There's a girl standing on the corner of East and University with a handwritten sign asking for money. She's wearing jeans, Converse sneakers, a knee-length black raincoat, big black sunglasses and a cute little black and white polka dotted kerchief/doo-rag.
She reminds me of me somehow. Pre-suits. Pre-kids. Or maybe just the weekend version of myself (sans sign).
I want to pull over and ask her what happened in her life. Simply down on her luck? Drug addiction? MBA loans too much to handle? Former AIG employee?
I also wonder if her parents are alive. They would probably be heartbroken to see her. I'm heartbroken to see her.
Showing posts with label homeless. Show all posts
Showing posts with label homeless. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Travel Writing
It only took seven months for me to get my act together but I finally submitted my review of our February trip to the Dominican Republic to Trip Advisor. Not sure it was needed because most of the reviews for this hotel were glowing and it's currently ranked #1 of the 55 hotels in Punta Cana but what the hey? Every review helps, right?
I would also offer up my review of my trip last summer to Jersey, Channel Islands in the UK but I think it may frighten most tourists. Unless, of course, they enjoy drinking to excess with girlfriends, smoking cigarettes, and hanging out at surf clubs. We did somehow manage a day of shopping in St. Helier but a) most things were imported from the US and b) I couldn't afford anything anyway. But sightseeing? Hmmm. I guess so in the sense that, as long as you have your eyes open and you're relatively sober, you can't help but sight see.
The island is a gorgeous mix of English countryside, tan cows with long eyelashes, lavender fields, old castles, tiny roads flanked by cobblestone walls, and miles and miles of beaches. All of this seen mainly from the road betwixt pubs. There was time spent at Jersey pottery, a frigidly windy hike up to the lighthouse at Le Hocq and a day spent basking on the beach (with horrific hangovers) at St. Brelade's Bay.
But, the best part, was simply being with friends with a bit of reminiscing thrown in given that I lived there for five months after graduating from college in '86.
One night, as we were sitting outside at a pub in St. Aubin, a homeless-looking young guy walked past. Gail, my girlfriend who lives on the island, immediately said, "I'm a magnet for derelicts." Sure enough, this destitute man with long hair, wearing all camouflage, came in, sat with us, and told us about his boat, life at sea, rich ex-girlfriend and children. Yes, children. And then he began singing a song with the melodious refrain: "life seeds I sow." Just before he peed in his pants all over the floor under our table and we all ran for the next stop on our drinking tour, he said that he sat down with us because he is always drawn to spiritual people. And he pointed at me.
Later, this led to an interesting (and at times heated) discussion about Christianity. One friend was mostly ambivalent about the topic, one took exception to something I had said to her on a prior occasion and the third surprisingly seemed somewhat interested. We agreed, as one does when drinking too much, to go to church on Sunday -- except the ambivalent friend who said, "I'm not stepping foot in a church unless they're serving alcohol."
The next day, as we were driving out of town, we noticed a church that was advertising something akin to a "sermon and cider" series (cider being an alcoholic drink in England). Per usual, I took it as a sign from God. Look! Now we can all go! We all laughed. But alas, twas not meant to be . . .
I would also offer up my review of my trip last summer to Jersey, Channel Islands in the UK but I think it may frighten most tourists. Unless, of course, they enjoy drinking to excess with girlfriends, smoking cigarettes, and hanging out at surf clubs. We did somehow manage a day of shopping in St. Helier but a) most things were imported from the US and b) I couldn't afford anything anyway. But sightseeing? Hmmm. I guess so in the sense that, as long as you have your eyes open and you're relatively sober, you can't help but sight see.
The island is a gorgeous mix of English countryside, tan cows with long eyelashes, lavender fields, old castles, tiny roads flanked by cobblestone walls, and miles and miles of beaches. All of this seen mainly from the road betwixt pubs. There was time spent at Jersey pottery, a frigidly windy hike up to the lighthouse at Le Hocq and a day spent basking on the beach (with horrific hangovers) at St. Brelade's Bay.
But, the best part, was simply being with friends with a bit of reminiscing thrown in given that I lived there for five months after graduating from college in '86.
One night, as we were sitting outside at a pub in St. Aubin, a homeless-looking young guy walked past. Gail, my girlfriend who lives on the island, immediately said, "I'm a magnet for derelicts." Sure enough, this destitute man with long hair, wearing all camouflage, came in, sat with us, and told us about his boat, life at sea, rich ex-girlfriend and children. Yes, children. And then he began singing a song with the melodious refrain: "life seeds I sow." Just before he peed in his pants all over the floor under our table and we all ran for the next stop on our drinking tour, he said that he sat down with us because he is always drawn to spiritual people. And he pointed at me.
Later, this led to an interesting (and at times heated) discussion about Christianity. One friend was mostly ambivalent about the topic, one took exception to something I had said to her on a prior occasion and the third surprisingly seemed somewhat interested. We agreed, as one does when drinking too much, to go to church on Sunday -- except the ambivalent friend who said, "I'm not stepping foot in a church unless they're serving alcohol."
The next day, as we were driving out of town, we noticed a church that was advertising something akin to a "sermon and cider" series (cider being an alcoholic drink in England). Per usual, I took it as a sign from God. Look! Now we can all go! We all laughed. But alas, twas not meant to be . . .
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