AP English writing exercise

I was going through some of my journals today, and I came across a truly pathetic piece of writing from the first semester of my senior year. It was an activity where one person starts a narrative and it is passed along the row and each person adds a few sentences in a minute or two and then off to the next person. I think we must have been working on descriptions, because these are some flowery little sentences. Holy Adjectives!

Three out of the four additional contributors to my story were my best friends that year; the fourth was a quiet, unassuming and very nice young man. I would venture to say that all of us were fair writers, but somehow we turned out some real drivel.  I remember the day we wrote this. Mine was the only little story that ended up so ridiculously. We all giggled hard when we shared these in class. I'm sure Mrs. Hayes rolled her eyes. And because it is so terrible...why not publish it on the internet?

Molly: The North Carolina air was hot and heavy. The only respite came from a coastal breeze that blew the sea's mist up to a new home in the never ending blue sky. The scalding sand under

Reem: my feet. An attractive boy tanning near by. His crystal clear blue eyes and defined biceps caught my attention immediately. He took the lotion and lathered it up through his long slender fingers. I imagined the cool relief the lotion brought him in the heat.*

Brittany: He was like a god with a strange aura about him. I had never before seen such a person. He had a mysterious rugged look to his messy blonde locks. For a moment he seemed frozen in time: a perfect still life. 

Julie: Our eyes met and the intensity of his gaze could have moved mountains. I remained rooted where I stood, like a ship anchored to the strong cliffs of the shoreline.

Peter: As I drew closer to this god-like man, he began to open his luscious lips to say that he wanted to take me away in his arms. I realized...

Peter sure was a good sport.  I wonder what realization he would have had this protagonist come to.  I guess we'll never know.


*I think I know where the shift in tone happened. 

Actual Journal Entry: December 17, 2005

I used to have a mind that would remember everything, (and I would document it all). Either my brain is faltering (which is totally the case) or I subconsciously decided I didn't need to remember every detail about every little thing. Now a days, well, the old grey mare she ain't what she used to be. I went scouring through a couple of my old journals tonight looking for a specific entry, which I didn't come across, but I did find a whole lot from 2005 that, had I not been reminded of it happening, I would have completely forgotten and not been worse for it. This is one of those instances. It is so Jr.-High-ridiculous it's sad:

7:35am - In the Sky
Last Friday I was training this new girl Lindsay at the Good Earth ... She decided Mason and I were either already dating and hiding it, or that a romance was blossoming before her very eyes! Now, I know I have a soft spot for charmingly egotistical republicans -- I've been trying to rid myself of this serious character flaw since the Republican moved away -- but this guy, no. He goes to UVSC and has a bone to pick with me simply because I'm from Oregon. Anyway, I laughed off Lindsay's claims, but she just kept saying, "you guys just have a lot of chemistry." As we were counting out I told Liz, and apparently Liz decided that Mason should know. The next time I saw him, Mason said, "So we have chemistry, huh?" "Well I don't think so, at least not with each other." We spent a few minutes laughing and talking behind the manager's desk, and apparently that was all it took for every other employee at the store to decide that we were in fact in a relationship. By Tuesday it was a well-known fact that we were an item, and apparently he and I are adding fuel to the fire by admitting our couple status and then making up bold-faced lies to support the fictitious claims. The fact that I hugged Aaron good night at the store-- and oh looks I got when Randy walked up to me yesterday and said, "embrace me." If these kids only knew it was Randy I was with until three Thursday night, not Mason. Also, pretty sure Randy's gay.

...

