After the divorce, my father didn't make salad dressing from the packets anymore. Mild-Italian was replaced with a suite of ranch, balsamic vinaigrette, raspberry vinaigrette, blue cheese and Catalina. Good Seasons was now Knorr, Wishbone, Newman's Own and Kraft. Despite the variety, they were all second class. One day my brother went out and bought the packets. With the same carafe that we used in the old house, he added vinegar to the V line, water to the W, poured the packet in and shook. He mixed again after adding the oil, then set the dressing on the table. Next to the commercial brands, mild-Italian was a beacon of what good salad dressing looks like. Grayish-brown with specks of black: the perfect balance of oil and water, vinegar and spice.

As my father approached the table, I eagerly awaited his decision. Immediately he chose the bell shaped carafe with the white pop-top. After generously applying the mild-Italian to his bowl of iceberg lettuce and quartered Roma tomatoes, he began to eat. "This is pretty good" I imagined him saying, but more likely he just ate in silence. I knew how much he missed that taste as he tried to enjoy it without guilt. I guess pretending it's just a dressing is easier than remembering. 

Leave me your succulents-
insecurely watered,
emotionally absent
Indifferent purple lobes
spilling from your basket in spades

Not beholden to the sun
With no fruit nor flower,
No nectar nor aloe,
Nor points that prick

But silently the succulents mock
the glamour of the lotus
the elegance of the pine

Snubbing nature's favorites
grow these waxy apathetics
with hardly a care to consume

I perused the aisles of an overpriced Rite Aid until I found the hardware section, specifically looking for 3M hooks with adhesive on the backs. $6.99 for a four pack? That’s ridiculous. Then I overheard a homeless man with a grey beard and black puff jacket ask a store attendant: “Where the bug spray at?” She pointed him to my aisle. And while I stared at the hooks knowing I wanted them but not enough to pay the price, the homeless man lingered by the array of insecticide, seemingly asking himself a question. My eyes moved to a set of tacks that I also imagined I needed, until I heard a loud shooting sound of liquid against cloth. The man had opened a can of RAID and let it loose on his jacket. The long stream of white bug killing fluid bounced of his clothes and on to the floor, emitting a strong odor of chemicals into the aisle. I quickly moved away. I then pictured the man laying on the street at night, itching from pests that make their way into his clothes for warmth, for crumbs, but mostly for a host to feed on.

On my first venture to 'FUR', the self-evidently audacious nightclub, I waited on one of three security lines. Nearing the front of the line and the accompanying pat down, security agents yelled out orders to the row of action-seeking young males. “All gum out of your pockets!” shouted one while holding a black plastic tub normally used by busboys to collect dirty dishes. In it were ten packs of Dentyne, Orbitz, and Eclipse. I was dismayed to add my half consumed pack of strawberry kiwi flavored Trident onto the pile. Later that evening, after failing to pick up a girl at the club, I passed by the security agents on the way out. A woman guard was standing next to the black tub of gum. “Can I have my gum back?” I asked. “Are you serious?” she replied. “Yeah.” She picked up the tub with a disgusted look on her face and held it out to me. It’s not like it’s been chewed. I grabbed what I thought was my pack of Trident and took off. Only after opening up a piece from its paper wrapper and placing it in my mouth did I realize that I grabbed the wrong pack—this gum was melon flavored. Oh well, at least one pack of gum was saved that night. Over the next week and a half, I chewed the rest of the adopted pack.

As a youth, every evening before my shower I would begin by turning on the water, removing the showerhead from its cradle, and spraying down the pubic hairs stuck to the tile and tub walls. I’d try not to touch the snake-like black threads left by my father as if they were contaminated with an unknown uncleanliness. And when one wouldn't release its hold on the moisture laden lines of grout or slimy green bar of Irish Spring, I would puddle water in my hand and dump it on the stubborn corkscrew-shaped creature. I’d often shudder if it came to scraping the hair off of the soap, as I rejected direct contact with them as much as the feeling of green residue collected under my fingernail, a crescent reminder of my proximity to that which I abhorred. As I entered college and lived in a series of dorms and group houses, I became accustomed to the sight of pubes in my lavatory, and it didn't bother me as much. It became a silent game of guessing from which housemate the stray follicle departed, perhaps due to a rigorous toweling or firm application of Old Spice stick deodorant. The main giveaway was its color, but also noteworthy was the thinness or thickness, contorting or squiggle shape, and of course, sheer length. But now, as I soley occupy a studio apartment, I alone am responsible for hairs left abound, whether they be pasted on tile circa la toilette, plugged obnoxiously between the fibers of my pure white bathroom mat, or marauding across the laminate wood floor as pubic dust bunnies from hell, disgusting all those who offer a passing glance. And now that invisible video camera of my life records me back in the bathroom hating pubes, careful not to let them stick to my fingers as I dump water over the tub basin walls, one cupped handful at a time.

