This was not my original blog idea, but I couldn't help writing this out as I was reading through applicants' forms to obtain a scholarship: People do not know how to write.

I am not saying that no one can make mistakes; everyone does, myself included. But how can you write a 4-page essay (the instructions clearly said one-page, 850 words max.) without reading it over? Or how can you read it over and not notice that -

- you spelled course "coarse". Twice.
- there is no verb in your "sentence".
- a question requires a question mark. Otherwise it's nothing, really, except a poorly constructed sentence.
- When you cite people, or books, say what or who they are. You can't say "bla bla blah" (John Coarvuzi) and expect people to know who that person is. Or "something or other using I to speak about yourself even though you're clearly not the one talking, because why would you quote yourself in your own essay?" (Johnson). Who the hell is Johnson?!
-If you say something like "taking care of him while his health discengrated slower and then quicker than a fly dies. it let me realize life prescious", maybe you should think about the fact that most people don't know how long it takes for a fly to die. I know I don't.

It just really bothers me that so many people can't write. I come accross this sometimes when I copy edit for my school newspaper, and often wonder why we let these people write for a publication. Or simply how the authors themselves aren't able to proof-read what they write.

Now let me just make sure I didn't make horrible grammar mistakes in this post.

Decisions, decisions

Life is full of choices that require decision-making. Thus, we find ourselves constantly making decisions, many of them benign but occasionally they require more thought and have more implications. We have become so accustomed to this decision-making process that we don't even notice it most of the time. Should I jaywalk? What bag should I take today? Small or Medium fries? What train car am I going in?

Then, of course, come the more significant decisions. Should I quit my job? What classes should I take? Do I really want to get married? What career do I want? Some of these decisions are life-changing, yet they are imposed on us when we are young. How are we to know what career we want? I remember the process I had to go through when came the time to apply to college. The first step in determining what schools to apply to was to decide what major I wanted to take, hence implying the ever-important question: what do I want to do with my life?

This choice, and the decision that comes with it, is thrown at kids when they are still in high school. How are we supposed to know what we want to do for the rest of our lives, when we have barely started living it? When you are 18, there are other things on your mind, such as boys (or girls, depending on who we're talking about), parties, graduation, fashion, school (in some cases)... But very few people know for sure what they want to do for the remaining 70 years of their lives, roughly. And how should they? To that point in life, we have been exposed to very few things. We take basic classes in school - English, Math, History, Religion. And then we are expected to magically know what to do.

This, added on to the way society works, leads many people to study some field or other in Business. Why? Simple - the money is good. We are pressured in making decisions that will impact the rest of our lives, and with lack of better option opt for the money. Then people are unhappy and life is shite.

Every decision we make affects our life in some way, from crossing the street to choosing a subway car. Those decisions don't make much difference, but we have to be careful when it comes to more important decisions like accepting a random job, or later quitting it.

Giving a whole new meaning to "Staying zipped up"

I'm starting to find it hard to blog at work, as I dread one of my bosses, commonly known (to me) as SB for Scary Boss. Though she really gives me no work to do, I don't have an office and my back is to the hallway, so anyone who passes by can see what is on my screen (rarely work).

But this is too good not to share. (Incidentally SB just came by as I wrote this. I tried to subtly change the window...) So recently the company I work for had some jerseys done for a bike tour coming up in the fall. One of my young coworkers just received his today by mail, so he came in to see us obviously excited. The jersey is white and, on its front, has the red silhouette of a biker holding his bike up in the air. When he showed three of us the jersey, one of the girls sitting near me cleverly noticed that the zipper ended at a very stragetic place on the man's body.

So the guy wearing the jersey said "oh, it's event worse when you unzip it" before actually unzipping it and having the zipper thing (a white, drop-shapped thing) land right in that strategic place (for the slow ones out there, it was right in the drawing's crotch). We all died laughing, and as the jersey-wearer went around the office, distinct laughter was heard along his trail.

Good times, and Happy Friday!

It must be weird being a baby.

The thought occurred to me the other day when I was walking with my mom and we passed by a baby in a stroller (and his mom, he wasn't just sitting there). The moment we walked by him, my mom started cooing and making faces at him, just like anyone would do. The baby smiled, but I think he was just being a diva who is used to all the attention.

Think about it.

Babies get carried around everywhere, either in a stroller or in litttle pouches on a parent's stomach (that has to be super awkward. I know I couldn't do it...be in the baby's position i mean) so they basically see the world pass them by without doing anything. And they are instant stars. It doesn't matter where they are whisked off to: the grocery store, the park, church, the overcrowded trains... they always manage to be the center of attention. People stare, coo, make faces, make all kinds of gestures, point and whisper... All they have to do is react. Most of the time they laugh, but sometimes they look away (in which case the adult goes "aww! i scared him!!" in a little voice, laughing) or the extreme divas start crying (in which case the adult usually looks away and pretends nothing happened).