After I got off of work last night I sent Nephi a message asking him what he was doing. He responded with such a great text; I'll document it once we've landed and I can turn my phone on again (yes, I remembered to bring my phone this time, and yes, it is still functioning quite well despite its trip through the washing machine.) It was something like, "I'M WRITING. That's as monolithic as I can make that appear. One guess as to whether monolithic was in my cell's predictive text." I told him I needed to give him Arrested season one before I head home. Just in case it proves to be too off-color for him to enjoy, I also lent him Chuck Dugan is AWOL, which is a total boy book. He and Rick came over to hang out with Jen and I. Nephi, like the good egg he is, left at curfew, and then Rick came to my room to chat while I packed. I just adore those guys! (And, I'm pretty confident that they know nothing about the crazy "Life as a House" activities Randy was telling me about that take place in that park by I-15. Not gay.)  Anyway, while we were talking, Rick told me to stop being so concerned with "leagues." I told him I'd stop thinking leagues were the sole way the world functions as soon as the gas station stops being the place where I get the most attention from men. 

Directors: Woody Allen

Almost immediately after I posted my little survey thing, I got an email from a friend who is apparently a ginormous film snob, not to name any names (JAMES, ahem). I had no idea he was so particular. We talk about movies all of the time, (seriously, every conversation we have is about movies and nothing else) but he watches anything and everything, so when I got an email criticizing the directors I named (Rian Johnson, Wes Anderson, Sofia Coppola and Woody Allen) (He had nothing bad to say about Preston Sturges, for how can you ever have anything bad to say about Preston Sturges?*) I was pretty surprised.

He was actually mostly gobsmacked (my word, not his) that I didn't put down my "real favorites" Jacques Demy, Jean-Luc Godard, and Alfred Hitchcock. To which I say, why stop there? I respect a lot of directors. I kind of just arbitrarily chose five to name. AND maybe I wanted to seem less like the pretentious girl I am - so I chose fairly accessible directors. Not to be too defensive here, but I wrote that these are five directors whose movies I could watch all day long. It's not an exclusive list. (Truth be told, I wrote down the first five that came in to my head. Hitch would have been a way better choice than say, Rian Johnson with only two films so far.)

He mostly had issue with Woody Allen whom he deems totally overrated. I must argue that he is superbly prolific and diverse, and while I don't like everything he does, he's still cranking out a movie a year, after 40 years. To me that is amazing. He's an odd duck, for sure, but why not hear stories from all sorts of people?  Aside from particular movies, I love that Woody Allen has a particular signature. He always uses the same font for his credits (white windsor on a black screen) played over either a jazz standard or a classical piece. His neurotic little thumbprint is all over each movie, be it Bananas or Matchpoint. And, he's very funny. I am a fan.

So I made a chart in my journal to prepare for my argument discussion with this film snob** of titles that I loved, others not so much, and the ones I haven't seen. 

When you are in the mood for a comedy, watch Scoop or Sleeper. When you are in the market for a neurotic 'who dunnit' go for Manhattan Murder Mystery. If you just want to witness cinematic perfection go ahead and pop in Annie Hall, Radio Days, or Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

What do you think, do you love him or hate him? What's your favorite?

*Just don't watch The Great Moment -- snoozefest!
**Maybe I should say, "other film snob."

I don't go to the theater much.

One of my film professors Dean Duncan would encourage us to watch old and foreign films instead of trying to stay current with new releases. I've inadvertently followed his direction this year. I thought about it the other day, and I have only gone to a first run theater seven times in the last calendar year. Then journal and I thought about it further, and I have only seen movies that have Ryan Gosling and/or Emma Stone in them.

Easy A, All Good Things, Blue Valentine, Crazy Stupid Love, The Help, Drive and finally The Ides of March.

Maybe I should diversify? Or maybe I'll just stick to Netflix for all of my film needs. I can tell you right now that I won't be seeing Footloose.

Travel Journal Excerpts 4

June 21, 2009
Sevilla, Spain

Tonight when I went to talk to the hostel desk, the manager said, "Hey Molly. I saw you guys on the news today." "Oh, what'd they say we were wanted for?" "No, seriously, you and Laura and Ashley were on the news. They were doing a story on the heat wave here in Sevilla, and you guys were used as footage." At which point I recalled when I turned to Laura and Ashley and said, "there's a camera filming us. I'm sure they're making a tourism video or something." Apparently, it was the news. One day in Spain and we're on the news.