With two days remaining in the land that uses dollars, I took a stroll to a nearby CVS in order to fetch my girlfriend a stick of flavored lip balm that she requested.  But instead I spotted a GAP, to which I had a $20 free coupon in my pocket.  Ohh, let me check the hours (I had planned to go the next day)… maybe I should just go now… I checked the time. I’d be late for the happy hour… it's out of the way… OK, let’s do it.  I walked in, started browsing, tried on some shirts and selected my $20 worth- a polo tee and a pair of grey camo boxer briefs.  At the register I saw a tub of flavored lip balms.  There was apple in a shiny pink tube. Oh perfect! (she has an apple tattoo) I check the price: $4.50.  I could buy four sticks of Blistex at CVS for that price… but would there be apple?  “Is this really $4.50?” I insulted the cashier. “Yes.” I put it back.  That’s outrageous.  “Would you like your receipt in the bag?” “Uh, yeah… is there… is that it?” I was confused that I made it to exactly $20 with no change or balance.  “You’re all set.”  CVS should have different flavors, right?  I haven’t checked grocery stores… besides, $4.50 is way too much.   But apple had entered my mind.  That’s not a common flavor.  I left the GAP hopeful that CVS would be the answer.  

When I arrived at CVS the next day, I found cherry, NEW limited edition cherry, original, and a tropical trio… but no apple.   Should I just get tropical?  I held it in my hand, put it back, circled the store and picked it up again.  The price was $3 for three sticks: melon blend, tropical splash and some other teenie-bopper-fluorescent-regret-of-not-buying-apple-when-I-had-the-chance.  She’ll never know that I had the chance to buy apple… tropical is still fruity. Memories wafted in my mind of the Victoria’s Secret spiced berry lip gloss I bought after haven forgotten that she wanted apple (and actually requested lip balm as opposed to gloss).  Would I actually go back to the GAP on the other side of town? I bought the tropical trio, but it was too late: apple pervaded my thoughts.  I didn’t really need the shirt or the boxer briefs; I could’ve bought the balm with my coupon and not paid anything for it. Relative to what I was receiving from the transaction at GAP, $4.50 wasn’t a bad price. I imagined approaching the same cashier, placing the small cylinder on the counter ashamed and subdued. It would’ve been $4.75 with tax I bet. Chagrined, I surveyed my GAP receipt and found another receipt stapled to the back which read, “Fill in this survey and get 20% off of your next purchase.”  Here’s my chance!  I could get nearly $1 off of the marked up price and that way feel more validated by making the extra effort.  But costs were disappearing from the reality… the tropical trio was a mere $1.50 less than the expensive GAP apple, which by its weight in time I spent searching and draining my mental reserves, had exceeded this cost by several orders of magnitude.  Thus I accepted my quandary. Finally admitting that apple was the standard and apple was what I wanted for my girlfriend, I filled out the fifteen minute survey relating to the quality of GAP Mens’ trousers, received my 20% off coupon code, and planned to make the purchase. 

The GAP was out of the way on the morning of my departure, but my friend was driving me to the airport.  “Hey, do you think we could make a quick stop downtown? I want to grab something for my girlfriend,” “Sure, man.  What is it?”  I reluctantly explained, “It’s this special flavor of lip balm that only GAP has… it’s apple.” Next to the national mall we hit traffic.  “What’s going on?”  “It looks like the road to downtown is blocked off… we’d have to go down to the Lincoln memorial and turn around.” I thought of the time change the night before, then blamed it for me missing the chance to ride a bike to buy the lip balm that morning. It was two hours prior to departure of the flight. Forlornly holding my discount coupon in hand, I said, “Oh, okay, don’t worry about it… it’s no big deal.” I wondered if I could order it online. What’s the shipping on a $4.75 - $.80 discount = $3.95 tube of apple lip balm?  Do they ship internationally?  “Maybe you’ll find it at the airport,” my friend offered.  My head turned as we passed the red flares of the blocked of road to downtown. What more could I do? At the airport, my eyes purveyed the kiosks ravenously: White House Chapstick, cherry blossom lip balm, Blistex original… no apple. In a final plea, I asked the Cameroonian saleswoman of the fragrance duty free shop, “Do you have lip balm?”  “There is only this.” She replied, pointing to a sparkling blue glass bottle with a silver cap. “It good for lips, make soft. Twelve dollars.”  “OK, bye.” I turned to leave. She kept talking, “This for lips, make soft.” I walked out.  

