This was originally a big post but somehow it got deleted and is now lost forever.

Hello Hello.
Bye Bye Bye.

Hey there,
How does the weather fair
Over there where the rare air
Bear hare after hare who stare
Into the the lair with nare a care.
But I am aware of the bear in there,
So please beware what you share.

Anyway, I'm not sure I should be keeping this journal anymore. What is the point really of writing this drivel? Even I lack the fortitude to sift through the mounds of shit on this website to catch the few posts which might be mildly interesting to myself of the future. The vast majority is pathetic and written horribly, including this post. Why why why? I have a headache. I think there is some kind of oily material coming out of all the pipes in my apartment and that I have been unknowingly ingesting this oil for the past several days and that that is what is causing my headaches.

I really wonder whether keeping this journal is bringing me any closer to my goal of becoming a writer. In some sense I'm sure it helps to just write down what I am thinking but the moments when I choose to write in this journal seem to the most mundane points in my life. When I have an inspirational moment I am usually not at home and there is usually no computer in sight or opportunity to sit down and write. If only I could remember what I was thinking at those times. But I can't. Maybe that's what I should be working on. My memory.

So I've been in Rochester for a little over a week now and things are finally starting to click. I drove out last week from NY and took many stops along the way including one night in Indiana near Amish country, then another night in Madison, Wisonsin. I arrived in Rochester on Friday the 13th and immediately called an ad in the paper for a furnished room that was near the hospital and available by the week. The room was in the basement of an old house right down the block from the Mayo clinic, kind of smallish and damp, but cool. The bathroom was a makeshift deal right next to the boiler and quite filthy. There was also no toilet paper so I had to remember to bring my own. I actually preferred to use public toilets rather than the one in the apartment. The shower was more like a dirty plastic box and I'm sure I would have seen cockroaches if I had looked for them. The room itself however was pretty decent and included cable TV. And the landlord seemed like a friendly honest guy so I would have had no problem staying there longer term (I actually got used to the bathroom after a few days). As it turned out though, I managed to see 4 places the next day and decided to take one of them before the day was over. By the end of the day I had filled out an application and signed my part of the lease. I decided to take a 2 bedroom in Byron which is a small town of 3500 about 10 minutes west of Rochester. The drive out is a pleasant and quick pass across mostly farm land on a 4 lane highway. The apartment complex was brand new and my building only had 4 other tenants so I had my choice of apartments. I chose an end unit on the top 3rd floor because of it's unique layout and the view of Rochester from the patio. The apartment also includes a microwave, dishwasher, free cable and high speed internet access for 1 year, and indoor heated parking. There is also a hiking trail nearby, a fitness center with whirlpool and an outdoor pool being built. By far it was the best deal I saw. There was a similar complex located closer in Rochester but they only had one second floor apartment with a balcony that looked out on an inner courtyard. My balcony looks out on miles of farmland with Rochester in the distance. That was really key. I realized from my experience in Buffalo that a 10-20 minute commute by car is better than a 5 or 10 minute walk to work in most cases, especially if there is no traffic. I need that morning and evening time to clear my mind and prepare for work or to plan my evening. Anyway, the manager of the complex has been incredibly helpful moving me in. I got to choose my own parking space which I changed 3 times. I've met 2 of my neighbors which is half the building. I bought furniture at Medford the other day though they won't deliver until next Thursday. Hopefully I will be free from orientation activities when they come, but the manager has offered to be here in case I am not. These are all the little things that make a huge difference for me and why I am reallly starting to like small town living. I bought a 24" television and some patio chairs as well yesterday so it's finally starting to feel like home. Now I am starting to get a picture of what my life will be like for the next 4 years and I think I will be very comfortable, though I will probably move back to New York after training.