June 23, 2009
Barcelona, Spain

While driving into the city tonight I noticed a huge building off the road labeled "supermercat." I'm not entirely sure why it took me SO LONG to figure out that it was a super market. I just had this image in my head of a mermaid cat. Like instead of half fish half human, half fish half cat, that could be a pet to a mermaid. Wow. I am ridiculous.

June 26, 2009
Barcelona, Spain

Although I try to keep this as a secret of the most secure variety, I am genuinely an idiot. Today's example: I went to the Renfe Station off of Barcelona's metro stop Sant Someone or other to go to the airport to catch my flight to Santander. I was under the impression that the Barcelona Reus airport Ryanair kept talking about was the Barcelona airport that was 8 miles out of the city. I headed out there on the train and wasted an hour there going from one terminal to another looking for Ryanair. Then in my broken Spanish I asked and learned the disheartening truth. So back to Sant to catch a different train to the suburb of Reus. Now, the timing of this worked out as well as it could have, which I can write because this story has a happy ending, but it was absolutely touch and go for awhile. I got a train ticket to Reus departing in twenty minutes, then rode the hour and twenty minute journey ever-so-impatiently. When I got off, I went searching for a cab - there was only one at the station and someone beat me to it by 20 seconds. Then I met a girl from Tijuana, who had a suitcase, also looking for a way to get to the airport. There was a half an hour break in bus service and that of course was when we needed that bus. We called a cab after trying to hitchhike - my idea - and the cab dropped us off 9 minutes before my flight, and consequently 21 minutes after my ticket said the gate closed. It was amazingly funny listening to her yell at the cab driver to pass other cars, that we were in a hurry, but the cabby just took his time. The ticket desk told me if I could carry on my bag I could try to run for it, so I bid adios to my friend, hoping she could catch her flight to London and ran like hell. I threw my suitcase on the scanner praying they wouldn't search it or be a stickler for the 3 oz rule that I was absolutely breaking with my full size shampoo bottles inside. I was that moron running through the airport because there was no other option. When I got to the gate, they called the plane and I got the ok to run on the tarmac, they were about to close the last door. Here I am, JUST in time to wing my way to the Basque coast, and here comes the perfume cart.

Travel Journal Excerpts 3

June 23, 2009
39,000 ft above somewhere between Seville and Barcelona

RyanAir has proved to be the craziest airline I've ever experienced, not only are they charging 3 euro for a bottle of water, but they run up and down the aisle and sell perfumes and lottery tickets. At one point after some turbulence, a stewardess came on the intercom and said some things very quickly - those some things both Ashley and I heard as "this is an emergency" and then the lights went out. After we landed, a large portion of the passengers broke out into applause and shouted "Olé!" thus proving to me that other people heard "this is an emergency." Laura of course doesn't believe us, but why else would people shout and clap en masse?

