Around the time when I as getting ready to leave for the city back in August, I got a flood of advice from every angle on what to do, who to talk to, who not to talk to, and I’d spent enough time in New York before to know what to watch for and watch to watch out for. But there’s definitely one thing that everyone neglected to tell me before I got here, and that is that one in every three people, roughly, is LEGALLY INSANE. So ok, I’m exaggerating, but honestly, every day is the day that I think to myself, “Hey, maybe today will be the day that some stranger doesn’t do something completely abnormal,” and every day I’m surprised yet again.

The other night I almost made it home without incident, but then in my home station sat a delirious woman with no top on heckling passers by. My commute to and from work is a colorful rainbow of people talking to themselves, imagining threats, exposing themselves, and a wide array of other disturbing and amusing entertainment. Usually it’s just interesting to watch, but more than once, including a month or so ago when some totally random old drunk man muttered something about the Irish and then tried to fight me in Grand Central Station.

And this is no full moon occurrence, these people don’t seep out of the woodwork as soon as the sun drips below the horizon, this is on my way to work, this is on my way to dinner, this is constant, to the point where people just carry on with their conversations while the man next to them on the subway is complaining that “Uranus has spies everywhere!!,” and if it was up to him he’d outlaw space travel. It’s not as if it really bothers me, anymore, either, but I think there should at least be a law on the books that requires those are truly nutty to wear a shirt or something that declares their insanity (like this one here), you know, just to save all parties some hassle. Now, with the addition of blue-tooth headsets to the average commuter’s wealth of electronic devices, it’s sometimes hard to tell if someone is talking to themselves (the actually crazy), or just talking to someone on a wireless headset in the other ear (the apparently crazy). Also, I'm not even mentioning that in New York, you also have to periodically run into clinically insane celebrities like Andy Dick.

Everyone has their own stories, too. Friends of mine have been spit on, urinated on, assaulted, heckled, had someone’s genitals exposed to them, and other things that are even too obscene to mention in this blog. And it might just be me, but I get the feeling that New York is unique in its variety of loony foliage scattered on the branches of its subways and streets. Blame it on the water, blame it on the Reagan administration’s move to deinstitutionalize thousands during the mid-80s, even blame it on the moon, it definitely adds something special to living in New York.

Oh yea, and Mel Gibson.

Yo-Ho-Ho, a pirate's life for me...

The entire New York Corps just finished putting on Camp City Year 2007, a week-long camp engaging youths from three different communities in the city. And lucky for me, as I've always thought they are the coolest ethnicity, it was pirate themed.
I led a group of seven third graders on a treasure-finding, eye-patch-wearing, plunder-undering week of pirate savagery, consisting mostly of fun, games, and snacks and fieldtrips (The picture below-left is of my group and I at the Museum of the City of New York. The girl in the center was one of my voluneers). Best part of all, however, was that I got to dowse myself in pirate regalia and talk in a crude pirate accent all week. The kids loved it, even my class, which was one full of children who normally don’t give a second thought to anything that happens in school and have been subjugated to a classroom in their school for “problem children.”
The weekend after camp finished my roommates and I decided to throw a pirate party at our apartment using all of the leftover pirate decorations, of which there were mountains of, tattered and forgotten construction paper cutouts that we would now resurrect to serve in creating true pirate ambiance! But alas, our toilet broke the day of the party, so we had to cancel. Can I get an ARGG? It turned out to be a good thing, for me anyway, as I ended up going salsa dancing in the heart of Harlem, complete with free lessons beforehand which I badly needed. I’m planning on hitting the same joint at least once a week, it was a blast!
Even better was the next night: While attending a vegan potluck hosted by a co-worker I met a girl who writes and performs her own music frequently. Well, there were some guitars there so we started a little jam together, and she was feeling it so much that she asked me to come along to her gig that night and play. So, a couple hours later I’m laying down a solo or two with her band in some random coffee house/bar deep out in Brooklyn. Vox-Pop was the name I think, and I had a blast. It’s supposed to posted on youtube.com in the next few days, so if I find it, I’ll link to it. Pretty jam-packed weekend, god I love this city.

I’ve got to split for now to go in-kind some door-prizes and munchies for an upcoming event – luckily I’ve got it in my blood from growing up with NCPR…’til next time!

Jaquan signs his name

Of all the wonders and treasures that draw people to the city of New York, none, to me, is a greater tractor beam to the curious than the city’s ability to delight all sorts of people at any time of day. Whether the three-piece clad banker, volunteer in the red-jacket, or the peripatetic wanderer, these few square miles pack more in at any hour than any place I know of. I can be browsing through forgotten first editions in a dusty bookstore on the edge of Brooklyn around lunch; then over to Flushing to experience the cheapest, most delicious Chinese cuisine my tongue has ever tasted for dinner; and the Shins concert in Union Square at Virgin Records at midnight two weeks ago (which was free, mind you – who says this city’s too expensive?).

And let’s not forget that I live in Washington Heights, which is almost exclusively Dominican. Sometimes I feel like I should be using my passport just to get to work, because the culture change is so dramatic going to and from my neighborhood. My point is: where else in the world? Which is why I’m so glad that my year of service is in New York City.

A year of service that is going pretty well, by the way. I taught Jaquan, a sixth grader at my school, to sign his name recently. I know some would question this: “In sixth grade and he can’t sign his name?,” but the truth is, he’s one of the most accomplished students in the class. One often finds, working in these schools, that some of the simpler things have been overlooked in order to focus more on the points in the students’ curriculum that pertain to test taking and test passing, which is the law of the land in New York State.

We practiced for the whole after school period for two days straight to perfect his signature, and now, when I see him for math tutoring, if he pulls of a piece of work that has his name written in block, he’ll erase it and rewrite it in cursive before showing it to me. Ahhh. He gave me a keychain with his picture on it from a collection that he’d just received of his school photos pasted on to different office tools: rulers, bookmarks, etc. I’ve posted a picture I’m so proud of it.

These are the times that make my year here worth it. Not to downplay the structured literacy and math tutoring programs that we here at CityYear swear by, but some days I’m sure the most important thing I did for these kids was just show up, play some dodgeball with them, and smile.

Check out the pictures, ya’ll. Two are from the show I mentioned, and one is from a night out with some friends, and we happened to pass by my favorite bakery, mostly just because of the name, as it’s the same as a game we all play at work (I’m third from the left). Also, the picture keychain that I covet as a sign that some of the kids like me as much as I like them!

‘Til next time…

Jacob

Martin Luther King, Jr., Day

I awoke on the 15th of January at 4:00 am to the sleepy growlings of the garbage trucks and their operators outside my window in Washington Heights in Manhattan. I usually rise a couple hours later, but today was the biggest service day of the year at my job with CityYear. Myself and over 1000 others volunteer at inner city schools all over this city and around the country tutoring and providing mentors for children through a variety of programs. Along with this in-school service, though, we also participate in about 35 service days a year. These days are aimed at beautifying the areas that children learn and play in, and are jammed with painting murals, playgrounds, and basketball courts, building bookshelves and benches, and cleaning up schools and parks. This day, however, was bigger than all the rest, because this day, was Martin Luther King, Jr., Day.

We'd been prepping for a few days before that, making it possible for the 800 volunteers that were showing up to come in, paint and build, and then leave in a few hours without having to setup first. The mayor was there to say a few words as in years past, along with some others, such as Brooklyn Borough President Marty Markowitz, who was his usual fiery self, igniting the crowd after the day with a powerful speech that bordered on sermon. The service was done at a few different locations in Brooklyn, all educational institutions, public and private, and all and all it was a success, even with a lower turn out than was expected.

I was sweaty and tired at the end of the day, we all were - our nails caked with paint and varnish, our fingers bearing the wounds of a hurried hammering or utility knife use, and our feet screaming to remove the Timberland boots, the signature piece of our uniform, which is entirely donated by the company.

As I peeled off my shirt and replaced it with another before heading onto the train that evening I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my face a couple times in an attempt to wake up, because even though most businesses consider this day a day off, there are two things in the City that don't stop - the CityYear volunteers and the New York nightlife.

Jake Rotundo