Next Stop, College: For now? DMV.

Sometimes, it's cold. Bone-rattling, spine-cracking cold. Usually, these cold days directly coincide with the days when your mom calls out, "Need a jacket?!?" And you simply smirk, walking into the icy mist with your bermuda shorts and t-shirt.

Totally normal behavior for me.

That was the day I ended up going to the DMV and waited on line outside at 8 in the morning on a Saturday; an ungodly hour at best. Getting your permit is one of the few steps towards becoming a real college kid, and one that's pretty easy to put off when your main modes of transportation are:

1. The light-rail in all of its fare-officer dodging glory
2. Footing it, usually in sandals or ill-fitting sneakers
3. Biking on a decrepit piece of metal that needs to be kicked in encouragement every few blocks

On second thought, maybe a car's exactly what I need. But let me say, getting to drive one could really be easier.

First: The lines. Good Lord. When you go to Six Flags and stand in line for Kingda Ka, at least you know you're getting a thrill eventually. Delayed gratification at its finest. But the DMV? Oh. Oh no. Oh, ohhhh no. Finally arriving at the end of a 'queue', as they're known in Britain, doesn't exactly kindle excitement in me. In fact, waiting and actually being served are almost equally horrible experiences. But the lines are incredible, just like accidentally slicing your own thumb off with a dull spoon is incredible. And imagine when DMVs were government run? You could camp out for weeks just to get halfway to the front door... shenanigans like that typify the pre-Internet era, when people were glad for distractions like that. 

This is what the 80s were like.

Next: The people. Nowhere else in America will you experience such a skewed, motley representative demographic of the American peoples. When a line drags itself slower than a turtle through barbed wire, distractions truly are easy to come by. In this case, counting Indians. Looking around "Step 1" of the DMV line, I racked up a head count of 16 Indians out of... 20 people. Given, it was early, and I guess they're all about early birding the worm, but... seriously? If I yelled, "Shah! Patel!" half of the entire building would turn around and stare at me. The oddest thing, though, is that many of these immigrants spoke better English than a majority of people I know or have met, including the Hispanic lady who was attending to me at "Step 29C."

Sketching from memory, she looked something like this.

Last: The silly paperwork. I accidentally filled out "USA" in the county box of my permit application (county, country, all the same!) and was viciously beaten by a troop of DMV commandoes. When I handed another kind, large black man my blue card for my actual permit (after 4 layers of overlapping paperwork and running around counters to fix errors made by other workers) he told me it was going to expire soon and I had to retake the knowledge test. On the spot. At the touch screen station I was ushered to hastily, there was lots of  punching letters and then confirming that yes, indeed, I am sure you're supposed to stop on railway tracks when the red lights flash... right? The passing grade was 40/50, and at 32 right, I had 9 wrong. THIS close to needing to change my dungarees on the spot.

Previously, I've lamented the services of post office workers. In fact, I am now eternally grateful for the wonderful, luminescent, saintly workers of the post office. At least their faces aren't permanently fixed in grimaces and scowls; their mindset one of undying resentment of all humans brazen enough to appear before them... WELL. Am I excited for my driving test or what!

**If you are offended by the mildly offensive racial remarks here, please go chase yourself. And then accept my insincerest apologies.

College Acceptance!

"There are 4,146 colleges in the United States. However, screw all the others because we rock, we're the best, and we're #1! Also, you've been accepted. Congrats. We look forward to snagging your money seeing you in September 2012!"


Moving on from beach bumming, I thought it was time to take a look at getting accepted into college. One of my friends was accepted into Yale, full ride, and another got into Brown. Someone else told me you actually have to apply to Rutgers, it's not like high school where you're automatically processed in. Learn sumthin' new everyday! So congrats to all of my pals that got into schools, good riddance- about time!

There's four college-acceptance states of mind right now.

1. "I got into my reach school. HAHA, I RULE! Also, mom, I'm hungry."       Guidance counselors recommend applying from anywhere from 3 to 20 colleges. Guidance counselors also do lots of crack, apparently, which means they're excellent advisers for high-schoolers. But getting into your reach school is great. You're at the top of the world; nobody can touch you, all of your dreams are fulfilled. Four years of constant sunshine, smiling professors, and mind-blowingly amazing cafeteria food await you. Haha, just kidding. Keep in mind that better things cost more, and do your financial aid stuff unless you want have to put down on your resume, "Burger Flipper at McDonald's 2016-2020. BA Philosophy at Harvard Class of 2016." Though I thought going to Harvard automatically means you're given buckets of gold and a snobby Oxford accent.

"Same one you're thinking of, right?..."

2. "Oh god oh god oh god oh god I hope I got into Rutgers/H triple-C."

