On The Brink of Insanity

      The end of the semester at King's can be summed up in one word--insanity. Before you shrivel up into depression, hiding underneath your snuggie, downing more Nutella then morally acceptable, and somehow completing more hours of television series than can fit into a single day, breathe in, breathe out, and follow my plan for King's finals week survival.

        Do not, I repeat do not forget to take off work the day before your exams and the day of. No need to be sneaking flash cards behind your manager's back. King's also has numerous study groups to join and study guides floating around, so take advantage of that. If you have any confusion as to what is on the final, ask your professor now. Ten minutes before the exam is not a question-and-answer segment. Also, do not procrastinate. If you are like me and this is your downfall, take a moment, right now, to look yourself in the mirror, tell yourself to man up, and start working. King's is no joke. What thou does not prepare for, thou will fail.

        It is important to remember not to let the stress overwhelm your ability to succeed. This is where energizing methods come in handy. Whether it be Red Bull, overly priced Starbucks, or overdosing on Vitamin Water, one must pick their vice to get them through. Trust me when I say you will get thirsty and on the verge of dissolution if you do not stay caffeinated while studying into the early hours before the break of dawn.

        Train rides are perfect for getting extra studying in. Keep your notes on you at all times. You never know when that 2 train might want to stall for half an hour, so why not be prepared< As always, take time for some fun amidst studying. No need to be a hermit, especially when the weather is finally warming up. Remember you are not alone, and soon it will be summer, with no papers, projects, or reading assignments. So to all those feeling the insanity that the end of the semester brings, good luck, and. . . make sure you don't sleep through your exam.

by Sarah Buzzelli

Some Clichés

This post comes to you from 15,000 feet in the air somewhere between New York and Atlanta. My journey to seat 18A on the first Delta flight out of JFK this morning actually began yesterday.

The thing about a 6:15am flight is that you have to leave your comfortable Brooklyn Heights apartment by 4am. The thing about leaving home at 4am is that you have to wake up at 3:30am. The thing about waking up that early is that it’s almost part of Friday night more than it is part of Saturday morning, and sometimes it makes more sense to just stay awake. That’s what I did.

Brooklyn is especially lovable.

I waited around last night until it was time to call a car for the airport. Being awake for so long is not only horrific, but it’s very quiet. There’s a lot of time to sit and consider. While I was waiting, I reflected on part of my afternoon, when I sat at the Promenade and looked at the Manhattan skyline for a few minutes as I unwound from my day. As I waited for morning, I also watched Dan in Real Life, one of my favorite movies—I know, I know—and there’s this one part where Dane Cook’s character asks Dan (Steve Carrel) what that feeling is where you’re happy but also extremely sad and you feel excited but also scared and it’s the most awesome and most terrible feeling all at once. Dan tells him, “That’s called love.”

I’ve never felt that for a person. I thought I did once, but I didn’t know what I was talking about (*head nod to Moonrise Kingdom*). But when I see New York, I am certain that I feel love. When I leave town and drive over the Brooklyn Bridge, my stomach does flips. When I look at the skyline and the Statue of Liberty from my rooftop, I feel that combination of fear and excitement. When I’m in Battery Park for lunch, I feel my heart beat faster. When I get on a plane to leave, even for one night (like right now), my heart sinks into my stomach.

I think I’m a little bit in love with the City. I’m sure that most of the 9 million other people who live here also feel that way. I’m sure that I’m just as much of a cliché as the next love struck urbanite. But I don’t really care. I don’t really care if this is cliché or even if it’s just plain weird. I love New York. New York gives me butterflies and it makes me blush and sometimes on the weekends I go on dates with it when I explore the city. I’ll stand on top of the Empire State Building and yell to the entire city that I’m in love.

New York, don’t break my heart.

Lauren Schuhmacher

Today Was A Fairytale

It is all too common in the news today to highlight what is wrong with the world. I would like to let you chew on a new flavor, something to refresh you after all those depressing headlines. This is a story about triumph.

Like any college student, my semester has had its ups and downs. It usually fluctuates around a natural rate that is above average. I tend to enjoy life. Some days, I have to really try to enjoy it. Today, though, life surprised me with one of those all-around sah-WEET days! Kinda like winning the lottery. Here is how it went.

Hopefully, my next employer!

