the low-down

My name is Scott. I am not going to dwell on who I am, what I have done, where I come from, what I thought, where I went, who I did, where I did them, where I worked, what I studied- I am going to focus on tomorrow & what is to come. I feel that is much more important.

I had a teacher once who is about a million years old, and when asked how she lived to be so old and still teach, she moved her hand across and in front of her body in a sliding motion. The sliding glass door... she kept an eye on things, but shut the door. She has never let what is uncontrollable control her.

Living in New York City jades you with what you cannot control. You cannot control the 4 extra fat asses who cram themselves onto the subway at rush hour, stepping on your Prada, spilling coffee on your iPod, starting your day of trampled and stained. Actually, a true New Yorker learns to be turned on by such maddess.

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Tomorrow will be a new day, and outside of my window there will still be madness, happiness, and the gamut of emotions that fills our world. I will greet that day with the most positive mindset possible.

To face myself in the flourscent-fed reflection from the opposite window while slouching on the 6 train is difficult. I glance over and see a young man with so much laid out in front of him. I also see a mind full of possibility, potential, dignity, loss, energy, and confusion. But I don't care about the negatives.

I feed off of interaction with other people.

What makes people act the way they do?

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And did you know that at Six Happy Kitchen on East Broadway you can get 10 dumplings for $2. When I walk in, in her heavy accent, she says "oh-yes, you are- the one, who always, gets the dum-palins". Complement?
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Everyday when I am at the Broadway/Lafayette I give Elle, the accordion player. If you read this, and see him, give him a dollar. He is the nicest fucking man alive, and plays day-after-day in the subway, and always says a sincere "Thank-You". He notices when I am gone, or change routes. He knows that I take the F train. He makes eye contact and smiles- our connection infects other strangers and then tend to then be motivated to give him money too. Sometimes his friend plays with him as well. I don't know his name. I don't make much money, but have no quams about giving him a dollar.

There is this cracked-out lady who hangs out by Stop 1 on Madison Street and Rutgers. I see her everyday at least once, she is always begging for money, often "even 5 or 10 cents". The other day I met a friend after work who rode the 6 & F home, I stopped in Stop 1 to buy tonic and a few limes, and my 50 cents in change was my first donation to her. Probably my last. She did say thank-you though.
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She [not the cracked out lady, mind you] and I invited strangers into our apartment one night after dessert at the Clinton Street Baking Company. It took some convincing to break that south south threshold, but if I rewind my mind to recent "most stimulating social events", that would top the chart.