Homily

One of the more clearer memories I have from my childhood is sitting in the wooden pews during grade school mass. We had to go to church twice a week during grade school, and the parish priests all took turns leading the mass. One priest in particular sticks out to me. His name was Fr. Eugene.

Fr. Eugene was about 6'3" and 120 pounds. He was a skinny old man, with a birdlike face and an inexplicably deep baritone voice. He was a Franciscan priest, so he dressed like all those pictures of St. Francis you always see. Sort of a monk on-the-go look. Flat brown robe, bleached white tassle belt. This robe compounded with his frame, his long neck, and black round head made him look very spooky. And he loved to tell us ghost stories. Well, he told one ghost story: Bloody Bones.

He would start by describing a boy sitting in his bed trying to sleep. A strange noise was coming from the street. The noise grew louder and started to come from the lawn. Then the noise was on the outside wall of the house. Then the noise was at the window. The boy looked to see what it was. At this point Fr. Eugene would scream in a low-register, old man wail "BLOODY BOOOONES!" and the kids would all scream.

Recollecting the Bloody Bones story with my old grade school classmates would yeild to Fr. Eugene's obvious anger issues and violent tendancies. He came from the old school, where you would get beaten as a kid for acting out, and he was now living in the social atmosphere that finally realized "Hey, beating up children may not be a good idea." He showed a lot of restraint, but you could tell something was brewing when he would start speaking to us at mass.

During the middle of Catholic mass, there is a break for the priest to talk about the reading from the Gospel he just read. Some priests would just relate the story to our lives today, others would take the time to talk about what is going on in the world. Fr. Eugene took this moment to tell us how bad things are getting and just how scary life can be.

When Sinead O'Connor ripped up the picture of the Pope on Saturday Night Live, the next Tuesday Fr. Eugene was speaking about the evils of television and how we are all going to hell for watching a show that would allow such a display. At that time I was in second grade and had no idea what he was talking about. I thought he was condemning me for watching cartoons. In sixth grade, he went into a very detailed description of the Paducah, KY school shooting. He was even using dramatic pause and vamping his voice. One moment we all still remember from this sermon was when he mimed taking out a rifle from a wrapped up coat and said "And then the boys started blowing all their classmates away." Again, I think Hell and sin were mentioned at one point. It's very hard to deal with things like violence and religious hatred when you are a kid. It's not something you even think about when you are safe in Illinois where everyone you know looks like you and goes to your church. It's hard for kids to understand these sorts of things, especially since this may be they're only source of information. No one watches the news while in grade school. They aren't awake that late.

Compound this revelation of awefulness with the threat of burning in Hell, it's certainly enough to make you feel bad for the rest of your life. I don't know why we tell children about Hell. Why do we scare children in the first place? Is it because we can't hit them anymore?

During one Christmas, the Nativity statues were vandalized. Someone overheard Fr. Eugene saying he'd like to find out who did it so he could "tie them to a post and horse-whip 'em." Living a good Christian lifestyle is very hard when your priest speaks that way.

Cohort

My roommate has updated his faebook picture to a map of New Jersey covered in MS-Paint flames. He's lashing out creatively.

Living in New Jersey was not his idea, so I can't blame him. Although it's nice and quiet, clean, and very safe, it's a bitch to get into the city when you want. He wants to get a new job and move to the city in two months.

I can't say I blame him for hating New Jersey. He works across the street at one place where all the high schoolers hang out. Of course you'll hate a place if it keeps you in weekends while you take shit from kids that were just like us in high school.

I like my apartment, though. I like my super, my monthly rent, the lack of roaches, the whole thing. Sure, the commute is a bitch, but the commute is always a bitch. I'd have to live in Hell's Kitchen to get an apartment within walking distance. But then I'd be more likely to be stabbed than on a NJ transit bus.

I don't want my roommate to be unhappy, but i don't want him moving out before I can afford anything better than a shithole rat's nest in Brooklyn on the corner of Kill Whitey and Stab Whitey.