I slept in and was able to eat an actual breakfast: bagel with cream cheese, small bowl (mug?) of cereal, and a banana. Oh, and two Vitamin-C tablets. Important. I skipped my 10:30 class (sorry, Dr. Rabinowitz) in order to go to my second and final interview at Trader Joe's. I am trying to land a summer job at the 72nd street location. The interview went moderately well. After that, I headed down to my internship at the Institute for American Values. My supervisor took me and the other intern out to lunch as a “thank you” for all our work. All-you-can eat Indian buffet, on the house? I’ll take it.

Next, I completed my migration south and had my second interview of the day, this one for a school position in the fall. Afterwards, my roommate and I made an executive (and rather hasty) decision to skip our next two classes and go home. After all, it was 65 degrees outside. And Friday. And the end-ish of the semester.

My newest thrift shop find. Score!

We enjoyed a warm walk to the subway. The spontaneity of the day made us deviate from our normal routine - we ducked into a thrift shop hidden in the basement of a church...only in New York City! I bought a sick turquoise tank top that was tailored for summer (and at $2, who wouldn't?!). New purchases in hand, the excitement that we humans get from the mere act of purchasing something shooting through our veins, doubly intensified by the long-awaited spring sun warming our skin and our lives, we arrived at home (Upper Best Sideee!). My friend checked his e-mail and saw that he had been accepted to dance onstage at an upcoming Macklemore concert...and he can bring one guest (read: ME). Then I checked my email and saw that I got the school job for the fall. Just when we thought we had ascended to the peak of the Mountain of Pure Joy and Victory, my friend turned to me and out of his mouth came some of the most beautiful words I have ever heard spoken:

Wanna play FIFA?

- Jeremi Gill

Big Cheesy

Wait for it…wait for it…wait for it…(breathe, since I have a feeling you might have started holding your breath at this point.)

New York City is home to a GRILLED CHEESE competition. Yes, you read that right. A competition where you judge the tastiness of grilled cheese and vote on the best. And you get to sample as many grilled cheese sandwiches from the vendors as you wish (especially if you vote for them)!

Mmm, cheesy...  (image via serious eats)

But, this is no ordinary grilled cheese tasting. The Big Cheesy competition hosts seven competitors, all producers of excellent grilled cheese sandwiches throughout the city. Some come from local spots that specialize in grilled cheese sandwiches, others come from restaurants with more diversity, and some from cafes and even a shop that produces its own cheese.

This past weekend, the Big Cheesy competition was held in SoHo. Competitors ranged from ‘Wichcraft, Murray’s Cheese, and Melt Shop, to name a few. I tried at least one of everything and probably five too many for my digestive system's own good. There was classic grilled cheese with rustic, smoky tomato soup, grilled cheese with ham and apple butter and home-produced cheese, and even a dessert grilled cheese.

But, the dessert grilled cheese needs more explanation that one sentence can give. Thus, I am going to dedicate an entire paragraph to this taste-bud enticing combination of flavors. First off, the sandwich is smothered with Nutella. Clearly, we can’t go wrong. But, it gets even better. In order to be in the grilled cheese competition, there needs to be cheese (not like that was hard to deduce…but moving on). Add sweet, creamy mascarpone cheese to the list. The Nutella and cheese are smothered on thick slices of warm bread. And in the middle of this highly addictive sandwich was a pipet (if you don’t know what that is, look it up) filled with melted milk chocolate. The purpose of the pipet is to squeeze it as you bit into the sandwich so that the flavors literally melt together in your mouth—genius, I know. It tasted like the best s’more you will ever have without a campfire.

Say Cheese, home to the dessert grilled cheese just described is located right near Redeemer Presbyterian Church on the Upper West Side. Not that someone needs motivation to go to church…but that is some pretty good motivation.

Here’s to eating more grilled cheese,
Caroline

Halal Heaven

If this doesn't excite you then you are soulless. 

Street food in NYC is legendary. A staple of the city, food carts provide busy New Yorkers with a bite to eat 24/7 because, after all, who has time to sit and eat? 

When I first moved to the city, I was eager to share in this tradition to the fullest. I'll never forget the first hot dog I bought from a food cart near Columbus Circle on 59th street. $4.50 was the price I paid for my naivety. Generally, vendors do not mark the prices so it is up to the savvy customer to know if he's getting a fair price or not. 

