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Last Friday the 13th might have been the only Friday the 13th that I didn’t spend in fear or mostly indoors. My friend was in town and that day we went to the American Museum of Natural History, walked through Central Park and stopped at the Belvedere Castle and visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art. At the later place, we spent roughly four hours on four exhibits. That place is definitely way too big. After that we went down the the Crocodile Lounge, had beers and pizzas and then went around the corner to see Watchmen. That was like a 14 hour day, most of which was spent on foot or the subway. And somehow I managed not to trip or get immensely delayed. In fact, I genuiniely had an awesome time. The next day seemed oddly inactive in comparsion with a 4 plus hour visit to MoMA, a walking tour around St. Patrick’s Cathedral and dinner and beers with a friend from high school.

Then I went to work. Not worth the story–blah, blah, panties, blah, inventory, bras, blah, blah. The usual.

Then I finally got to see NYC’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade. I think I want to learn to play bagpipes. Also, I was a little sad that the cops on top of the Met wouldn’t wave back to everyone, but the rest of the day definitely made up for it.

We went to a bar where a bunch of firefighters from Queens were extremely drunk and, well, taller than everyone else in sight. There was one firefighter who was my height but his chest was probably twice the size of the tallest guy there. Also, they were all kind of meatheads–they would barely talk to me but they loved my roommate’s girlfriend. I think it’s because she kept stealing their hats and because I wanted to know how they studied and prepared for the written and physical tests. While they were trying to get drunk and hit on girls. The advice for the physical test was definitely highly metaphysical and ran the gamut from “run” and “run up stairs.” They also told me that I should just go by my local fire department and ask for a tour.

The guys at my local fire department who are roughly my height could not be any more top-heavy. I mean, on a scale of one to Manly Men, all of these guys were probably Elevens. It probably makes sense that about half of them used to be cops, too. The Chief was probably 6’6″ and had a handlebar moustache the size of my hand. Just about everyone’s advice was “take the test” as if that had been the secret to getting the job instead of the requirement. The only person who revealed his test scores told me he got a 98 on the written and a 100 on the physical. He also thinks he waited around 2.5 years before he got into the fire academy because of those two missing points.

Of course, out of the men I polled, there was a 1000% job satisfaction rating. So now I have a pull-up bar and I started running again. Hopefully I can keep both up. Also, it looks like, since only like 5% of the job is actually putting out fires, that it’d be in my best interest to become and EMT, but maybe not for another year or so because I don’t really want to do that for the rest of my life. EMT work is really only a means to an end.

And then in my free time I guess I could edit the shit out of manuscripts and stuff. Saving lives and liturature for the rest of my life? Awesome.

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