I like being out of the way and free from all the madness of the city. I'm still a smalltown kid who likes being able to drive to a grocery store and drive back with my groceries instead of hauling them in some weird contraption for 20 blocks. I like trees and houses. I like peace and quiet.

Maybe there is some nice place in Astoria.

Gadabout

The biggest benefit of being out in the city maundering is getting to see the human spectacle of New York City.

I'm not sure what it is about this city that specifically breaks people. Probably drugs, the competitive job market, and the random smells that are always seeping in from a mysterious location. It may just be too specific for each person to find a common connection other than the geographic area they live in. Whatever it may be, the city plays host to a ton of unsuspecting entertainers.

I like to think of the city as the greatest amusement park there is. There's a ride that takes you wherever you need to go for 2 dollars, there's overpriced crummy food everywhere, and there's always a danger of being ripped off. Also, for folks like me living in Jersey, you have to pay to get in.

I love seeing the characters that roam the grounds. There's the woman in pissed sweatpants who is walking back from the grocery store. There's the man who is nearly falling off of his park bench from being asleep. There's the guy in the sandwich shop yelling about how he ordered "6 PLAIN bagels!" There's a boy in a wheelchair walking his 3-legged dog. And of course, there are celebrities.

The only celebrity I've seen is Horatio Sanz, and I keep seeing him. Three times in the last month or so.

Coming from a small town, where noise can travel and not be drown out by 5,000 taxi horns, I still find myself waiting until I get some distance from some wacky individual until I make any sort of comment. And when I do, it's usually in a whisper. I know that if I were to break into laughter right behind somebody who was doing something crazy, the person wouldn't even flinch. Everyone here is so wrapped up in what they are doing, they don't bother listening to other people making fun of them. That's probably what made them crazy in the first place.

Maunder

One of the biggest changes in my life since moving is the amount of walking I now do.

The greater New York City area is far too crowded to even consider owning a car. Half the time it's too crowded for proper business or living spaces. I'm not suprised to see thin railroad apartments, but eating in little diners or restaurants in some of the less-popular neighborhoods is like being in a parody of the city.

I think I'm just too used to having a wide open space. Plenty of grassland, plenty of living space, huge restaurant dining rooms, and plenty of nothing to do.

Since I am without my favorite luxury, a car, I walk pretty much everywhere. I walk probably three times as much as I do when I am home. When I lived at home I would drive to a grocery store that was 6 blocks away. Now I walk nearly thirty blocks to go visit friends at work.

There is something about the city that makes you keep walking. Dodging flyer venders, looking at misspelled signs, listening to other people's conversations, and the occasional hobo flipout keep it interesting. Any place else is just tedium.

Walking about aimlessly helps me learn my way around. I start to connect subway stops and neighborhoods in my brain map. I still manage to get myself lost though. But in getting lost, i get to discover new places in the city and broaden my scope. I'm a little nervous about getting lost at night though, because I am afraid of muggers, rapists, and werewolves.

One thing that makes walking in the city a lot easier is the ubiquity of Duane Reade. Otherwise, I don't know where I could buy a vial of bayer aspirin and a Snapple lemonade to help cure both my sore legs and my thirsty throat.

I'm not a fan of the subway. It locks you in and jams you next to a bunch of inexplicably smelly strangers. Especially on the express trains. The same trains that usually land you in the middle of a mariachi band gig or makes you the market for the hobo sandwich salesman. Plus, being kooked up in a stuffy, rickety train can make you very ill if you are hung over. If you are hung over on the train, just get out into the fresh air, go to a Duane Reade, and buy some Bayer and a Sprite. Best hangover cure ever.

About the project

Hello.

My name is Adam and I am planning to write an essay everyday based on the word of the day from dictionary.com. It's makinly to practice writing, free-association, and to increase my vocabulary. I'll do my best to keep consistent.