one he's ever ridden in. His advice on heterosexual romance is the most omniscient and non-intrusive that a drunk, homosexual passenger has ever offered. By the time we get to Harlem, he feels so comfortable that he politely asks if he could sit up front, and I instinctively let him. He tacks on a $20 tip to the $19 fare and disappears into the predawn abyss.

As I make a U-turn for downtown again, I am hailed by a man trying to get to his hotel on 125th and St. Nicholas. It's his birthday and his "lucky night." At the first red light he rolls down his window and asks a woman walking on the sidewalk if she has a cigarette. She comes over and he opens the door. She steps right in and they start making out. I haven't had my cup of coffee yet and I'm entirely unsure of what's happening. She pets his head and tells him to relax. She has a thick New York accent and he sort of does, too. He rounds the tip to the next dollar and they step out.

Minutes later I scoop up two buff men on Central Park West at 105th, heading up to 171st and Fort Washington. As soon as they exit the cab, a vulnerable young transplant from San Luis Obispo runs over and hops in. He's going to 96th and Amsterdam. With that, my predawn roll in upper Manhattan ends. It isn't until after sunrise that I find my next fare, and only due to swift stratagem.

I'm cruising up 4th Avenue and vacant cabs infest every possible route, except East 10th. As I complete that long and potentially treacherous right turn, a man in my peripheral vision steps out of his apartment building. I slow to a crawl and poke my head out the window. Mere eye contact yields a trip to Flushing Avenue and Bogart (Brooklyn). I return via Metropolitan, which yields a pleasant fare back over the bridge to 9th and C, followed by okra on rice for breakfast, at the Punjabis on Houston St.

Around 8 A.M. I transport a Tudor City trio to Newark Airport ($55). After returning through the Holland Tunnel I pick up a Jewish trio in TriBeca, en route to Friends Seminary for their teen's exam. Upon dropping off, I turn the corner onto Rutherford Place and stop to jot down a few notes. Soon I hear whistling from behind. One of them needs a brisk emergency ride back to TriBeCa to grab documents they forgot at home, and then come right back. I do it all with a smile. He says, "I want you to have lunch on me." That's two $20 bills and $10 from the initial trip. $50 in 25 minutes. Or $105 in justsengers, bridges and tunnels, driver philosophy, exceptionally sweet passengers, food, income, lower manhattan, mid and uptown over an hour. That alone covers the (fixed) lease!

Second half of the shift coming soon to a blog near you.....
Stop in at the tips blog for today's digest: Wishful Yearning (Citizens' Band)

Thank You Eyjafjallajokull

Image Source: http://blog.roomwithaview.is/

It seems everyone was so focused on the widespread inconveniences caused by that volcanic eruption in Iceland that they forgot to look at it from a different perspective. In the cab all week I broke the ice with passengers by commenting on how much kerosene wasn't being burned into the atmosphere, hence giving the planet's lungs a little time to catch their breath.

I HEARD ON THE NEWS THAT AS SOON AS SOME AIRLINES FLEW TEST FLIGHTS WITHOUT PASSENGERS THROUGH THE VOLCANIC ASHES AND CAME OUT ALIVE, THERE WAS AN UPROAR WORLDWIDE QUESTIONING THE NEED FOR AIRSPACE RESTRICTIONS IN THE FIRST PLACE. I'M SORRY BUT HUMAN BEINGS ARE QUITE THE INSATIABLE CROWD. IF THE AIRLINES AND THEIR GOVERNMENTS WOULD HAVE BEEN CARELESS AND ALLOWED FLIGHTS TO PLUNGE CATASTROPHICALLY OUT OF THE SKIES, THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN A CONTROVERSY TOO. YOU CAN'T WIN WITH PEOPLE. THE BLAME GAME NEVER CEASES.

FACT OF THE MATTER IS THAT JET ENGINES SUCK IN OXYGEN IN ORDER TO IGNITE THE TURBINES, WHICH COMPRESS THE AIR, THEREBY PUSHING THE PLANE FORWARD. WE DO NOT WANT TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN FINE DUST PARTICLES FROM THE VOLCANO INTERRUPT AND CHOKE THE ENGINES AND TURBINES.