June 24, 2009
Barcelona

Last night when we got into town we discovered that it is Sant Joan/San Juan, and we found out that the party was at the beach. We were instructed to go there by metro by the old man at the hostel who was on his smoke break with this young kid who basically told us to be super paranoid about getting mugged or worse on the metro. I wasn't too worried, but the metro is a whole lot of crazy. First, everywhere we've gone there are people selling beer from a six pack in their hand or bag. Most likely they picked it up at the store and are charging more than they paid, but still, that's a little sketch. Then, we are on the train and we see people pouring alcohol from bottles into cups held by everyone in a huge group. There were people smoking - which I knew was against the rules because of the "30 Euro fine for Smoking" signs everywhere in the train - but what was truly awesome, was this totally stoned guy smoking a joint on the train! I kind of couldn't believe it. When we surfaced, we discovered that every single person in Barcelona was at the beach. We passed a guy literally passed out on the side walk. There were several guys who tried to talk to us, but one was so funny. He started talking to me, then quickly transferred to Ashley, saying phrases in English and French trying to figure us out. He followed us for a while, until Ashley let out the most amazing "NO!" I have ever heard. It was sustained and unlike anything I've ever heard. A little whiny and desperate and more nasally than anything Ashley ever says, but it was SO FUNNY. There were several different stages and bands playing. We got to see this great drum line, probably from a university jamming for a long time with masses encircling them dancing and drinking--standard merriment. There was one kid dancing like he was seizing and clogging at the same time. I laughed so hard I fell off of the tree I was standing on to see the drum line. We walked around a little bit, and walked past another passed out guy on the side walk, and a huge line of honey buckets with a bunch of guys peeing on the ground near them creating this massive stream of piss, it was so gross, and one guy walked through it in bare feet. ... Then we saw this band that was not awesome, but the girl joining them had a super cute romper on, and one of the coolest afros I've ever seen. There were a lot of people who tried to chat me up while I was dancing to the mediocre band with a fun beat, and that was awkward and a completely new experience. I'm 100% convinced it is because of my blonde hair. ... We got back to the hostel at about 5 am, and were followed shortly after by one of our roommates. He looked and sounded familiar, but I couldn't really place it, until Ashley said, "He looks and sounds exactly like Brad from Home Improvement?" All three of us quickly agreed, and were still talking about it when he came back into the room. Knowing he heard something, Ashley said, "Have you ever seen Home Improvement?" He said, "You're going to tell me that I look like Zachery Ty Bryan." "No, we were thinking how much you resembled Jonathan Taylor Thomas," I said this trying to be funny, but he didn't pick up on my sarcasm, and said, "Really?" "No." He never denied being ZTB, and mentioned playing soccer with those guys growing up in California. He also regaled us with delightful anecdotes about his friend being molested by a transvestite hooker on the street, and how his sister was on Laguna Beach. We IMDBed ZTB this morning. I am 85% sure it is him, and will state with confidence forever more that I stayed in a hostel with Zachery Ty Bryan.

Travel Journal Excerpts 2

June 17, 2009
New York City

So after my upset at Sotheby's yesterday, I called the Monégasque consulate to see if they had any more of the auction catalogs, and they had a couple. When they offered to send it to me I said, "I'm in town, I can come by and pick it up." The woman responded with something like, "ok, but we don't have an office you can come up to, so when you get here, tell the concierge, and I'll bring it down to you." She gave me the address, and so I headed down.

As I was about two blocks away, Jooj called because she was off of work early, and she was nearby too. We would meet at the consulate. I went to the wrong building at first, one who had a a most confusing address, one that said 564-6 -- this does not mean that 565 is in this building, by the way. But I don't really care that a room full of middle-aged Arabic men were laughing at me. Then, I found Jooj, and we went to the right building, but we weren't without doubts. When we got inside there was no indication of anything that went on inside the building. Everything floor to ceiling was marble with no art work, no personality, just something that seemed straight out of a spy movie. (I am not joking, what came to my mind was the Bourne movies, and Jooj went straight to Mission Impossible.) Oh, how to articulate how awkward it was in that lobby? I don't think it is possible. I went to the concierge who at first seemed to have no idea what I was talking about, then after asking again, he called up, and we waited. Whilst we were waiting, there was the most random group of people coming in and out of the building. I'm sure it is a situation where people live in the building and there are offices, but this was a truly random group of people. A young woman, a young gay couple, an elderly woman, and several people in business dress. The people who weren't in business attire didn't look like they could even remotely afford an apartment in that building, unless they are pulling a Jemaine and living in the utility closets. So strange. But, I got what I came for, and am so excited to bust it out and look at it.