It didn't take long for me to ditch the hot dogs and switch to the halal carts. If you're not familiar with halal, it is an Arabic word meaning "kosher." Popular dishes include chicken kebab, chicken or lamb over rice and falafel. These dishes are fairly sizable and shouldn't cost more than $5 or $6. Often, the vendors at halal carts try to take advantage of clueless tourists by charging them upwards of $7 or $8 for the same dish. 

This is why I came to appreciate Abdul, the halal guy whose cart sat around the corner from where I lived on Ludlow Street when I first moved to the city. After growing accustomed to paying $6 or more for my favorite dish (Chicken over rice) in Midtown, I was pleasantly surprised when Abdul charged me $5 for a generous portion. Assuring me that he would always give me this deal, I found myself visiting his cart rather frequently. As I got to know him better, he opened up more about his life, explaining that he owned several of the carts around NYC, managing them with two business partners. 

Some of the stories he shared were crazy. He once told me that he was caught in the middle of a mafia shootout and suffered several gunshot wounds on his left leg. Sensing my disbelief, he lifted up his pant leg to reveal a grisly bullet hole.

Once, after I suffered a torn ACL & Meniscus playing basketball for King's, he gave me his cell number, explaining that he would deliver to my room free of charge because of my hobbled condition.

All that to say, if you're looking for good street food and a fair price, visit Abdul on Delancey Street, just outside the subway stop in front of the Duane Reade. You won't be disappointed! 

- Michael Roome

Many a late-night stop after a long day.

Bonding On the 1 Train

Subways are almost always crowded, and with a wide variety of people.

If you are going to live in New York City, be prepared to spend a serious amount of time underground, whirring by on its never-sleeping subway system. The daily experience can be as grey as the subways themselves; descending into the darkness time after time can wear on your soul.

Recently, my roommate (Clayton) and I waited for our neighbor (Caroline) to walk home together to our Upper West Side apartments. It was cold, so we briskly covered the 300 yards to the Wall Street station and descended into the darkness below.

The calming rocking of the subway combined with the presence of friends erased all subterranean gloominess. We recapped the highlights of the first day of Interregnum IX—the joys of not having classes, the closet competitiveness of certain students brought to light by the fierce debates, the unpredictable talents displayed at the open mic night. The conversation shifted over towards summertime and sunny beaches. Caroline mentioned how she almost went to Biola University, where she would have played soccer. Clayton too had considered that! We discussed the prestigiousness as well as the benefits of working for Student Services. I begged Caroline (who is engaged to Josh) to tell the story of when she first met him. It was at a debate tournament. Classic TKC, am I right? We proceeded to reminisce about all the various methods we utilized to flirt with the opposite sex during our precious middle school years: AIM, FormSpring, random chat rooms, those silly 25 question surveys that asked who was your last kiss and what your favorite color is…the golden days. Not.

We got off at 103rd Street and trudged home. As we walked, I realized that I had just ridden the subway without once thinking about how tedious or grueling it was. It is amazing how good conversation and friendship can redeem a lousy situation—even riding the subway.

Jeremiah Gill

Waiting On Trains

I have just gotten off work, my body aches, I'm tired, hungry, and anxious to lay down in my bed, or what I call a bed. It's more like a cross between a cot and a futon. I take the 2 train with a fellow coworker to 96th Street. This is where we will part. I will now have to take a shuttle bus to 116th, since the MTA (the subway system) feels the need to get on my nerves this month. They must want to play a joke on me. If they are going to close down the 2/3 trains from 96th to 149th and 3rd Ave, there better be a good reason. After the next three weekends of this, I better see new leather couches to wait on, flat screen TVs, and complimentary soda machines at each of these stations once the work is done. 

        Okay, maybe I'm being a bit extreme; I should really stop my whining.  It could be worse of course, and I'm used to this happening at least once a year on almost every line. I get on the shuttle bus, and we take off. 

        Soon I realize we are going back downtown. I turn to the girl next to me and give her that "The MTA must die" look. She gives me the same look back and so we both, along with the whole bus start to complain loudly. Apparently the bus driver needed to take a detour. A detour?  Back downtown?  Please, he probably just forgot where he was going. 

        The shuttle bus situation did not seem to be getting any better. The next time I failed to remember to get on the local instead of express bus. My pleasant face turns to an unhappy grimace as we skip my street. I get off at 149th and 3rd Ave not only annoyed with the trains, but myself also. I've been in New York too long to make this mistake. 

        Another weekend I am heading to the last stop on the 5 train in the Bronx to go celebrate my friends birthday. Two shuttle buses and three transfers later, it takes me an hour and a half longer than normal to get there. I hate waiting on trains. 

        Waiting on trains that seem like they will never come is worse than any picture of hell Dante imagined in his Inferno. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but you get the point. Though my relationship with the MTA has a lot of hate, there is also a lot of love. Even with their decision to raise the price this year, a monthly pass is still considerably cheaper than paying for gas for a car back home. There are also no insurance payments. It can be relaxing riding the train, listening to music, or studying on the way to class. Getting to ride home with friends and coworkers also adds to its amusement. There is always, I repeat always, something interesting going on on the train. 

       If you're reading this, MTA, just know I say thank you for your services and the abundance of places you allow me to travel. Remember though, I - along with all of NYC - hate waiting on trains. 

Sarah Buzzelli

Solitary

I am a raging introvert. By this, I mean that my introversion is raging. I almost never rage, and if I do, it is about infanticide or sex trafficking, both excellent reasons to rage, in my humble opinion.

I come from a family of introverts in the widely sown land of Texas, where, if you pick the right spot, you can go days without seeing people. Don’t get me wrong; I love people. But I need alone time to recover; to thrive. People make me tired.

From this view, moving to New York made absolutely no sense.

“Don’t you love the energy of the city?” people would ask me.

“Ye-esssss…” I would stutter out, noncommittally.

The energy? You mean the part about the millions of people packed like sardines but moving at a breakneck pace because, gosh darn it, this is New York City; you have to hustle, and if you hustle, you will succeed and if you don’t succeed for some reason, you continue to hustle until the city spits you out, at which time you may count yourself a failure or hustle for the chance to get back to the city and hustle there some more? Ah… I suppose it is an sort of exhilarating  idea, but an exhausting one.

Imagine me on that hillock with a copy of The Princess Bride or The Brothers Karamazov. That was my naive fantasy. That I still kind of have. 

When I first considered moving away to college, I had this beautiful image in my mind of someplace with hills and trees everywhere. Someplace I could wander off with a book for a few hours without being seen or missed.  Someplace in the middle of nowhere. Definitely not a city. Cities were unappealing. Cities were full of people with whom I have no relationship.  Cities were tiresome things engineered for extroverts and workaholics.

All of this was before visiting King’s, of course. My priorities did a 180. Suddenly, I could not go anywhere else, never mind cities. Never mind sharing room with three other girls (we’re down to three to a room, these days. It’s far better than it might sound at first). Never mind swimming through tourists to get to school each morning. I shoved my need for space into a cobwebbed corner in the back of my mind and hustled my way to the King’s College. This was excellent! This was where God wanted me! Where else would I steep in knowledge with such likeminded people?

It took about four weeks for me to crash. I was never alone. I found myself staying up late into the night so I could be solitary. With a sleeping schedule out of whack, it is no surprise that exhaustion and emotional fragility took over quickly. I was never alone. I remember my sixteenth birthday, when my brother and best friend called to tell me that I was one of the strongest women he knew. At eighteen, I wondered what happened to that strength. In my occasional sneaky sobbing sessions in the stairwell, these bits of identity I clung to were splintering into fragments smaller and smaller, harder to keep from slipping out of my hands which, as always seems to be the case, was a growing up thing. I was never alone. I didn't know how to truly rest. Without rest, my strength was gone. “Get your God time,” my mother counseled. It was good advice. Meeting God in that stairwell was the only thing that kept me sane during my first semester.

When I returned in the spring, I battened down the hatches and prepared to be buffeted by a bursting city that never sleeps. I was sitting in a Starbucks, praying and people-watching when I made a startling discovery: I was resting. In the middle of a crowd, I was completely alone. Without trying, I found the beautiful solitude that is just to the right of "such an interesting crowd in here this afternoon" and to the left of "excuse me, sir, you're sitting on me." And it was good.

There are always a few days of adjustment whenever I first get back to the city. For a short while, I flounder to be physically alone (which, of course, is rarely possible). Then I go somewhere pretty like a park, a coffee shop, or the cemetery near my apartment, and I let the crowd wash over me. God is there, in the middle of the masses (no pun intended), and I am able to be alone with him and with my thoughts. It is the second-best kind of solitude, and, most importantly, it is enough.

