A few weeks ago I patronized the “Potato King” street vendor, and soon after was craving food that wasn’t starchy and burned (so sad…such potential). I saw people with Jamba Juice and tried to follow their trails, but never found anyone who wasn’t on a cell phone that I could safely ask the location of their purchase. I wandered around several square blocks before finally returning to my office empty handed (yes I know there’s one on 42 and 5th but the line there is TOO long and there was clearly one closer than that).

Once back at work, I went to the Jamba Juice store locator. I typed in my address. It returned my address. No, not “where am I starting,” I want “where is Jamba Juice.” It happened again. So… it turned out that my employment shares an address with Jamba Juice. That’s right. Same building. Um, I knew it was closer than 42nd.

My grandpa is the cutest, most service-oriented person. Today I got an email with a link to a Meals on Wheels article featuring him. Check out this slideshow (be sure to have Sound on). Go grandpa!

Yesterday Becca effectively grounded our Space Travel discussion when she astutely pointed out that:
“Dyson sphere” rhymes with “mice in here” which is the sign that should be on our front door.

I want no such sign posted, but I’m starting to suspect that the rodential tenants in this apartment outnumber the tenants who have a serious problem with this arrangement.

You may recall that this is not the first mouse incident we’ve had here. There was the mouse we accidentally caught in January, and the mouse that ate my granola bars in May. Then a few weeks ago I saw a mouse climbing my bookshelf. Maybe it’s reading my cookbooks, but if I’m going to have a “little chef” as a roommate, it’ll have to be Aaron Brown.

Following that, I plugged up some wall gaps my closet with this foam thing which was effective for a short time, until I woke up to the sound of a mouse (ok I’m just going to say mice now because really…). I thought, “wow, I can hear it through the walls,” but no, it turns out they chewed through the hardened foam and were back in business.

If the story stopped there, it would be a non-story. I started seeing the mouse in the kitchen. I got some traps. Menos eficaz. Becca scrubbed the floors cleaner than when we moved in. Next morning they had eaten food from the top shelf of the baker’s rack. We also saw some evidence of some different entry paths, including crumbled plaster/ sheet rock around a pipe floor gap. Sunday night, Becca emailed Seth:

Today Amy saw the mouse run down out of the kitchen and down the hallway. After scouting out the hallway and seeing that all the doors were closed, we came to the conclusion that the mouse must have slipped underneath some door. The gap between the front door and the floor is actually the biggest one so we deduced that most reasonably the mouse had left the apartment. Later Amy was laying on the couch because she was planning on sleeping out there on account of her growing fear that the mouse is in her room. As I was talking to her, I saw a mouse pop up over the back of the couch and peek its head over the back of it. So, it’s still in our apartment and at large.

Following the email, she saw a mouse in the bathroom go through a pipe gap to inner wall frontier. Monday night, Seth and Marcus helped us set up 10 more traps. The result? Fur in one of the glue traps and this the next morning:

As they get more aggressive, I feel more violated. They are creating holes in our apartment where there were no holes. They’re busting through our walls like disease-laden koolaid men–without the free beverages or cuteness. This morning I couldn’t find my wallet and my first thought was that the mice took it to use my credit card. Clearly I’m going crazy, but I’d say I’m the victim here.

take it away Jeff…

When I was living in Northern California, my coworker Khendria told me that I looked like Sita, the girl who sings Happy. This is the same coworker who thought I was from Egypt and that my name was Xzonnia, so I had no reason to believe her, but I googled Sita and discovered some photos on a Swedish(?) website that proved her right. The site was taken down years ago, but a few weeks ago I looked on youtube to see if Sita had any videos posted. This is only weird if you know me, but it’s weird enough that I’m posting it. Maybe Sita is from Egypt too?

I have this quote I’ve been carrying around me since Freshman year of College. It has been kept in boxes, taped to binders, and now it is going up on my blog so I can finally get rid of the paper.

Let us train up our minds until we delight in that which is good, lovely and holy, seeking continually after that intelligence which will enable us effectively to build up Zion,…seeking to do the will of the Lord all the days of our lives, improving our minds in all scientific and mechanical knowledge, seeking diligently to understand the great design and plan of all created things, that we may know what to do with our lives and how to improve upon the facilities placed within our reach.
- Brigham Young

This year marked my 6th annual July 11th trek across the George Washington Bridge. Back when I moved to NYC, there were no 7-11s in the city, and in order to take advantage of the Free Slurpee offer on 7/11, I crossed the GW Bridge with some friends for the nearest 7-11 (New Jersey). The tradition lives on even though Manhattan now boasts its own source for Slurpees.

We had a double-digit turn out this time, making it the most well-attended pilgrimage I’ve had yet (though loyal, we are few in number). Moments are made in crossing that bridge.

Several of us stopped at a diner on the way back. I said that if the paper menu poem we wrote was any good, I’d post it. It wasn’t really, but here it is anyway.

“Hi, This is Syrup”
by Amy, Soo, Cristi, Aja, Megan, Nesha, Gaby, Seth, and Ryan

Sitting at a well-lit diner,
having Cristi showing off her Japanese pens,
wondering, “could life be finer?”
with seven women and two mens.
Diner, you make me so high I could fly across the river.
What is left to happen tonight all depends…
On culinary trends chewed over with friends.
Gradually, my mind begins to wonder,
…How do I make my life “Deluxe”?

Dear Mr. Jovi,

I am writing to say thank you for your wicked awesome concert on Saturday night in the modest venue of Central Park. It was so nice of you to come play a free concert for the kids in this two-bit town, and none of us* have been able to stop talking, thinking, and dreaming about it. Nor will we. Ever.

Thank you Mr. Jovi for your stage presence, for every microphone trick you did, for still doing moves I swooned over when I was in high school. Thank you for playing the songs we grew up with. We admire and respect that you continue to release new albums, we really do, and we certainly appreciate that you spent those two hours indulging our nostalgia. We loved it.*

Thank you for the anthems we rocked out to, the ballads we sighed to, for keeping a show filled with 20 year old material from feeling campy or expired. It was entirely entertaining, but it was more than that. It was one of the epic, defining moments of NYC. Thank you for that.

Finally, thank you for not only correcting our mayor on his pronunciation of “Garfunkel,” but for referencing it in your encore.

You have brought so much happiness to our town, Mr. Jovi, and we won’t soon forget it.* If there’s anything we can ever do to make your stay in these parts more enjoyable, please let us know sir.

Our songs are our prayers… and I still believe
a

*except for Seth, but I’m pretty sure he was listening to his ipod the whole time.

I read a NYT article the other day about Dancing Matt Harding and his “popular internet video.” I didn’t care much for the article but I remembered feeling a combination of inspiration and envy when I saw his video a few years ago. I decided to check out his latest and greatest video. It is pure inspiration and goodness.

The music, which is quite beautiful, was composed by his friend and sung in Bangla by a woman they found online. it’s based on

Stream of Life by Rabindranath Tagor

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

Can’t blog. Can’t twitter. Can’t facebook. Fail to “reply” on a regular basis. Still heavily addicted to gchat. Anyway, here goes. Dear Internet, please see my actual analog to-do list and note its completion: