Just Bronx

Where is the one place you can narrowly escape both a car crash and being hit by a car in the span of a half-hour? the Bronx, of course!

Like many recent New York transplants, I have a very weak understanding and appreciation for the most northern borough. Other than the Yankees, Fordham University -- which I considered attending at one point -- and the zoo, my impression of the Bronx is one of sketchiness and poverty. The latter point is justified somewhat; the South Bronx has some of the poorest ZIP Codes in the state. But I admit the former sentiment has more to do with my biases.

So I had the opportunity to experience the real Bronx, or at least two sections of it, Wednesday as I accompanied two photographers assigned to take pictures of our schools. There is a great diversity in size, style, culture and demographics in Catholic elementary schools, particularly in the Archdiocese of New York which stretches far into the farms and bucolic towns of the Catskills. But I was amazed to see that the Bronx is immensely diverse as well, reflecting the culture and history of the borough.

The first school we photographed was St. Angela Merici School not far from Yankee Stadium and the Bronx County Courthouse. The school and the neighborhood were somewhat representative of what I expected of the area: densly populated, commercial, clogged with traffic, and mild signs of the city's economic disparities. The first thing I noticed approaching the school was the line stretching down the block and around the corner. It was to get into the court. How sad it is to see so many get caught up in the legal system that the vast majority will never cycle out of; even sadder is the preponderance of people of color trapped in that system. The police were no help either, as I was harrassed by police for not seeing a no left turn sign ewase turn.

The school is truely an oasis among this business clogged concrete jungle. It is literally built around a church, and despite the building's age, it was filled with basketballs, computer labs, scientific equipment and happy kids. The Ursuline sisters and lay teacher instill not only discipline and manners but also enthusiasm for learning, teamwork and service to others.

We took lots of great pictures, which hopefully I'll be able to post later, and then jumped on the Cross Bronx Expressway to St. John Vianney School. As commercial Merici's neighborhood was, St. John Vianney was located in a distintly residental neighborhood for Bronx standards. Apartment complexes, delis, trees even, this neighborhood screamed just that, neighborhood, where kids hang out around the block after school. Many of the students' families were parishoners of the church, and being a predominately Latino neighborhood, the school and church leadership bantered back and forth in Spanish.

The school structure itself was much different as well, flat and spread out with a large auditorium in the center and big bright classrooms. But the joy, and silliness, of the students were the same. It's evident that these schools and their small class sizes and attentive, spirit-filled staff really created a community with purpose. Nothing can be guaranteed, but I didn't see any kids teetering on the wrong path wandering the halls. Unfortunately the same can't be said in some of the schools not too far away.

I think I learned a lot by heading out to the Bronx that day. First off, the borough is far larger and more diverse than I ever realize. It also has a great sense of pride in its self; I heard that they call the attitude "Just Bronx." And while I don't think I would move there (nor do I think Nature Boy would let us move anywhere more urban than we are now) I'd be more than happy to come back, and not just for a baseball game.

Arrivederci Coffee!

Coffee, you were a dear friend but in the end a toxic one too.

You are my morning drinking buddy, whether it be in my green Chinese-made BBJ mug, a thermos or a street vendor cup. You introduced me to milk, and after some heavy drinking, convinced me to lose the sticky sugar. You're bold, complex, and full of energy.

But you also give me jitters, and are not good for my heart. I became dependent on you for clarity and purpose, and I got angry when you were not at my side. I became your bitch.

Well enough is enough. The time has come to take control of my body and my energy levels. We have not been together since Sunday, and already I am feeling the effects of your absence. I am tired, irritable and lacking my already tenuous control over hormonal changes. But I will not waver; I will not despair. To cleanse the body is also to cleanse the soul, and even Jesus found power through fasting.

Coffee, I do not begrudge you for our relationship. It is your nature to latch on to people, greasing conversations with friends and providing support during late night deadlines and midterm papers. And so I say not good riddance, but arrivederci, farewell, until I am in control enough to meet you again.

Right Back Where I Started

The past month can only be described by the Johnny Cash song "I've been everywhere." John and I drove to Albany three weekends in a row for brunches, chicken dinners, Greek food and some major life milestones for my siblings, then ventured down to the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia for Memorial Day weekend to hike all of that food off. That's roughly 30 hours of sitting in hellish traffic, rainstorms and cookie crumbs in May. (I should actually clean all of those crumbs up off the carpet floor...)

While I enjoy traveling, it is most certainly exhausting. The thrill of breaking up the monotony and grind of the workweek in the city with some time in the woods -- or just looking at them from the sunroom -- is quickly dulled by congestion, potty breaks and the stress of determining how to fill those getaways to the brim. Sometimes, I just want to sit and read the newspaper, or maybe write in this blog, but my other half usually has more active plans.

But traveling is just half of what I mean by being everywhere.

As I've mentioned in prior posts, I'm trying to use this year at the Archdiocese to figure out what I want to do with my career. Education was always something that appealed to me both emotionally and intellectually, and so I figured the best way to tackle that big apple would be to go back to school.

Columbia University seemed like it had the best program. I applied. And this month I got the thin envelope.

This was to be expected, of course, but it in some ways was the nudge that send me back spinning into uncertainty over life, career, and all of the youthful confusion and angst one is supposed to shed at some point. For me, it seems like the older I get, the more confused and lost I become. So I started bouncing around to dozens of other ideas, including ones like law school that are brimming with vocationally ambiguous souls like myself.

Yet for all of the mental energy expended on the topic, journalism kept creeping back like a repentant ex-husband -- equally flawed and irresistible. The thrill of the chase, the performance over pressure, even getting paid to gossip with sources and be a pain in the neck to people I don't like, I miss it all far more than I ever thought I would. Yes, the hours are long and you're never quite off the job but those detractors can be brushed aside if the love, and the talent, is there.

So I'm back to where I was as a fresh-faced 20-year old with a little bit of ambition and an uphill battle to find a job. Luckily I have some time to find the right thing, but I'm ready to go now.