June 20, 2009
Sevilla, Spain

My brother told me that Sevilla was the warmest place in Europe, I would argue that it is the warmest place ever. It was 40 degrees today, I don't even want to know what that translates to. I think it was especially warm because we were outside all day walking around Sevilla. We watched some flamenco, got accosted by some gypsies, and went to the cathedral, which supposedly houses Columbus' grave, but I'm not going to lie, other than the excellent exercise the hike up to the tower was, it was pretty much a bust. The best part of the day was the Alcazar, which is exceptionally beautiful. There were peacocks and ducks running around, and glorious gardens. ... We decided on some lunch, and found a place with a picture of a very tempting, ice cold smoothie on a placard outside, so that was our winner. Ashley and I ordered smoothies, Ashley banana, and I lemon. The waitress looked at us like we were crazy when we ordered that, but those were the only fruits she had that we wanted in a smoothie. The food was awful, just heated up pre-made stuff with no flavor, but we held out hope for our smoothies, that is until they were delivered to our table. Unlike smoothies in the states, dare I say, how smoothies should be, there was no medium for the fruit other than water. She literally juiced a lemon added water and two whole ice cubes, same with banana. Had there been shaved ice or yogurt or sherbet or anything, my lemon choice would not have been so crazy, but as it was, stupidest lunch choices ever.

Travel Journal Excerpts 1

June 17, 2009
en route from NYC to DC

I always try to pick my seat with great care. I try to choose someone who looks as though they have things to occupy themselves with, and who consequently won't talk to me that much. I also like to sit near doors so that I have a short wait to exit. With these two motivators in mind, I chose my seat. The vamoose was fairly full, there were no empty rows, but a few empty seats, and I asked a woman "can I sit here?" to which she replied, "sure." Before we had even left the train station, she was on the phone to either her mother or her husband saying, "Thanks to your sound advice, I am the only person on the bus who has someone sitting next to them. You told me to sit in the front and I did, and everyone in the back has two seats to themselves." When she said this, I was so sad that my cell phone's battery was dead and I couldn't call someone and say, "Guess what this passive aggressive woman who is prone to hyperbole and very keen on displacing blame said about me when I was sitting right next to her!"

June 18, 2009
Washington DC

I was on the metro on my way to meet up with Britt for lunch, (after a somewhat unsuccessful walk to Ballston from Ashley's house) sitting down behind a man in business attire and across the aisle from a man in business attire. Nothing about this ride was seeming at all unusual until the guy across the aisle retrieved a pile of recycled paper towels from his briefcase, and started pulling them up the leg of his pants, then the other. I was watching out of my periphery--so as to not raise his awareness--to try to figure out what on earth he was doing. After he pulled the paper towels all the way up his trousers, he took a bundle of paper towels and shoved it down the front of his pants. At this point, the man in front of him looked over at him squarely, and then paper towel man picked up his things and went to the other end of the car. I wouldn't say that I am not used to crazy things on public transportation, the max has shown me a lot, but mostly its things I don't want to see like bare butts or genitalia, not things that leave me completely flummoxed like paper towels down your pants.

A few non sequiturs I've written in my journal this week:

- Sarah Palin reminds me of Joe from Project Runway, in that clearly they both lack talent and experience, but they have egos that would suggest otherwise. (what's so great about being a gun-totin' hockey mom? I don't get it. oh, and Joe totally dresses in drag.)

- Ethan Embry is underrated, or at least he was in the late 90's when he had a career.

- Donald Rumsfeld = Pure, unadulterated evil. Note to self: never ingest aspartame again.

- I get a lot of bruises playing with Hudson, Sydney & Austin. Maybe I'm anemic. Or maybe they are just freakishly strong with instances of rage. I think I'll go with that one.

- Trampolines and bicycles are awesome.

- I need to remember that It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia starts next Thursday!

Speaking of Drunk, or A Doodle For Becky.

I was on hold for a while today whilst pasting random things into my journal (i.e. picture of Jason Schwartzman & the ugly collage) and ended up doodling about flip cup. Betty Ford, here I come if I ever switch from water.

June 2, 1997: EXTREME Loathing.

Actual Journal Entry: Episode 3

Names have not been changed, because the owners of said names will never read this.