I love Rochester, MN, errr.. well, I've only been here for 7 days so I don't have much experience to back up my exclamation, but so far I have to say I'm liking it alot. Today, in the span of 3 hours I took a computerized driver's test (passed, 94%), obtained a temporary license and arranged for my permanent Minnesota driver's license to be sent to my brand spankin new address, went to the vehicle registration bureau and obtained the forms and instructions necessary to register my vehicle and opened a checking account with all the perks I could want. I was dreading these bureaucratic formalities because back in New York it would have been a multi-day affair. In the afternoon I went shopping again and picked up a chair, toaster oven, rice cooker, bath mats and garbage cans for the bathroom. Then I came home and had a ham and cheese sandwich lunch and put together the computer desk and rolling chair I bought yesterday from Staples. I have to say everything seems to be coming together swimmingly. All I have to do now is talk to the manager about attaching the water to the dishwasher and confirming the address for the telephone line. Apparently, this address isn't listed in the phone company's computers probably because it's a new building.

I love NY! Nobody can surprise you with unsolicited generosity, scathing wit, searing political commentary, etc, more than a New Yorker, a real New Yorker, not a tourist or transplant, but one who is vital to the workings and misgivings of this great city, one who not only knows which things can go wrong when a billion things are happening at once, but also knows how to fix those things if at all possible. Yesterday, I arrived back in New York after my 8 week sojourn and took a cab back from JFK because it was late and I was tired. The taxi driver was a former motorcycle mechanic who now drove a cab 4 days a week. He explained to me the details of short hauls from the airport which allow the cab driver to cut back to the front of the line if he chooses to return, which areas constitute short hauls and long hauls, the strategy of staying in the city or leaving the city for the outerboroughs on the weekends. He explained his love of motorcycles, the speed, the power, the danger. All of this with almost no prompting. As I sat in the back of the cab, I relaxed and finally felt that I was finally back home where I belonged. I was so relaxed, I didn't even remember taking the knapsack off my back and placing it on the floor of the cab. Only after I had gotten out and walked 50 feet towards my apartment did I realize I had left my knapsack in the cab. How ironic. After taking so much care to mind my stuff during my trip, keeping my passport always on my body, keeping my europass always accessible but hidden, and doing a good job of it as I hadn't lost a single thing during my entire trip, how ironic that I should lose my knapsack on the taxi ride home from the airport. I panicked because the camera had all the photos from my trip. My europass was also in the bag although I didn't need it anymore I still wanted it as a memento. Thankfully, the taxi dispatcher at JFK had handed me a piece of paper with the cab's medallion number before I stepped in the car. One of those bureaucratic formalities, like a receipt, which one doesn't ordinarily pay much attention to, but which has the potential to be a most important piece of paper if something should go wrong. In my case, it was the only link I had to the cab. I didn't know the driver's name but I knew the medallion number. It was a start. I also knew that the cab driver was likely to go back to JFK since my ride was only a short haul. It was an incredible piece of luck that I had just learned that bit of trivia. I looked up the Taxi and Limousine commission website for a way to contact a driver for lost property, but all the offices were closed and would not open until Monday. So I called the JFK general number to see if I could contact the dispatcher, but a recorded message told me to call back tomorrow. I called information to see if they could give me a number for JFK taxi dispatch or ground transportation, but they could only give me the same useless numbers I already had. Then I saw a little footnote at the bottom of the webpage that said reports about taxi drivers could be made 24 hours a day at number 311. 