Another Day, Another Deadline, Another Marek

If you can read this than you're dealing with school better than I am. You ever want to shake your papers out the window onto the street and just walk away into the woods to start a new life? Or wish the world would decide on just one language so you could find that best friend who just won't quit on you? That'll be my gripe for now.

On the upside, I'm guessing everyone had a good one on one with Ron and Irene two sessions ago? And the last class was uplifting. It's an experimental class that puts the burden of creating our own rules upon each other, but there is nothing but positive support in this course. (brown nosing) Really though, I feel more guided than taught in this class. The pitfall in that is, unless you're bent on learning, the tendency (temptation) to coast along is more than possible. So let's not burn hard earned college money whether it's your own or others' and get something valuable out of this. It's tough when there are strict classes out there that take up priority in our academic rank but remember we are shaping the future of this curriculum, we are pioneers!

I must be a magnet for Polish people. Despite living near the "little Poland" suburb of Wallington, New Jersey, I've had the pleasure on so many hazy nights to buddy with someone from that wonderful country. The people, those that I have met, share an amazing zest for life unattached from whatever hand life has dealt them. The indestructible spirit, wisdom, and honesty is unmistakable and unfortunately the general kindness among these beautiful people has become a guise for imbecility. Another common trait is an absurd tolerance to alcohol which works against the operating hours of your local watering hole. From what I've seen, my Polish friends have sweet-talked the most stern of bartenders into late shifts reaching into the early chirp of morning light. I shouldn't be surprised then to have walked into a pub during last call in my local shitamachi joint to find a bleary eyed stumbling Polish local caressing the already weakened spirit of the mizushobai with sincere verbal ballads imported from the old country. Maybe it's some sort of drinking moniker but why is it every Polish person I've met is named Marek? My, my we had a good time for sure and for the first time I felt truly transplanted from Tokyo to some sweat box towny mahogany hole in blue collar county. Funny, it took meeting someone neither here nor there to make here more like there.