On a side note, here's an article about a famous comedian who took a taxi from Norway to Belgium. And here's an article about how Eyjafjallajokull is affecting New York City. I love the butterfly effect. I do! Please do give my other blog a brief visit, especially if you live in NYC. You might find it helpful, whether you take taxicabs or drive one.

The latest post is called FROM FLEA TO SHINING FLEA!

El Borachito de FiDi

I picked this guy up on First Avenue and 6th Street about an hour after the bars had closed. He asked to be driven to the corner of Wall and Pearl. I said no problem. He fell asleep early on in the ride and did not wake up. No matter what I did to awaken him at the destination, he would not respond. His breathing was normal, but he was obviously extremely intoxicated. I drove around the block and found two cops who shined flashlights in his eyes and lifted him into an upright position. They waited patiently for about ten minutes while he fumbled around with his wallet and was finally able to swipe his credit card and stumble home. Barely coherent, but visibly embarrassed, he apologized profusely to me and then to the cops. I hope he made it to bed that night (early morning).

PLEASE CHECK OUT MY LATEST DISPATCH ON TIPS FOR HACKS AND PASSENGERS.

IT'S CALLED "HOW A CABBIE WOULD CATCH A CAB"

7 Lovely Fares

My dispatcher called me at 5 am, a whole hour after my latest intended time of departure from home. There aren't enough hours in a day, so I wound up staying up way past my bedtime. Whose ungodly bedtime is at 7 pm anyhow?

"I'll be right there Bobo."

"O.K. Avineri, just making sure you're coming".

Like I've said before: the sweetest taxi dispatcher in NYC. I run out the door and hail. A Coptic cabbie pulls over on Metro and almost pulls a refusal on me for not heading into Manhattan, but succumbs when I beg and plea that I'm a cabbie too, trying to make it to my garage at a reasonable hour. At the end he refuses to accept more than a $10 bill for the $12 fare. He wouldn't let me pay him full price, let alone the tip. I'd do the same for any yellow brethren of mine.

It's a late start, but my luck makes up for it. First fare is a Macy's employee who was walking to the subway and forgot something at home in Cobble Hill. I stop for him there first and then we're off to Grand Central Station, via Brooklyn Bridge and FDR. He's headed for the soon-to-open new Macy's store in Yonkers, and he does not want to miss his MTA North. $25 right of the bat.

Minutes later I land a fare to JFK for a young lady who got a couple days off to go visit family back home in Los Angeles. We discuss the futuristic vibe of Virgin America. Add $54. I catch up on my zees at the central hold for an hour and twenty minutes, before taking two women from Charlotte, NC to their hotel in Times Square. They ask me for good eating places. They claim to like all foods. I prepare them a written list while in short lived bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Van Wyck.

#1. Yatagan Turkish Grill on Macdougal in Greenwich Village.

#2. Nam Son Vietnamese on Grand St. in Chinatown.

#3. Grimaldi's Brick Oven Pizzeria in DUMBO.

Add $60 and subtract $5 for the QM Tunnel. I would have taken the free (and panoramic) bridge, but 1010 am reported a stalled vehicle on the lower level, which affects all approaches. Soon after, a black Costa Rican lady who speaks nearly no Spanish got in, late for work on the other end of Midtown. She's been here since age 1 and will end up living in the Caribbean some day soon. Three rides later a Slavic Jew on 22nd and First requests Grand Central, but he's allergic to 42nd Street. He's pleased with my shortcut via 33rd and up Park.

Across the street, two girls look around in confusion. I roll down my window and offer assistance. They seek the Holiday Inn on 57th and have no other info, and no cabbie on their side of the street wishes to help. I flash my hazard lights, put it in park, and run across all the lanes to haul over their luggage. They kindly share an Excedrin for my migraine.