It has to be annoying, not being able to go anywhere without getting all that attention. Pretty soon they're going to start ignoring us big people who walk on our own. Actually, that's what todlers do. I think babies are actually smarter than we are: they know how much fun we have "entertaining" them so they react to make us happy. But in fact they are really annoyed at us. I mean it's a theory, and it kept me busy on the train.

I also wonder what it feels like to be a pigeon...

Happy Friday!

Wow, have i really not blogged all week? that's not good... let me get back into it by sharing some random occurences of the day -

As I was making my way to the train this morning, I saw three Mexican guys walking. There was one first, then two a little bit behind him who were walking together. I am not being racist or anything, but seeing them is weird: I think I have seen them every single morning for the past 2 months. When I was walking to school, I would see them at different points on my route, depending on whether I overslept or not, and now that I have work I see them at pretty much the same place every day. And they're always walking in the same way. It makes me think of the Truman show (with Jim Carey, first movie I saw in English) and I start obvserving my surroundings more attentively. It keeps me entertained for a little bit!

When I went to lunch, a friend and I were walking the streets of Manhattan, and a few blocks after almost being run over by a few bikes (I swear those crazy people will be the end of me) we came by one of the rare phone booths still standing amongst us after the cell phone frenzy that took over the world. That's when we noticed a young asian man (what's up with the racial comment today you ask? I really don't know) clutching the phone to his ear, squatting down on the ground and being overly dramatic. I couldn't help but point as we passed by, and when we turned around after he had started rocking on the balls of his feet. I'm convinced that had we been closer, we would have heard him weep.

Finally, I have to make a comment about this: the iPhone craze is ridiculous. I saw lines and lines of people lined up in front of various at&t stores today, and I had to smile to myself. But at least they all looked happy, excited and content with themselves, so I held back any comments. Then I reminded myself that I would probably do the same for, say, Spice Girls reunion tour tickets?

Oh yes. They're back. Joy!

Please hold...

"Please hold while I transfer your call!!"

That has to be one of the most irritating combination of words, usually heard when one calls a major company in dire need of some crucial information.

I am sitting here in such a situation and it just dawned upon me that the "soothing", "enjoyable" music is anything but that. I have been listening to an up-beat jazzy tune for the past 10 minutes, and it has been driving me nuts. And somehow, the occasional interruption that announces that "Your call is important to us, and will be answered shortly. While you wait, why not go on out website and buy things?" do not convince me that someone will be helping me "soon!".

As I sit here patiently I ponder if there are really that many people all calling the same number I am at this precise moment in time. Or maybe the people on the other end of the line are simply too lazy? I choose to give them the benefit of the doubt just as a sour voice comes on the phone and asks me what I need.

I patiently ask, and then before I finish I hear the dreaded words again: "Ok, let me tranfer you" Oh! but this time I get to listen to a sweet, piano ballad that all but makes me fall asleep.

Finally, an automated voice comes on and asks me questions. (I absolutely despise talking to machines. It makes me feel so stupid.) And then it tells me to call another number and have a great day.

Bloody hell.

Quasi-Instant Millionaire

During my lunch break, I had to run to the post office to mail something. (For the record, I will say that post offices are some of the most confusing places ever invented, especially the one in Grand Central. It is huge, and it just looks like there are random lines of impatient people all over the place, sighing and rolling their eyes as the people ahead of them take more than 2 minutes to figure out what they need to do and where to go. I, for one, got in the wrong line, mainly because I was tired of pointlessly wandering, and the line looked long enough that it should be the right one.)

As I was patiently waiting in line, I started observing the man in front of me. An over-stuffed, worn messenger bag was slung across his left shoulder and hanging in front of him. He was holding what, to me, the inexperienced gambler, appeared to be an entire booklet of lottery tickets. He was holding at least 15, and just kept pulling more out of his bag. Every additional ticket was a new chance to become an "Instant Millionaire!!", yet from the look of it he hadn't won yet, and the scratched tickets accumulating in his hands were not helping.

All of a sudden he turned around, looks at me and gestures from himself to the trash can 10 feet away, and back to the line, and I assumed he meant he would be right back. Just like I thought, he dashed to the trash can, tossed out the tickets and ran back. He then leaned on a counter, pulled out a few more tickets (!!) out of his bag, looked at me and goes "You look like a lucky lady! Maybe I'll win this time!" (Don't ask me what a lucky person looks like, I don't know). He then rambled on about how he wins a lot of time, because "people don't know the game so they're scared and they don't play. so I win!" He was ecstatic.

That was the last thing he said to me before dashing (he seemed to be in a hurry, for some reason. At one point, his cell phone rang and, after being very pleasant to the person on the other end, hung up and said F*@#$ pain in the a$$!" I had to laugh at that) to the counter, getting something stamped, and running out.

I'll be honest and say I really don't know where I'm going with this story, except proving my point that there are weird people in New York City, who constantly brighten up my days (there was also a lady who rudely asked me for the time, and as I was rummaging through my bag she just walked away ignoring my obvious puzzlement). But that's what makes NYC so special and loveable!