311. That's it. Like 911. Or 411. I thought it might just be for emergencies and then I remembered that the Mayor had created 311 as a sort of screen for 911, for minor emergencies. I convinced myself that my lost knapsack constituted something of an emergency, and frankly I was getting nowhere with my telephone calls/internet searches so I gave it a shot. I did not know that by calling 311 I keyed myself into the network of true New Yorkers, the public servants who work through the night, the true New Yorkers who know how to fix things when they go wrong. The 311 operator calmly listened to my story and gave me a general number for JFK. When he started to give it to me I thought it would be the same number as the general number I already had since the first 4 digits were the same, but alas, the final 3 digits were different. I had gotten the "real" number for JFK, the one that people who need to know now know, the number that is scribbled in the margins of the directory next to the general numbers, the number to a telephone next to a living person, not just an indifferent operator whose job was to answer the phone and initiate a game of circular phone tag, but a living person who knew what he or she was talking about, a person who was responsible for things besides answering the phone AND who had the integrity and sense of responsibility to answer the phone. I called the number and instantly the man who answered the phone understood my situation as if he had dealt with this hundreds of times, which he probably had.
Operator: You have the medallion number?
Me: Yes!
Operator: Ok, I'll transfer you to the dispatch supervisor. Hold on.
Dispatch supervisor: What's the medallion number?
Me: XXXX
Dispatch supervisor: Ok, this is what we do in these situations. We will put a hold on his medallion number so when he gets to the dispatcher he will not be allowed to proceed without contacting me. We will ask him about the bag. He has to turn it in if he has it.
Me: Ok, but he didn't do anything wrong.
Dispatch supervisor: Yes, but the driver may not know the bag is even in the car and the next passenger may take the whole bag without the driver knowing.
Me: That's true. Should I leave my number so you can call me?
Dispatch supervisor: Sure. (Writes down my number and name). And here's the number for the taxi lot if you want to call them, 555-5555. I just spoke with them. Good luck. I hope you get your bag back.
Me: Thanks. I'll just wait by the phone.
So I waited a few minutes wondering whether I should call the taxi lot just to be sure. I didn't want to be pushy but I eventually decided to call.
Taxi lot clerk: Yes. The supervisor explained the situation to me. When he comes back to JFK we will stop him and tell him to call you. What's your number?
(I give her my cell phone and my land line phone). Ok, I just spoke to the dispatcher outside so he knows. Good luck.
Me: THANKS!
Now THIS is a city that never sleeps. I had spoken to 3 extremely polite, well trained people who knew exactly what to do. I was confident the wheels were now set in motion. And all of this had occurred around 11PM on a Friday night. Still I wasn't sure whether I would really ever get my bag back. Just in case, I kept my phone ringers on extra loud and right beside me at all times. I was exhausted though, having not slept for 36 hours and I eventually fell asleep. The next day I still hadn't heard anything and I had pretty much accepted the fact that I had lost my bag. I was dealing with it and had a million other things to do like donate my furniture to the salvation army, another organization that knows how to get things done. I managed to clear out most of my medium sized furniture which was a great relief and I went back to Queens to chill out for a while. I had my cell phone with me earlier, but I left it in the apartment before I went to Queens having mistakenly given up hope for a call from JFK. But alas, when I got back to Brooklyn around 10PM, there were messages on both my cell phone and my answering machine! They found my bag. The taxi driver had it with him and they gave me his cell number and name. I gave him a ring.
Me: Hello is this "taxi driver"?
Taxi driver: Yes, is this "Me" (He knew my name and was expecting my call).
Me: Yes
Taxi driver: Can you call me back in 3 minutes?
Me: Ok.
(3 minutes later)
Me: Hello?
Taxi: Hi. I have your bag. The next passenger found it and passed it to me. I have it right next to me. Let's see. There's a book, two europasses, a camera, a pack of cigarettes with a lighter, some mints, a half-empty bottle of pepsi, and some gum. (everything!) There's no passport.
Me: That's ok. I have my passport. Sounds like everything's there. That's great!
Taxi: Are you in the city?
Me: No.
Taxi: Oh that's too bad. I'm on duty so I can't drive all the way out to Brooklyn. If you come out to the city tomorrow I'll give you your bag. You have my number.
Me: Ok. I'll give you a call tomorrow. THANKS!
Taxi: Sure thing. Bye!
Wow! I never expected to get my bag back. I thought it was gone and I was pretty depressed about it. But now I'm ecstatic. I can't wait to have it in my hands. I will give the taxi driver a BIG tip! I wish I could tip all those people at the JFK taxi dispatch as well. There were awesome! I will write a letter or give them a call tomorrow once I have my bag back. The stereotype of indifferent, rude New Yorkers is wayyy off. Maybe the tourists and transplants are like that because they think that's how New Yorkers should behave, but real New Yorkers, the public servants in the greatest city on earth are some of the nicest and most helpful people on earth. Period.