In my luggage hid a colorful trio of lip balms that would make an excellent gift, but not the one I wanted, not the standard I had set.  But I neglected the idea that she could potentially enjoy the tropical sticks more than the apple. Or what if the GAP apple just plain sucked?  That was a possibility. Several months later, armed with a fresh coupon, I returned to the GAP and brought my selections to the register. I smiled at the wide-mouth plastic bucket on the counter, plucked out a shiny stick of apple lip balm and confidently placed it upright in front of the cashier, “And this, please.” I paid my balance, left the store, opened the plastic casing, removed the cap and applied the balm to my lips as if they could taste an unknown ingredient of sweetness in the ointment.  The signals received by my brain were the familiar smell, color and texture of Chapstick original, with not even a hint of apple.

I snipped off the wart from the knuckle of my thumb with nail clippers that were made in China. I know that they were made in China because I bought them for fifteen cents at Dan’s Drug Store. I clipped the wart off, aware that it would bleed, but I didn’t care. I needed it off- rid of. I needed this excess growth thrown in the bathroom garbage amongst a pillow of used tissues and strings of green dental floss. The job contract fell through. I made my way over in flip-flops to the abandoned picnic table behind the tree in the yard. I didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone, or spend any words on an explanation. After the initial, short-term satisfaction of the wart being removed, blood formed a dark red bubble over the scar. I knew what to do: find a milkweed plant, snap a leaf off, and then put the acid white liquid into the wound. I welcomed the sting of the milk killing unwanted cells of my body. I wanted the memories and anticipation of a perfect job erased from my being as the wart from my thumb. Burn, I thought as I dripped the pure white poison onto the scar. There was too much blood so I brought a paper towel from my pocket and dabbed it in the wound. The towel sucked up bright red against gravity. I added more milk. The red and white formed a bright peppermint swirl as fresh blood was enticed to the scene (the poison has extractive qualities). I breathed fresh air and unbuttoned my shirt to the sun as it revealed itself, then hid sporadically behind clouds. Once the blood pooled, I dabbed the paper towel on the scar and created another triangle shaped stain on the white surface. Bumble bees grazed on purple flowers and a hummingbird flew across the air and into the tree above me, where it had a nest. With the bleeding nearly stopped, I walked barefoot to snap another leaf off of the wounded milkweed plant. There was geese shit everywhere. Avoiding the feces, I sat back down and let the milkweed stem feed purity into the roots of the endemic wart. Again it drew peppermint swirls. Dab went the paper towel, now covered in triangles of different shades of red. There was little room left for fresh stains. I folded, unfolded and refolded the towel to plan another mark. On went more milk. Under the tree by the picnic table I sat, my wart and shirt open to the world, scorned by opportunity and burning from a war of divinity.

I ripped theories of Microeconomics out of a yellow spiral notebook which was mostly full of blank paper. I wanted to save the new pages to fill them with more theories and notes, underlines and equations, which someday will be transferred to the garbage just like Microeconomics. Earlier today my heart beat fast when I opened an e-mail announcing our grades for pre-term, and by clicking on the link to my student registration menu I found the one letter that validated my one month’s existence at this school, my work as a student, my choice in studies and direction in life opposed to being an artist or an Australian wheat harvester: “P”. This little letter had the power to determine my mood for the day and plan for the year. It meant I was going to continue my study of economics, despite the lingering doubt as to what I’m doing here. As I tore the notes out, strips and bits of paper shavings were caught in the rings and spread upon the desk. I swept these pervasive reminders into the garbage and prepared the notebook for another mistake.

I knew Brad was drunk when he walked through a tight circle of locals, including the cross-dressing bum wearing a sparkling red top. “Excuse me.” Brad said in blatant provocation. Heads turned and conversation stopped. My premonitions escalated on the way to the kebab shop, where a fight was about to break out. With another audacious “Excuse me.”, Brad walked through the angry group of Italians. The men, who were holding their friends back and saying “tranquilo!”, were confused. Who was this third party offering instigation to both sides, in English? Fortunately for Brad, they were baffled enough not to turn their mutual rage on this idiotic American, outnumbered nine to one. It seemed as if his flatmate Phillip would help defend him, but I was not convinced. Phillip threw out pacifist remarks to prevent trouble, but smiled while doing so, revealing that he was somewhat amused by Brad’s behavior. I kept my distance and regretted Phillip’s insistence on having Brad join us.

Then came a small band of leathery degenerates, the bum population of Bologna; one was walking a Labrador. “Your dog sucks.” offered Brad. The bum took thirty seconds to translate the phrase in his head then countered with, “What you say?” “I said your dog sucks.” he replied. We had reached the shop so I turned inside and hoped Brad’s existence would disappear behind me. “Solo pizze.” There was only pizza left. Whatever. “Una pezza, per favore”. Phillip ordered a slice and we turned our heads to the sound of Brad outside, “Dude, I’ve got like thirty pounds on you, what are you gonna do?” The bum with the dog and his leathery friend were confronting Brad. Phillip jumped in to diffuse the situation, “C’mon man, just come inside.” And to the bums, “He’s just drunk; don’t worry about him.” Then to Brad, “C’mon man. Forget about it.” The Bangladeshi pizza man stepped outside to witness the event then shook his head despairingly at the bums after Brad was corralled into the shop. I wanted to tell him that the bums were innocent, the American was to blame and he deserved to get his ass kicked.

As Phillip inquired with his slight smile why Brad was being such a dick, I noticed the pink gap in corner between Brad’s right eye and its socket. “That’s what people respond to; that’s how you make a connection.” he responded. “But you provoked them,” I argued. “You guys don’t know business. That’s how you establish a relationship. Dude, I’ve had clients in Moscow and Turkey, what you need to do is to provoke them.” “These aren’t businessmen; they’re just homeless people on the street.” argued Phillip. “No man, I knock out his dog, we decide on a price and make the deal. I’m telling you guys, when you study business… like, years from now you guys are gonna remember me and what I said.” I let the air out of my stomach along with my respect for Brad in an ‘oh my’ laugh then turned my head. “Dude, like… you can laugh about it, but like, years from now you’ll see what I’m taking about. Really there’s like so many people who just run away. It doesn’t matter... my GPA will be better than all of yours anyway.” I laughed out more respect. “Are you guys taking Micro? I wanna know who I’m gonna beat.” I was aghast. “Michael, I know nothing about you. What’s your background?” “Why?” I staggered. “Obviously you have an impressive background. I just wanna know it so I can learn from it.” No you don’t, you just want to compare it to yours, label it and pass judgment. “I don’t think this is the proper venue.” I replied. “If you really want to hear it, let’s meet for lunch tomorrow.” Silence. Our pizza was ready, and we began to pay. “This is why, unlike you guys, I can actually pay for school. I’ve been supporting myself.” My head dropped as I put two Euros on the counter. Brad had achieved his objective: he had provoked me into observable contempt. “I’m sorry Michael, I’m a dick, but that’s how you…” Dead air ensued while the few brain cells of Brad which were not swimming in alcohol triggered signals of remorse for words spoken. Phillip was a realist, “I think your just drunk man.”

We left the pizzeria and the potential fight from before appeared to be dispersing. The opposing sides were parting ways, but shouts remained and one guy held a glass bottle. Not interested in self-sacrifice, I walked ten steps ahead as Brad and Phillip meandered through the street. I hoped that my walking ahead would signal them to follow; despite my contempt, I didn’t wish to see them attacked. I waited at the intersection. Brad’s voice came, “Dude, I was thrown out of a car once, I was in a fight, I’m not afraid of these…” I walked on. Brad turned to Phillip, “Dude, you’re a marine, let’s do fifty push-ups right now. I bet I could beat you.” Phillip laughed, “No, man. That’s OK.” On the subject of the military, Brad stopped walking and took on a serious tone, “Hey man. My friend was a marine and I knew a guy who was a SEAL.” I kept the pace until we arrived at a break in the road. “Well guys, I’m going this way.” I said. Phillip looked confused and said, “I think our place is that way.” To which Brad replied, “No, dude. It’s this way. You can go that way, and we’ll see who gets there first.” I was done. “Ciao regazzi!” I yelled with a wave and I didn’t look back.

Later that night, Brad's vomit left the balcony of his third floor apartment and exploded on the first in fireworks of reprisal.

A wave of dizziness came over me while walking home on the lava stone streets. I stopped, thought I might faint, and then smiled imagining the confusion on the faces of the Sicilians who would find me if I did. Who is this helpless ragazzo laying on the sidewalk? Perhaps it was the sugar. I had eaten three portions of Granita, the lactose free alternative to gelato, and was tweaking out. One frozen ball was floating in supersweet almond milk, and the other two, pistachio and coffee flavored, were in a glass served with a teaspoon shaped like a shovel. The coffee granita was rich in caffeine and tasted like fresh grounds. Perhaps it was the long conversation I had almost entirely in Italian with my language partner Rosaria, who has soft white freckled cheeks which I adore kissing ciao hello and ciao goodbye. She said I was no longer at the beginner level of Italian, the first compliment of my speaking in a month of feeling like I’ve learned nothing. Perhaps it was my late afternoon nap wearing earplugs to dull the sound of traffic which relentlessly permeates my room. Vespas and motorcycles scream at full throttle velocities, cars honk at the slightest sign of alarm, and diesel buses, garbage trucks and Mafioso hatchbacks with sound systems all compete to make my balcony windows shatter. Perhaps it was the e-mail I received today that indicated I could still register for the on-line economics course that I need to start my graduate degree in the fall. Perhaps it was buying groceries at the open-air market without getting ripped off. I refused the €2.50 head of iceberg lettuce which one vendor tried to sell me after removing the price tag. When I said it was too expensive, he offered it for €2. I left and found one for €1. The vendor who previously sold me four heads of garlic for €1 when I only wanted one head tried to sell me two kilos of tomatoes, but I persisted: “Un kilo di pomodori.” “Due kilo?” “Un kilo.” “Due?” “No, uno.” Perhaps it was my last day of Italian guessing lessons, where my comprehension is stellar and my speaking subpar. Perhaps it was the hot shower with liquid citrus scented soap that I switched to after realizing I was washing with a bar of laundry soap for three weeks. And I wondered why my skin was so dry. Perhaps it was the early morning run I had by the sea, admiring the sunrise and crashing of waves through arches of lava rock. Perhaps it was the balanced breakfast I finally managed to compose in my month’s stay: granola with soy milk, one hardboiled egg, a blood orange and small box of pear nectar.

I walked with hands in pockets and for the first time in a month I felt pride aside from the darkness of my deeply tanned skin. How long will my money last? What will I do when it runs out? How expensive will South Africa be next month? What am I doing in Sicily? How will I find enough internet to take my on-line course? Why am I studying economics? Why am I getting a graduate degree in international relations? In that moment, my doubts no longer had clout. I can speak elementary Italian. I am living an exciting life. The lava made sense, the scooters and motorcycles made sense, Italian materialism and Bangladeshi internet cafes made sense. Perhaps it is writing this post knowing that my inspiration comes in the extraordinary.

Frank handed me two large packets of paper. “Make three copies of these.” I didn’t want to botch my first official task so I asked, “three copies?” “Three copies,” Frank replied. I went to the copy room most unsure how to operate the machine. “Hey could you show me how to use this?” I asked another intern. Already doling out your responsibilities to others, nice work. Samantha instructed me how to use the copier, and I began fiddling with the staple of one of the packets. These need to come off. I picked at the underside of the packet where the staple teeth sank into the last page. It was really in there. The packets were twenty or thirty pages thick and there wasn’t much staple left to pick at. How long is it taking me to do this? Frank might be timing me. My fingernail managed to remove one side of the staple, so I tried to wiggle the other out. The remaining staple broke off inside the massive document. I released ten or fifteen pages, then plucked the broken staple out of its hiding place. In my haste, I pressed too hard on one end of the staple and punctured the skin of my pointer finger. That might bleed. Sure enough, as I placed the stack of papers in the copy tray, I noticed a pin prick of blood on the reverse side of a page. Oops. The copies beginning to print, I looked at the second packet with disdain. Then Brent the staff assistant entered the room. “How’s everything going in here?” he inquired. “Fine, uh, just getting these staples out.” I replied. “Oh, use this.” He reached on a nearby shelf and handed me a staple remover. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” I had forgotten that staple removers existed. Before I could begin on the second packet, I had to secure the copies of the first. “Is this the only stapler we have?” I asked, holding up a small Swingline. “Yeah I think so,” said Brent, “but if that won’t work, you can use those clips in closet.” To the closet I went and back I came with the clips. Three packets, copied and clipped. Armed with the angry teeth of the staple remover, I had immediate success with the second packet. Printing went smoothly, and I held up the final products. On the reverse side of the original first page was writing. I didn’t print double-sided. Off went the clips and in went the first page to the copy tray. After three more copies and re-clippings, I proudly completed my task by delivering the blood stained copies to their intended readers.

As a child far too small for a queen size bed, I stayed up many nights wishing I had telekinetic powers. I would stare at a plastic cup across the room and ask God to give me the ability to move it with my mind. I concentrated on the cup intensely and strained my head until it vibrated. Imagining the cup floating through the air towards me, I wanted one special power to set me apart from ordinary people. I told God that no one else had to know; it could be our secret. It was only important that I knew how exceptionally talented I was.

There's a baby who comes into the restaurant that loves black bean hummus. One day, the kitchen staff nearly poisoned her by placing butter on her sandwich, when she has a severe allergy to dairy products. The baby's parents had it out with the management, and we figured they would not return. But the baby loves black bean hummus so much that they came back and continue to frequent the restaurant. Her mother says that when she sees the restaurant, she gets excited. When the baby eats, black beans are slopped all over her smiling three-toothed face, and she is in bliss.

One warm October afternoon, a honey bee fell in love with our apricot jam. The jar rested on a table outside, and the bee crawled its way into the small gap between the metal lid and the serving spoon. I grabbed a butter knife and attempted to block his entry, but instead poked him in the back of the neck, forcing him further into the jar. I then removed the lid, to which the bee was attached, and placed it upside down on the table. Satisfied with what I thought was saving a life of nature, I attended to my duties and forgot about the bee. Twenty minutes later, I returned to the table and found the bee upside down with its wings glued to the inside of the lid with apricot glaze. Its legs were clawing at the air. I took the same butter knife as before and tried to scrape him off of the lid without damaging his wings. Even if I freed the bee, I thought, his wings would be covered in jam, surely suppressing any chance of flight. Can bees clean their wings like cats clean their paws? Placing the knife blade underneath his body, I pried him off of the lid and placed him on the table. The bee was in a sorry state. Hunched over and without the use of his long left leg, he twitched his remaining limbs in a futile attempt to remedy his ailments. I gently prodded him with the knife in case all he needed was a jump start, but his injuries were severe. How did he get so broken? Was it the struggle to escape the jam? Was it the trauma of being freed by a butter knife? Or was it that initial poke to the back of the neck, severing a hidden nerve and rendering him paralyzed? While reflecting on the causality of the bee’s plight, I accidentally dropped the knife and it landed right on the insect’s back. Oh boy. My interaction has gone too far; I’ll give it some time to recover on its own… if it can. Fifteen minutes later, the bee was in the same miserable state. I swiftly scraped him off of the table with the butter knife. My left leg went up then swiping down to the pavement with an exceeding amount of force. I disintegrated the bee into the red bricks of the patio. I felt finality in the act, knowing that an abrupt release from suffering was the most I could give to such a victim of fate.

One fifth grade morning, I walked into Ms. Nolan’s class and was greeted by the murmuring of classmates over a new game. My curiosity peaked, Emily Bristal sat me down to administer a ten question quiz. ‘White or black?’ she asked, ‘white’ I replied. ‘Circle or square?’ she asked, ‘circle’, I replied. ‘Look at your fingernails’, I looked at my fingernails. ‘Look up’, I looked up. The questions continued and I remained unaware of what the test was designed to prove. Emily tallied the results and performed a calculation. ‘You are 90% girl.’ I was devastated. I squandered to justify the results to my friends, ‘if I had known what it was testing I would’ve scored better’, but that was the point, I wasn’t supposed to know. ‘It’s stupid’, ‘It’s not real’ my friends consoled me. But 90% was too large for my mind to get around; it meant I only answered one question as a male. In my embarrassment, I made Emily test me again, after I knew the proper masculine responses to the questions.

An elderly Asian woman frequents the restaurant on Sundays, after visiting the local famer’s market across the street. She sits alone and places her bags on the chair across from her. One morning she came bearing basil, and it smelled divine. Acting on instinct, I said, ‘I like the smell of your basil’. Once the words left my mouth, I realized that the comment strangely sounded like a pick-up line. The woman gave me a skeptical look.

As baseball card loving kids, my brother and I reveled in a Topps competition involving scratch-off cards. In every pack of cards was a competition card, where first, second and third base were scratch off areas, and underneath one of them was a winning run. Cards with only winning runs scratched off could then be redeemed for prizes. Our investigative instincts led us to find that if we took the cards into a dark room and illuminated the backs of them with a flashlight, we could determine where the winning runs were located without scratching off any of the boxes. In this way, we accumulated large numbers of winning cards. Topps caught on to the flashlight trick and began reinforcing the scratch-off material to foil any attempt at cheating the game. But since we were avid collectors and enjoyed competition, we had already amassed enough winning cards to trade them in for cool prizes. Our efforts were in vain though, for our young minds were outsmarted by those of Topps’ marketing department. On each competition card was a small scratch off box in the lower left hand corner with the words, ‘VOID if scratched’ next to it. We didn’t know what 'VOID' meant, and we were eager to scratch. All of our winning cards were void and we received no prizes from Topps.

The sautéed mushrooms found in Le Boulangarie's mushroom soup are long and slimy, like little eels. One evening, while emptying the contents of sugar containers into a large tub, I noticed what I thought was a sautéed mushroom underneath a silver sugar lid. How the fuck did a mushroom get in here? Then the mushroom moved. It was a brown and grey slug. Ewwwwwww. More disgusting was the fact that in order to lodge itself underneath the sugar lid, the slug must have slimed its way into the small opening at the top, where the sugar comes out. I thought about the times that day where I watched customers shaking those sugar containers, or tapping the sides to loosen up the crystals. What if they had tapped in the right corner to free the slug?

I would like to apply for the Technical Coordinator position in Somalia, Wind Analyst position in Scotland, Backcountry Ranger Assistant position at Shuyak Island State Park, Alaska, Program Associate of the Buildings and Utility Programs within the Alliance to Save Energy, Communications Administrative Associate position at AWEA, Backroads Team Leader, the Africa Program Internship with Bank Information Center, Communications/Research Analyst position at the Cadmus Group, Summer Fellow assisting the Africa team for Consultative Group to Assist the Poor, Short-term Operations Associate with Chemonics, Business Development Internship with Crown Agents USA, International Trade Internship at the Coalition of Service Industries, Research Internship with Eco-Coach, Energy Efficiency Policy Internship at Economic Opportunity Studies, Research Assistant position at EPC Consulting, Finance & Customer Service Assistant at The Food and Drug Law Institute, Program Assistant (Africa Programs) position at Freedom House, Technology & General Services Internship Program at IMF, The Institute for Multi-Track Diplomacy Program Officer Internship, Program Assistant position in International Relief & Development Program Resources, Program Associate position in the Education Programs Division IREX, Program Associate within the Media Development Division of IREX, Summer Internship at Institute for Sustainable Communities, the International Intern/Volunteer Coordinator position in Tanzania, The Program Assistant position at The Kaizen Company, Program Analyst position at L-3 Global Solutions, Program Assistant position at Macfadden, Internship at Mars, Project Management Internship at Management Systems International, Energy Analyst position at The National Center for Appropriate Technology, Southern and East Africa Internship at National Democratic Institute, Management Analyst (Federal Career Intern) with the National Science Foundation. Part-time editor position with Decider.com, Africa Region Administrative Assistant position Global Business Development Associate, the Junior-Level Analyst position (SBT-10) with SENTECH, Security Engineering Officer with the Bureau of Diplomatic Security, Volunteer Consultant Program Coordinator Temporary Sales Assistant for TIME’s DC Bureau, International Bioenergy Internship at the United Nations Foundation, Foreign Service Management Analyst with USAID OIG, Greenbuild365 Coordinator position with the US Green Building Council, Spring Internship at Global Leadership Campaign, Junior Program Assistant position at US Institute of Peace, Associate position with Weidemann Associates, Inc.

I intend on devoting my career towards spreading renewable energy to the international community, promoting green building, energy efficiency and the use of renewables. I am pursuing a career which promotes the spread of clean, renewable energy through communication and partnerships. I want to devote my passions for traveling, experiencing different cultures, and learning foreign languages to providing people with the education and enjoyment of a quality vacation. My experience abroad has inspired me to pursue a career in international development specifically in Sub-Saharan Africa, I am seeking a career in international development which focuses on creating sustainable solutions to the effects of climate change on the developing world, I am seeking a career that involves collaborating with the U.S. Department of Defense, intelligence agencies and foreign governments. I am seeking a career in which my knowledge and strong work ethic can be applied towards managing international development projects, I am specifically interested in environment and natural resource management as a way of creating positive change. As a Federal Career Intern I will strive to earn the tools required to operate effectively and efficiently towards promoting the progress of science with the NSF. My passion, however, is writing. I take on exciting challenges and assume unique positions in order to reap the benefit of having something interesting to write about. I’m eager to work with cutting-edge technology to design, implement, inspect and repair vital security systems for U.S. embassies and consulates, to use my tutoring skills and presentation abilities towards furthering the success of others in their preparation for tests such as the SAT. TeachNOLA and the City of New Orleans hold an opportunity for me to make an impact on the lives of children, families, and communities in ‘high-need’ areas, I am applying for the NYC Fellows program to make an impact on the children, families, and communities that are most in need because educating and empowering the youth of these areas is the most effective means of bringing prosperity and positive change. I desire to continue working in the developing world and believe that the business solutions offered by TechnoServe are the most effective way of creating positive change. I am seeking a career in international development which utilizes renewable energy towards promoting global climate change initiatives. I am seeking a career in which my knowledge and strong work ethic can be applied towards meeting the environmental, energy and public health challenges of today. I am specifically interested in researching green building topics and the use of renewable energy, establishing and securing the foundation of an education system. I am specifically interested in researching and spreading knowledge about green building and the use of efficient energy systems through customer service and outreach programs, promoting wind energy by researching technological advancements, coordinating events and activities, and representing the industry in outreach initiatives. This opportunity is exciting to me because I’ll be gaining valuable field work and knowledge about what it takes to be a Backcountry Ranger, as well as contributing to one of the beautiful Alaskan State Parks, I am interested in learning about international trade and researching the current financial crisis. My knowledge and strong work ethic can be applied towards research, administrative backstopping, multilateral analyses and identifying resources for clients. I am specifically interested engaging directly with clients from the DOE’s Weatherization and Intergovernmental Program to ensure proper support and quality results, identifying resources for foreign nations to develop clean energy and create jobs to alleviate poverty. I am specifically interested in researching effects of climate change on the developing world and targeting countries’ capacities for renewables such as Bioenergy. I am seeking first hand exposure to researching and tracking U.S. foreign policy initiatives, I desire to promote peace in the international community. By facilitating and coordinating the efforts of the USIP, I intend on enabling the smooth functioning of operations.


