Over the past few weeks I’ve gone through a change of heart as far as my career goes.  Almost my entire life I’ve known I wanted to be a writer.  As I got older, I learned that people who just write books for a living don’t really make much of a living (unless you’re Paris Hilton and anything you “write” magically becomes a NY Times Best Seller).  Though I’m all about doing what you love, no matter what you may get paid, there came a point where I had to be realistic. I want to live in New York City. I want to be able to pay my bills in New York City.

Soooo I came to the conclusion that I either want to be a special victims detective for the NYPD or a District Attorney for the city of New York.

Quickly thereafter I came to the realistic conclusion that I indeed watch WAY too much Law & Order (ask anyone that knows me–it’s way too true).  My addiction to L&O has gotten so bad that I’ve actually dreamed complete episodes. Starting with the opening credits and ending with “Produced by Dick Wolf.” Sad, I know.

Now I’m back to wanting to be a journalist, a job that allows me to write and pay (some of) my bills.

A class I’m taking this semester has really shown me that my decision was a good one.  It’s called Journalistic Inquiry and unlike Foundations of Journalism (which I took last semester) I get a chance to get out on the street and ask people questions and take pictures.  It’s wonderful.  My professor assigns things that make us get out and explore Manhattan and see what’s going on.  I got to report on a rally in the Financial District and the Greenmarket in Union Square.

Though maybe it’s not as riveting as being a crime scene investigator, at least I’ll never be bored.

By Amanda DeLuise

Thanksgiving Break.  I never thought I’d see the day.  This semester seemed to drag on forever, especially because NYU decided not to give us a fall break (thank you, because I didn’t think we deserved a break after midterms, either).  I was mostly excited to eat something that wasn’t Ramen or a PB&J sandwich.

I’ve learned over the last few years that my Thanksgiving is not very traditional.  I’ve always thought having 40+ people at Thanksgiving was normal, but apparently not.  But it’s normal for me.  I spend Thanksgiving with my dad’s side of my big Italian family, so naturally everyone and their mother (literally, kinda) joins us. There’s my dad’s brother and sister and his brother’s wife and her 7 half brothers and sisters who also all have families and they bring their in-laws and all my cousins are starting to marry off and have babies and all the babies are there and everyone also brings their dogs because my Uncle and his wife’s brother happen to live on the same farm. (They just built two different houses.  Like a commune, kinda.  Except fun.  A fun commune.)

So when there are 40+ people (and three dogs) on the guest list, naturally there’s always way too much food to even think about. And this year was no exception.  I think four different families all cooked turkey.  Plus there was ham, several trays of two different types of stuffing, three trays of mashed potatoes, a few trays of baked ziti, a crock pot full of corn, a crock pot full of mac and cheese, seven cases of water bottles and enough boxed wine to open our own liquor store (which would be a good addition to the commune, I think).  I don’t even want to think about the dessert, because I think that was the reason I ended up hovering over the toilet later that night (boxed wine had nothing to do with it, I swear).

On Saturday, a bunch of friends and I took an eight hour tour bus ride through Ireland to the Cliffs of Moher.  There is no other word to explain these cliffs but incredible.  It was by far the most breathtaking view in Ireland I have come across yet.  It will definitely be hard to beat.

The next day my friend Kate and I embarked on our first trip out of the Irish Country to a very well known city.  You might have heard of it… it’s called Paris.  Now let me start from the beginning.

See, we almost did not even make it to the Shannon Airport in Ireland had it not been for the very nice bus driver who we had to literally flag down to stop on account of the bus company’s website which, of course, had given us false information as to where the bus was actually picking up.  Anyhow, once on the bus we were golden.  This was right up until we actually made it to the city of Paris and still had our hostel to find.  Now we had heard from friends that the Metro in Paris is not that difficult to figure out.  However, my friend Kate and I could neither read nor speak a word of French other than Bonjour and Merci.  We tried our hardest to figure out what had previously sounded like simple directions and find the metro line that would take us in the right direction but all we needed was one wrong turn to take us in a complete circle face to face with the exit.  Once we embarrassingly figured out that the metro ticket does not work a second time around and a new one was needed, we said “fuck it, we’ll get a cab.” So we went up the stairs and out of the metro only to find ourselves on a grassy island park with no way of escaping.  There was traffic all over, it was now dark and to top it all off it was raining.  When we finally figured out a way to get off this island, we began walking rapidly to try and find a taxi stand but once again, of course, there were none to be found.  We had no idea how shady the area we were walking in was and we came to another metro entry.  When we looked at the map above this entry we realized we had actually walked a station over in the right direction to our hostel.  We decided to give it one more try and succeed this time like Parisian pros.  At one of the stops, three boys walked on.  Over-hearing them talk we realized they were American.  One of them was wearing an orange hat and he was so cute I could not help myself but to catch his eye every once in awhile.  Our stop came and we got off.  So did the boys.  As we all exited the metro they turned right and we turned left to try and finally find this hostel.  Feeling stupid that we had not even tried to talk to these American guys we realized that the numbers on the buildings were getting higher and we had officially gone the wrong way.

Ok, so we FINALLY find the hostel, the St. Christopher’s Inn it’s called and what a scene it was.  It had a bar that was poppin’ right as you walked in, making you just want to sit for hours and chug drinks with everyone else in there.  First we HAD to drop our stuff in the room though and freshen up as the pouring rain had done some damage.  Once brand new, we were ready to hit the bar, eat some food, and smoke tons of brand new French cigarettes.  As the elevator opens we came face to face with one of the three boys from the metro and this time around no one was too shy to strike up a conversation.  He was obviously meeting his other two friends at the bar and we agreed to grab a drink with all of them.  Well, a drink turned into A LOT of drinks which turned into even more conversation and getting to know each other.  Turns out not only are these boys super sexy (especially the one I could not take my eyes off of on the metro and ended up sharing a little kiss with later on) but they were American army boys that had just finished their four year service.  HOT!  All being tourists and wanting to have fun in this strange, awesome city we made plans to travel with them and hang out for the rest of the time in Paris.

Now I’m not saying that its fate or anything but come on… if Kate and I had not messed up the metro the first time around and given it another shot at the next random station we came across I do not think we would have ever even seen these guys let alone have any reason to talk to them.

Regardless, traveling and experiencing Paris with them was amazing.  Seeing places like the Louve, the Eiffel Tower and even just the various statues and buildings around the city made me come to a realization I had only learned about but never really understood.  Growing up and living in a country like America that is only hundreds of years old, I could never really understand this sense of tradition and the ways that some societies (Ireland included) feel the need to capture this tradition in their culture.  It is because every day they wake up and see a city that was not founded just some hundred years ago but back in the BC era.  I do not know why but engaging in such a history has really hit home for me.

Me (left) Kate (right)

Well that’s all for now.  Check back next week when I will have even more adventures from one of the nightlife cities of the world: Barcelona, Spain!
Editor’s Note: Due to some technical difficulties with CM’s website, Brooke has moved on from Paris and will have a new blog up detailing her next adventures shortly.