The not so Real World

I enter the gym to find two cast members of MTV's new Real World season (Brooklyn) working out on my favorite machines. Cameras are hovering around the dudes and a big fluffy boom mic is swaying over their heads. I make sure I get on the rowing machine between these two Real World punks. I'm gonna be in this fucking shot.

In 1992 when the very first Real World season started in NYC, the cast was actually cool. It was a GOOD show. Granted, I was 17 years old and trapped in high school. After watching five seconds of that show I knew I was destined to live in New York city. And that's exactly what happened. Ha!

Hence, it was kind of weird to meet these new Real World people... they must have been 3 or 4 years old when the REAL real world aired. These kids don't know what it's all about. I miss Eric, Julie, Norm, Heather, Becky, Kevin and the guy who played in the grunge band.

Saturday morning

I get off at Morgan Avenue on the L-line, a pretty rough neighborhood I would say. I think it's Bushwick, maybe East Williamsburg. I can see the huge Marcy housing projects from where I stand, which is in Bed-Stuy (a friend of mine told me that many high profile rappers are from the Marcy projects. Oh well).

I walk past warehouses, factories, junkyards with old cars and with rottweilers, and I see.... a bunch of young, white, hipster kids having a smoke outside an organic coffee shop. Huh? How did they end up here? And where do they live? I see no apartment buildings except for the projects, and I know they don't live there. And why does the coffee place have to be organic?

I decide to follow one of them as she stands up to leave, but around the corner she gets on a bicycle, she rides off and flips the bird to a car that drives too close to her.

Is this the "new" Williamsburg? There's always a new Williamsburg somewhere. Anywho, the reason I was in Bushwick was to take my EMS physical agility test... I passed it!!

Wohooo!

When the California polls closed and the projection was - Obama! we heard a roar of cheers and cars honking from outside. We put our shoes on and ran out to join the party. A huge crowd had gathered up the street in the intersection. There was dancing, drumming, climbing up on lamp posts, drinking, toasting, cheering, screaming and jumping. Police cars arrived with lights and sirens from all directions. But, to our great relief, they did nothing to stop the party. The cops just directed traffic around the crowds (thanks NYPD!). A beautiful night.

Praying

I'm nervous about the election. Obama MUST win, must, must, must. Brooklyn, as well as the rest of NYC (maybe not Staten Island though), are heavy into Barack, no surprise there, and the polling booths are packed. Beautiful! I hope the swing states won't do anything stupid. I hope Florida won't screw up. Please, please, please.

To be continued.

Redemption

I got my driver's license! My (second) road test went smoothly. In fact, I was so awesome I got NO points deducted on my test. That's a perfect score. PERFECT. Not many people get a perfect score on their road test. But I did. I'm the best. The. Best. B.E.S.T.

Attacked by the German

German: "Haben Sie gehort das Deutsche blah blah blah gibberish...?"
Me: "....huh?"

- "You're not German??"
- "Nooooo...."

- "But didn't I just speak to you outside? By the bicycles...? You're not here for the German literary club? You're not one of the German teachers?"
- "...nooooo...I'm looking for the gym to play volleyball."

- "I could have sworn it was you I talked to outside!!"
- "Nope. I'm just another blonde."
- "C'moooon we're not ALL blonde in Germany!!!"

Maybe not, but I bet you wanna be!

Unfair

I failed my driver's road test. Big fat failure. Don't get me wrong, I was driving beautifully throughout the whole test - I parallel parked perfectly, maneuvered the broken U-turn without a problem, handled the left turns and the right turns without any incidents. The tester-lady then asked me to make the next right and stop the car. Test supposed to be over.

I signal right, stop at the stop sign, and turn. Tester-lady hits the brakes on her side. "You should not have gone, see that guy?" I look to my left. A freaking homeless person is pushing a shopping cart with cans and bottles in the middle of the street. He is not crossing the street. He's not walking towards me. He's just walking in the middle of the road. Actually, he's walking away from our car. "You fail."

These are the emotions I feel at the moment. They are pretty much the same as the five stages of grief that psychiatrist Elizabeth Kubler-Ross wrote about in her renowned book "On Death and Dying". I go through death and dying emotions every time my ego's hurt. Like today. Here we go:

1) Denial. ("No way!!")
2) Anger. ("What the fuck?!?!?!")
3) Bargaining. ("But...but....but...")
4) Depresssion. ("This blows")
5) Acceptance. ("Oh well...")

I haven't gotten to the fifth stage. Just knowing Paris Hilton has a driver's license and I don't... that makes me angry. I bet you there were no homeless people around when Paris got her license.

I DID NOT GET MY LICENSE BECAUSE A HOMELESS PERSON WAS PUSHING HIS CART IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD!!