Life-OR-Death
To kill time, we ventured to Powell’s books, quite possibly the best bookstore on the planet. Books of all colors. Outside is a bike rack, paying tribute to various books about bikes. One says, “Curious George rides a bike.” Uncoincidentally, I bought a very cute Curious George calendar inside the store, equipped with 60 stickers! Also uncoincidentally, OHSU has the most amazing primate facility:
This morning I woke up and sought out Voodoo Donuts. It’s a hole-in-the-wall where their slogan is “the magic is in the hole” printed proudly across the memorabilia they sell, including panties. They also sell strange donuts such as the Maple Baconator and the Arnold Palmer (both gross).
I really like the vibes in Portland. Public transportation is free! But who needs it with all the bike lanes? And there’s mountains everywhere. Happy birthday to me:
After boarding and bruising (I’m lousy), we soothed our wounds with Chocolate Stouts at the Rogue Restaurant. Dear God, please persuade the admissions admins. I'll be sleeping on pins and needles.
I got home off the 28x just before 11 pm, only to get back on it the next morning at 5 am. Chick pea was freaking out, so I only slept from 2 to 4. Most of the people leaving for New York at 7 AM are suits, matching the sky scrapers and grave yards. I really hate the whole first-class thing. The price of those seats is ten times our third-class carriage. (My ticket there was $100 (two midtown-LAG cab fares) instead of $900.) When I get on the plane, I must resist the urge to spit at these mother-fuckers and call them bourgeois pigs. It’s a wonder they give them preference for first seating, because I would feel horribly guilty as the people walk by. Flying into LaGuardia is really impressive, a 16x3 mile island of geometric beauty. At the airport, I got in line behind a row of suits, waiting for the next taxi. A strange man with a thick African accent approached several of us, attempting to collect a group with proximal destinations. We doe-eyed followed him to an Escalade parked across the intersection, engine running. I later learned such entrepreneurship is referred to as a Gypsy taxi.
NYU is a bustling campus. Students are everywhere, but you can hardly differentiate them from everyone else-- they dress well, unlike pit where our self-disrespecting friends adorn themselves with pajamas and sweats. (In my ideal society, everyone has class, although there is none.) Anyway, I like it there, but am afraid I wouldn’t make it out alive, or at least without hypertension. Also, I don’t predict it to be very conducive to study.