Moments later a Mexican employee of Lucky's Famous Burgers motions me to turn left into the most backed up block in Hell's Kitchen. When I get him to tell me that he's going to Chelsea with two big boxes of frozen fries that are sitting half way down the block, I offer to pull over without getting off Ninth, and run over to carry them back with him. I then utilize the time we saved avoiding traffic standstills by stopping at the 99 cent Bangladeshi Pizzeria to get us each a couple slices of the best cheap cheese in NY. He's flattered.

Later in the day I had the honor of taking the two joint owners of Empire Diner in Chelsea to West 72nd. Theirs is the diner that flashes bright as you travel along Tenth Avenue.

Tomorrow is Int'l Roma Day

AT THE READY

Being “on-duty” takes on a much deeper meaning to me than simply hacking. I am the eyes of New York. My scanning of every inch of public space and my vigilance of every visible human being, though done for the sake of seeking out a fare, can't help but double as a form of citizen patrol. I am at all times prepared, at the drop of a dime, to (reasonably) step into any situation and facilitate safety, justice, and the well-being of strangers.

My ears prick up when I hear vulnerability and/or aggression on the streets. My eyes read facial expressions and bodily gestures like a studious Jew reads the Torah. My reflexes spot movements as if the seconds of time are getting sucked forward ever so slightly, like a mosquito that successfully evades a swat. I get in and out of the cab readily, like a milkman making his rounds.

Ideally, my work bag for the cab contains jumper cables, a tire iron, a car jack, a couple of used inner tubes (as ropes), a subway map in case someone needs directions, an air pump for bicyclists with low pressure, the shirt off my back, etc.

A SMALL TRIUMPH

Emilie Gossiaux and I accomplished the impossible task of transporting a very oddly shaped sculpture she made, from Cooper Union to Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

It fit perfectly around the roof cone of my cab. It could not have been done without her sense of certainty and trust. Emilie has been one of my sister's closest friends since high school (in Florida). They're pictured above. Lizette Avineri (on the right) has been studying fashion design

at Parsons for three years and Emilie (left) has been at Cooper Union for Fine Arts (same amount of time). I consider them both my little sisters.

CARTOMANIA

I've always loved maps. This illustration is a sort of map of external information that I was internalizing back around 1999.

The link below is to an interactive map that the NY Times just revealed, courtesy of required Global Positioning Systems that record our every move. I felt a bit awkward and resentful when I first saw it, but I feel better now. I think it's quite intriguing to see the fluctuating volumes of fares by the hour at various street corners.....

TRACKING TAXI FLOW THROUGHOUT THE CITY

Yesterday I attended my first general meeting of the NY TAXI WORKERS ALLIANCE at their headquarters in the Flatiron/Wholesale District. I really enjoyed sitting among drivers from every possible background and discussing, with all seriousness (and humor), the issues we face. I paid my annual due and became a new member, which comes with free life insurance, license protection, legal support, dental discounts, and social services facilitation. I had the honor of meeting book author/organizer, Biju Mathew, and the director, Bhairavi Desai. Both are excellent listeners, genuinely eager to collaborate on a very human level.

CALL TO ALL NYC TAXI HACKS!

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 7, AT 1 PM, INSIDE CITY HALL CHAMBERS. BE THERE TO SHOW UNITY AND DEMAND ACCOUNTABILITY. WE HAVE A NEW TLC CHAIRMAN NOW AND IT WILL BE HIS 1st PUBLIC HEARING AS SUCH. PARK YOUR CAB ELSEWHERE AND TAKE A TRAIN OVER. IT'S ABOUT TIME WE POOL TOGETHER.

AND HERE IS A LINK FROM THE GOTHAMIST ABOUT NYTWA VS. TLC

4 Duds and 15 Jobs

PLEASE DO NOT BE INDIFFERENT TO THE GHASTLY SPREAD BETWEEN WHAT YOU ARE AND WHAT YOU COULD BE!