Some people are alarmingly anxious about everything. Whether it stems from feelings of insufficiency or their ego's deflation during the college application process (probably both), they refresh their Yahoo! email account every 2 minutes and cry into their Scarlet Knights pillow at night and into their Rutgers hoodie during the day. (I'm just picking on Rutgers cause... y'know.) One of my friends got deferred from UPenn, and last I heard of him he suffered a nervous breakdown and was eating his boogers and licking his toes while rocking back and forth on his roof. Naked. Just kidding, he had a pair of pink boxers on his head and two pencil up his nose, so technically...

3. "Broooooo, college is for, like..... duuuuude, whatever, I'll get there eventually!"  If you're anything like me, you're taking it easy. A sea of students around you cry in angst, sending admissions counselors thinly-veiled death threats and pillaging the guidance counselor's office and drawers daily in search of answers to college. And life. But mostly the former. But you, you've got it all figured out. You know when your colleges want their applications, and you- you're coasting along, livin' the dream until they do. And you congregate with like-minded people, simply doing this all day.

Life is good. WHOAAAA! There's a  beach bum's toe lodged in his stomach lining right now.

4. "My reach school?... "VJI. Virginia Janitor's Institute. Pretty rigorous. To show up, you just kinda show up with ten bucks everyday at the back of an A&P there. The main professor is a pretty eccentric guy; his clothes are always threadbare and malodorous, and his pulpit is a dumpster."

For #4, there was never any hope. For #s 1 and 2, take it easy. For #3- keep livin' the dream, brother.

MexicoHarvard WILL pay off.

CollegeThefts and the Beach

"Wow, five colleges? That's alot. Like, woaaaaah." (just kidding about the last bit)

That's what someone blurted out in their decades old-knowledge of college-applification processes when I lowballed them with a five college application estimate. Seriously, five colleges aren't that many... though I'll probably defer to four. Seriously, who, other than masochistic serial killers and disassociated geniuses (genii?) would apply to more than 6 colleges? The most common defenses:

1. You're a secretly a serial killer looking for quarries filled with mines of easily developed relationships.
2. "Why not?"
3. "Listen, I only have twelve safeties and eight reach schools. Can't be too sure these days..."
4. "It's just to see if I can get in. (And kill everyone.)"
5. "Listen, I only have four safety schools(!), (and three of them are Rutgers.) Can't be too sure these days. Wait, I submitted four separate applications, one for each campus. Is that how?..."
6. "Nine's just a nice number. It has this... mysterious ambiance. Of serial killeryness."
7. Dangit Jeff, stop implying I'm a serial killer!

"This is actually my nice face."

                 It's safe to say that American society has bloated expectations for just about everything. College is not exception. I'd venture a guess and say that a vicious cycle of feelings of insufficiency, the behests of admissions officers, and simply culture itself has steered us into an adolescent frenzy of collegehoodness. And not the where-I-live hood, the suffix hood kinda hood. Still with me?

                 There isn't a wrong college to go to if you've researched it and you know you want to go there. At the top of my list stand the following colleges: Wheaton and Westmont. Both choices are easy to justify, and I know exactly why I would like to attend each college. In a walnut shell (normal shells are so mainstream):

Wheaton- top Christian college in the US. Full of rich white kids and has an ROTC program. In suburban Chicago, which I hear enjoys wind. And more wind. And then more wind... disguised as rain.

Westmont- The other day, I hop into the car with my pops and he turns and asks me," Jeff, what's your obsession with the West Coast and California colleges? I think you hit your head when you were a little guy." Westmont embodies Livin' the Dream, that's why I'm obsessed! It's a Christian colleges five minutes away form the beach, it's in Cali, small prof-student ratio, they're selective enough for my taste, and they have a very, very nice looking female-male ratio, chyaknowImtalkingabout? And it's five minutes away from the beach. And it's in Cali. And everyone knows serial killers are scared of beaches and SoCal.

"I have a philosophy degree. Just kidding, this is where I'd end up anyway. That or shoe-shining in Istanbul."

Backup: Westmont is good for another reason, a reason so disingenuous it belies my very nature of being a cultured, dancy gentleman (haha, riiiiight): it lay on a hillside five minutes from the beach. So, even if I don't get in (or just plain give up on college after a week of classes) the option of beach bum remains, standing on the sandy golden Cali shores, beckoning to me with its finely chiseled arms and dollar-menu-crumb decorated hobo beard. If I need to elaborate on the perks of beach-bumming, then the rest of this sentence
(mouse over to reveal text due to censored content).

Haha, fooled ya. (Or not, in which case I feel dirty about pretending to be vulgar and stupid. Double whammy, kiddo. Next time be gullible, jerk.)
Really, I'm just bitter about people being so proactive and pro-stealing-spots-they-don't-even-want-in-colleges. In the meantime, I'll be figuring out if any colleges offer vocational training for beach-bumming. Another article on that, dear reader, on another day. And yes, I assume there's only one of you. Pathetic? Maybe. Realistic?... *sobs into board shorts and wipes with beach towel* yes...