So, the other day the stake had a youth activity at the beach. It was pretty fun. Pretty uneventful as far as what Alana and I had planned. Oh well.

The worst part was I had to ride back with Becca's sister, Beth who just got home from a mission. We'd never met before, and instead of talking in the back with Brittany and Kalee, I was stuck in front, not really talking, not really doing anything except riding, while Beth listened to "More Than Words" on repeat the whole trip back from the beach. THE WHOLE TRIP. ONE SONG FOR THE WHOLE TRIP! Who does that? I used to like hearing the guitarist's fingers scrape against the strings changing chords in that song, but oh my gosh, if I ever hear that song again I will probable go into cardiac arrest. An hour and a half of Extreme, (and it certainly was!). Sure, I get that she didn't get to listen to fun music on her mission, but oh my gosh, listening to the same song over and over again, especially in front of innocent bystanders is just cruel. Especially "More Than Words". Who does that?

Image stolen from: www.heavyharmonies.com

Undated, Spring 2000: The Hickey

Actual Journal Entry: Episode 2
(Again, names have been cleverly changed so as to not piss anyone off.)

The funniest thing happened in Pitzer’s class today. SG showed up with a hickey. I know what you’re thinking – this isn’t funny. But it is, because he got it from KS, eew! R pointed it out and we laughed about it a little too loudly before class, because we had a lot of attention on us. And then I said, “nice hickey” to S and he got all defensive and told me that it was from a vacuum. A VACUUM? HAHAHA! Oh my gosh who does that? 1. Like I’m going to believe that, and 2. Why would he say that? Does that seem like a less embarrassing alternative? Because, newsflash, IT’S NOT!

It still cracks me up that [his mom] told me that she hopes they don’t get married because they would have ugly children. OUCH! His mom said that. They are totally going to get married as soon has he gets home from his mission. I guess [his mom] can't win them all. I can’t believe I liked him for so long. What was I thinking?


***Picture is not of the people in the journal entry, just an image I found online, which seemed to fit pretty well. Also, as a follow up, they did get married and have since had at least one child.

April 3, 1995: The Lice Check

Actual Journal Entry: Episode 1
(Names have been cleverly altered so as to not piss anyone off.)

So, earlier this morning Mr. S got on the intercom and announced that they would be doing lice checks today due to an “outbreak”. Who knew that three dirty seventh graders is all it takes to make up an outbreak – that’s the story anyway.

I should be doing my math homework, but its "free time" and Mrs. M is in the corner doing some yoga stretches – her daily ritual to break up the excruciatingly long afternoon before we break apart for math and electives. What a hippie. And this morning we were talking about civil rights and all of a sudden she pulled out her rain stick. I do not see how that fits at all, but whatever.

So, Ms. S and Mr. S are in our class checking out heads, what is up with that? I mean, there’s gotta only be one kid in this class who could ever have lice. DK. Oh, he smells so bad, poor kid. Or maybe EM. We broke up, by the way. I’m not even sure why I’m writing that down, because it’s not like we ever even went out. He’s so gross. C totally talked me into going out with him to get back at me for talking her into going out with AM. He is so much cooler that E, sure he keeps a stuffed moose on his desk, but--well, I guess he keeps a stuffed moose on his desk. But he’s a nice kid.

Ok, so D or E are the only two possibilities. Oh, maybe IF, he does still sport a rat tail after all. The other day I walked up behind him with a pair of scissors and I put it really close to the back of his head and closed the scissors really slowly. He freaked! It was so funny. I should have really done it and done him a major favor. Rat tails are so five years ago. But I really don’t think he has lice.

Ms. S checked my head and talked to me all buddy buddy, like we were friends or something just because I get a tardy slip from her every day. It was so embarrassing. I’m sure people were wondering how the old secretary and I are all pally.

Shocking! I didn’t have lice.