When I was a 23 year old Floridian I tried and failed at moonlighting on several occasions. I mistakenly believed I could keep the day job as groundskeeper at my surrogate grandfather's nursery and wood/metal workshop, while also working a night job. I trained with UPS to load cargo planes and marshal them in at Palm Beach International Airport. I only lasted a session because I got hired at IHOP, where I trained as a waiter for the graveyard shift. I lasted there a week. I trained as the lone overnight copy boy at Kinko's. I only lasted a night. I trained as an overnight custodian at my college campus, vacuuming classrooms and erasing chalkboards. That lasted two weeks.

I've tried several other jobs, most of which I lasted at for much longer periods of time. When I was 16 I got my first job at McDonalds, where I stayed for 3 years. On that third year I also got a job at Mobil Lube Express as a courtesy technician, and even had a third simultaneous job. I was a silk fabric artist's assistant: painting pillow covers and lamp shades. It was all in the name of paying for college as I went along, and flying to see my first love (who lived 1,223 miles away).

Later on I worked at a Palm Beach County library, shelving returned books. I figure modeled for drawing classes at the local High School of the Arts (that my sister attended). I operated a pedicab on the main drag of West Palm. I babysat two elderly men at a sort of nursing home. I spent 3 months on a floating processor off the Alaskan coast, docked on an Aleutian island: yanking, packing, and shipping North Pacific Cod guts. I've also had many odd jobs, mostly cleaning up construction debris at random residential renovations and boarding up windows in advance of hurricanes. I was once the only Judeo-Colombian "man with a van" in PBC. I call all that my grunt work experience.

With my father being a master electrician and handyman deluxe, you'd think I've had more professional training in the trades. The problem was that it never really fascinated me. I've never lasted at anything I didn't love so much that I'd do it for free. I did serve as a helper commercial electrician for a year at the company my father used to work for, but I didn't learn much since I wasn't fully engaged. Don't get me wrong. I'm one of the most assiduous workers you'll ever meet. Tireless. But the info goes through one ear and out the other if I don't have a sentimental attachment invested in the job.

The last three jobs I had were transportation-related. I delivered fresh organic produce to households through Miami-Dade in a cargo van (out of a warehouse) for a little while. Then I moved to NYC and delivered packages as a bicycle messenger for a month. Then I drove a truck for a moving company in New Jersey for a while. And last but certainly no where near least is my current job as a yellow cab driver in Manhattan. It's been the longest running (almost 4 years), most lucrative, and most exhilarating job I've ever had (thus far.)

In the future I'd like to become a paramedic, a bike mechanic, a multi-lingual interpreter, an eco-urban tour guide, a sherpa, a farmer, an ethnomusicologic DJ, a travel writer, an anthropology professor, a geography wizard, a more spiritual person, and a hundred other things.

The price to pay for the luxury of practicing truth is never unaffordable.

Collage Spread From An Old Journal

In the final days of 2004 I started filling this sketchbook with depictions of thoughts, actions, and the observations that inspired them. At the time I had just completed 5 years of college. I'd been working full time (simultaneously) to cover tuition, so I only had 10 or so thousand dollars worth of loans left to pay off. But my intolerance of accruing interest led to an obsession over odd jobs to obliterate my debt.

My degree to be an elementary educator never fully appealed to me. I love children, but I'm no fan of rigid classroom structures. I prefer to be out and about, teaching (and learning) things, but not necessarily anything in particular (just yet.)

My Leo horoscope instructed me to spread my good intentions; be brave in promoting my ideals; ramp up my powers of persuasion to a new level; but not waste my time trying to win over dumb beasts, bad listeners, and narrow-minded dogmatists. To this day, over 5 years later, I remain in that battle.... but like the weaker person in an arm wrestling match, whose hand is perpetually tilted backwards, but never all the way against the table. Forever in it to win it!

FOOTSIE NOTES:

1. AYUDA MUTUA means mutual aid in Espanol.

2. THE PIONEER ANOMALY is an observed deviation from predicted trajectories and velocities of various "unmanned spacecraft", most notably Pioneer 10, 11, and my life.

3. Oscar Wilde once said, "a cynic knows the price of everything, but the value of nothing."

4. Farid El Atrash, born Syrian, raised in Egypt, is widely considered "king of the Oud."