About those motorcycles...

"Many years ago when my friend taught me to ride [a motorcycle], he gave me this simple piece of advice. "Just remember two things," he said. "Nobody can see you, and everyone is out to kill you." " - Anonymous blockhead on Yahoo


Something about riding a motorcycle simply appeals to me, and seemingly also appeals to the stupidity and bravado of thousands of other tools and morons as well. There's simply some alluring quality of a motorcycle; a certain essence emanating from it that appeals to the primeval instincts of men- be it the hellsome noise, incredible speed, or logic-defying recklessness, it's there.


And that little quote up top there simply calls to mind Catch 22's Yossarian, a man paranoid of all his comrades and superiors in his Air Wing Combat Squadron, because although everyone's not out to get Yossarian, everyone's out to get Yossarian.
Ponder for a moment the various activities with which the average female teenage driver occupies herself whilst, and instead of, doing something so absurd as, pfft, driving a car. Two ton metal husk barreling across a streak of tar? No problem; time to text, do makeup, eat breakfast, and fix that wedgie... er, simultaneously. 

The fact remains that two tons of metal, according to what I suspect to be at least most laws of physics imply, can collide with three hundred pounds of strident motorcycle and cocooned flesh and shrug it off immediately. (refer once again to the lovely face above for the average reaction)
And yet, despite the overwhelming odds of death or injury stemming from simply looking at a motorcycle, men full of bravado and empowered by masculine invincibility (it's there until you actually need it) waltz into car dealerships or eBay motors and decide to basically sign a waiver of pending vehicular suicide; a.k.a. buy a motorcycle. Honestly, the best option in this case is simply to break your own leg and sand a few pounds of skin off your least favorite leg and arm on the spot... and then reconsidering the decision.


Unfortunately, none of this will stop me if I ever get to Cali to college. Livin' the dream checklist:

• Go to college in California
• Swim obnoxiously often
• Buy a motorcycle and ramp off boardwalks to get into the lung-icing water (preferable to wading in)
• Live the dream s'more.

Rutgers Essay

I forgot what the prompt, but that will do little to stop me from posting my Rutgers admissions essay. Too sensationalist? Boo-hoo. Too brazen and tongue-chokingly funny? A tad. But consider for a moment that these poor admissions fellows, enclosed in their itty bitty offices, have to read thousands of illiterate, boring, mangled essays for a living. They probably perfect speed-reading after two days in their careers... Imagine...

"Hmm, he knows words. Good. *Grunt* More essays. More eat.... *Grunt* Person use vocabulary bad. Gr. No like..."

I defer to my first mini-college admissions opus.




“Is the couch fine for ya? The rotten orange smell’s been there for awhile.”

“Um, I’ll be fine, thanks!”

Couchsurfing is something everyone should try- it’s basically arranging sleepovers while traveling, sans the mass murderers. Traveling runs in my family. One of my grandfathers would travel around the US and Britain giving sociology lectures, my parents would find summer jobs all around Poland while in University, and my brothers went on a two week trip around Iceland last year exclusively to hitchhike and climb through the entire country. I’ve traveled extensively in Poland and Greece, and breezed through Germany, the Czech Republic, and Slovakia a few times.

One of the most enjoyable secrets of traveling lay in going out on a limb- talking to strangers, taking public transportation, and making unexpected friends. But throwing caution to the wind doesn’t limit itself to traveling in my case…

“Jeff, I can’t believe you’re taking dance this year! Serious?”

“Jack of all trades, master of some, kiddo. I’m serious.”



I learn for the sake of learning, and taking dance as my senior major epitomizes the “Scientia potesta est” mantra that I hold so dear. My favorite field of study is writing; I love writing letters, cards, and essays, always flavored heavily with subtle humor. Dance opened up a whole new world of writing to me- one of movement, pirouettes, tap dancing, and good Lord, she really just did that with her leg.

Though I would normally hesitate to say that I am an interesting person, after deep reflection, my life would intrigue even the mythological evil twin of Davy Jones, Coldhearted Jones. I am a writer, gentlemen, scholar, and almost a dancer (much harder to learn than it looks). Clearly, Rutgers would make an absolutely fantastic home away from home. As a seasoned learner and magnetic leader, I offer Rutgers a top notch pupil that aspires towards excellence. As a Christian who goes to a Filipino Baptist church, I offer Rutgers a solid, honest character which encourages and inspires others.



At Rutgers, thousands of driven young adults strive to learn and achieve great things in a widely ranging spectrum of educational fields. Each one of them stands capable of helping me to learn more and expand my worldview to span cultures, languages, and various “ologies”. Professors eagerly await new students, and counselors anxiously expect scholars to advise. Social events patiently count the minutes until slews of hungry undergrads flock, and multicultural mingling parties expectantly tarry for every last nationality. As a fine educational institution filled with bright staff and students, Rutgers lacks little.