Introverts, be not afraid! 

Elizabeth D. Brown

Watch them. Watch those people. 

I'm A Conqueror During My Free Time

“I’m sending my elephants in from the south, near their town center.”

“Shoot! Bloody Brits sent a diversion. Cannons, look at all those cannons. No hope.”

“The Iroquois’ army is pathetic, why are the French running away?”

When I am not memorizing definitions for Foundations of Politics or researching the playwright David Henry Hwang for College Writing II, I spend my time conquering entire nations. Seeing as the age of conquest and imperialism ended several decades ago, I can understand if some clarification is needed to uproot the seed of doubt. It is no delusion or fantasy that I claim to be a conqueror. I wouldn’t lie to you. I replaced social interactions with videogames, specifically Age of Empires III.

During what I considered my free time, I devoted several hours a day being a wannabe Alexander the Great. Nonetheless, my civilizations grew. I would mainly focus on aesthetics – a grid city plan and farms allocated specifically to the farming district – while the military force remained thin to non-existent. And yet, I controlled everything about the city. Power flowed through my veins. Soon enough, however, one of my foes would bombard my city with their cannons. A matter of seconds would pass, and my city would be in flames and my townspeople would be fleeing to the other side of the map. In retrospect, I wasn’t a very good conqueror.

Look at the aesthetics. Just look!

During this short-lived obsession, I learned two important lessons. First, never spend resources on “beautifying” something when there are necessities to see to. As a virtual ruler, my prerogative lacked the experience necessary. I thought I could ignore the fighting by refusing to fund an army, and spend my game-play breeding sheep (a rather superfluous aspect of the game when you can build a farm, by the way). Eventually, contrary to whatever I thought or hoped for, the enemy attacked whether I was prepared or not. Unpleasant consequences followed.

The second lesson has less to do with being a conqueror and more to do with reality. Most people see college as a way for a young person to finally escape the confines of childhood and enter pseudo-adulthood. For most, the level of independence is increased, meaning choices carry more weight in general. After devoting an absurd amount of time to playing a trivial game, I realized that my years at college are short. Questions such as “should I be wasting my time playing videogames?” and “Isn’t there a book I could be reading, instead?” began to play through my mind. Worry took root, and I started to panic that I ruined my whole career because I played Age of Empires instead of studying for a test. A cold sweat covered my body and I contemplated dropping…

I sometimes over-exaggerate. The point is, college is a time to learn how to balance the ideas of fun and work. Learning this in college is difficult at times because you don’t have someone telling you when you can and cannot watch TV or play a video game. Also, you have more distractions (Netflix is a prime suspect, I believe, for most college dropouts). With that said, learn to set aside time to relax, have fun, and be sociable, but also remember that you are attending college for an academic reason. The two may seem like cities in conflict, but with the right treaty, a peace can be achieved.

Keep on keeping on.

J. S. Umberger

Not the Usual Spots

Just because you live in New York doesn’t mean you’re a New Yorker. You can still beeline your way between school housing and the campus if you wish. You don’t have to know what one-dollar dumplings taste like or get kicked in the face by a subway dancer on accident. Got adventure in your blood? These spots will take you around the city--you won’t find all of them on the books:

Vanessa’s Dumplings; Lower East Side, Manhattan--Vanessa’s offers a nice middle ground between the health-suspect dollar dumplings and some of the more expensive joints. Try a sesame pancake too!

Prospect Park/Botanical Gardens; Park Slope, Brooklyn--The creators of Central Park were disappointed with their work...so they created Prospect Park in Brooklyn. In the summer families set out grills and coolers on the sprawling lawns for a relaxing afternoon. The Botanical Gardens offer an array of beautiful blossoms.

Casa Della Mozzarella; Belmont, Bronx--Word on the street is that all the Manhattan Little Italy restaurants source their mozzarella from here. Just get it fresh from the source. The store is in the Bronx Little Italy and nearby the Fordham campus.

Goodwill; Sunnyside, Queens--For the serious thrifter, the store is literally a warehouse of bins containing unsorted clothing. There’s plenty of trash, but a few treasures. I got a used Kenneth Cole leather briefcase that I use to this day for $3. You buy by the pound. ‘Nuff said.

Joshua Linder