Oh, the funniest part was when Mr. S got all upset and started telling us to just wash our hair with bar soap and to not use any product. It went something like, “you kids today, you mess up your hair so much. Just take a bar of soap and wash your hair. You don’t need anything else. Your hair should feel squeaky clean. That’s a good thing.” I tried to not laugh too loudly, but come on, like I am really going to have split ends. He’s so ridiculous – hair was not meant to be squeaky.

Oh, math is in 20 minutes, so I’d better go do the assignment, Mrs. R already hates me enough.

Grandmother Willow’s Brief History of Manhattan

Dedicated to Lady Jooj, Captain Ali & Sister Sara

Gather around dears, and let me tell you a tale that has long been forgotten, about the very beginnings of New York City. Forget everything you’ve heard about The Astors or Carnegie, listen to the true story, from the mouth of someone who lived through it all.

It all started in the year 1402, a primitive time in America, Trump Tower hadn’t been built yet, and Columbus wouldn’t come along for another six years bringing the Pilgrims & our first President, John Smith, on the Ninja, The Pinto and the SS Minnow. The Island of Manhattan was comprised entirely of rocks, and only 103 brave souls lived there. Specifically, 82 Poles and 21 Americans. After kicking the original inhabitants off in 1398, the Poles and Americans got along fairly well, but that all changed when a natural supply of hydrogenated oils were found in Little America.

The Polish settlers grew jealous and figured they could win against a group a fourth their size, and they were right. There was a lot of bloodshed, and metal-infused-solid-at-room-temperature oil stolen. Following the battle, the 8 remaining Americans were forced to live off of the 215th St. subway stop. With the Americans out of the way, the Poles developed and cultivated the rest of the island, under the leadership of King Jagiellow and probably the most famous Pole, Duane Reade I. They built pharmacies and a park in the center of the island, to remind them of their homeland. They lived together in the Park in a commune situation promoting free love and the worship of L. Ron Hubbard.

After a few years of living in squalor and segregation, the Americans decided that they needed to take back their precious natural resource in addition to gaining power of the island, but knew that 8 people could not a difference make. They decided to go recruiting people from other boroughs and lands. They attracted people with lies about freedom and endless possibilities, a lie we still capitalize on today. The Polish governing class was excited about the population increase, and taxed heavily (and failed to represent), causing a greater rift between the two cultures.

By 1974, Americans were all over the island, while the small, inbred Polish population only had control of Central Park, with their leaders living in Mr. Belvedere Castle. There was a lot of hostility between the two groups, mostly fuelled by the fact that every night for a month, on the one channel in NYC, there was a six hour long SOAP marathon. Artists of all kinds reacted to the Hatfield/McCoy-esque feud, and the social injustice they were suffering. Playwright Tennessee Williams wrote a play about the tension between the two groups called, “Menagerie of Street Cats Named Spandex.”

The Americans had tried unsuccessfully a few times to stage rebellions, but somehow it never seemed to pan out. That is until that fateful night. I don’t think the writers of Welcome Back Kotter could have known what they were doing when they wrote the episode, “Inherit the Halibut,” but they were setting the stage for the greatest insurgence in human history. The Americans came to Central Park, and pushed them back. They pushed them back, WAAAAYY back. In one brief battle, the Americans conquered Manhattan and sent all of the Polish governing class to Coney Island. Woody Allen replaced Duane Reade CDLXVII as King of Manhattan, allowing New York City to become the land of plenty of imitation Coach bags it was destined to be.

I’d like to say that all of the hostility has died down between the two groups by now, but sadly it hasn’t. Relics of the Polish legacy still pepper Central Park and the rest of the island. The Poles use Coney Island as a playground for pain. They designed a roller coaster, so cruel and menacing that it gives every rider not only the roller coaster induced elation, but also mean cases of whiplash and night terrors. They also have an on going event they call, “shoot the freak” where they make an innocent American run around and get pelted by paint balls, and they don't even provide counseling for PTSD. But every day, you can make the choice of who you want to support. When you visit a vendor on the street, what will it be, a Hot Dog or a Polish Sausage?