The Wind Analyst position, Program Associate position, Communications/Research Analyst, Business Development Internship, International Trade Internship, Research Assistant position, Program Assistant position, Technology & General Services Internship, Program Assistant, Summer Internship, the International Intern/Volunteer Coordinator position, Program Analyst position, Program Assistant position, Project Management Internship, Southern and East Africa Internship, Administrative Assistant, International Bioenergy Internship is an exciting opportunity for me to apply my drive and devotion with a committed group of individuals towards a common goal.

My education, skills and career goals make me a qualified candidate for the job.

My motivation to become an intern at BIC stems from a desire to provide support to programs in sub-Saharan Africa while gaining in-depth knowledge about the activities of the World Bank and other IFIs. I am interested in microfinance because I believe it has the power to improve lives and transform communities, I desire to continue working in the developing world and want to explore USAID contracting and project operations as a way of creating positive change. My knowledge and strong work ethic can be applied towards establishing trade partnerships and regulating the distribution of new technologies both domestically and internationally. I am specifically interested in researching U.S. trade policy and communicating with both the public and government officials. I am specifically interested in researching and spreading knowledge about transforming businesses to operate environment-friendly and sustainable. This internship is an excellent way of gaining exposure to sustainability consulting services. I am specifically interested in using eco-friendly and energy efficient ways of creating positive change in low-income communities because making energy affordable and reducing carbon emissions are the two most pressing issues of today that require global action. By studying programs, researching policy and following initiatives, I will gain first-hand exposure to information resources operations, I am specifically interested in researching methods of offering low income communities with energy efficient alternatives and sustainable living practices. By providing logistical assistance and backstopping as an assistant, I intend on supporting development programs in Sub-Saharan Africa, My motivation to work for GE is to apply my scientific background and international experience towards meeting the energy needs of the modern world while reducing our negative impact on the environment, I am specifically interested in collaborating with foreign countries to introduce and help implement GE renewable products & services, I am interested in peace-building because I believe it has the power to improve lives and transform communities, I have a passion for writing and a particular interest in promoting journalism as a way to create positive change in the developing world, I am specifically interested in reviewing programs and policy, thus furthering my knowledge of how conflict and humanitarian assistance is issued by USAID, I am specifically interested in researching current events, attending meetings on African affairs and providing information and assessments to higher-ups.

I am confident that I would be an asset to the Airtricity, AWEA, BIC, Cadmus Group, CGAP, Crown Agents USA, CSI, EOS, GE, IMF, IMTD, L-3, Global Solutions, Macfadden, MSI, NDI, OFSI, AllianceBernstein, SENTECH, USGLC, USIP team and I look forward to an interview with you to discuss my skills and qualifications.

Sincerely

With a thick grey moustache and army fatigue pants, Curtis the Vietnam vet sits in the park and curses those who feed the pigeons. He aligns himself with the squirrels, approaching the trees with peanuts and mock charging any birds who get close. "No! Fuck- not for you!" He feeds the reluctant squirrels and walks away. Then he waits on the bench and watches for any park-goers who side with the birds. He conveys his hate through mouthed obscenities and visceral glares. Curtis chooses the bird feeders as his enemies because there is an infinite supply of them. His misplaced angst and need for targets is proof that his mind was broken at a time when the enemies were real.