Mo' Money, Mo' Problems?

It is today I write this blog with a heavy heart as we, the College of the Holy Cross class of 2002, mourn the loss of one of our own. Douglas (Doug) Hommel passed away this past Friday, March 18. The funeral is today from what I heard.

We had many amazing times in class, at pub night on Tuesdays, and on the weekend. Doug, you will be missed. Doug was a fun, outgoing kid, and probably one of the few students from Chaminade that I actually liked and was friends with. He was a great person.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Chaminade, it is an all-boys preparatory high school in Mineola on Longuh Island.

The pronunciation of the word long as lon-'guh is not an exaggeration for those of us who arrived at Holy Cross (not from that area) and heard the pronunciation that forever changed how we saw the word. You weren't from Long Island; you were from Lon-guh Island.

Chaminade, like many other prestigious high schools in the Northeast and New England (I hate to offend those of you not from the Northern part of the East Coast as I am sure in the Midwest and California you have many esteemed institutions, but let's face it. We in the northeast rule. Well, except for maybe New Jersey. We take no responsibility for that. I kid because I love.

At Holy Cross we went to school with the children of diplomats, government officials, and barons of industry. Before I came to Holy Cross I had no idea the extent to which swaths of wealth blanketed the northeast and New England. I had gone to Aaaachmere for high school (pronounced thus by my former roommate David Robles; actual pronunciation Archmere) where I ran into my fair share of snobs and wealth, but nothing like Holy Cross.

When I was an RA I can't even tell you the number of times when patrolling the halls and breaking up parties, even in the actual disciplinary hearings themselves that followed, I heard the phrase "Do you have any idea who my father is?" Or, "I am gonna have my father come up here so quickly and he'll take care of everything."

Most of the people at Holy Cross were uber nice and amazing people. But sometimes the level of snobbery would stun me. Someone I know who went to Regis High school (another prestigious NY HS) came over to my dorm when we were having a party my sophomore year and looked annoyed that all we had was beer. He said "Oh, I see we're getting drunk the poor man's way tonight." At first I thought he was kidding, but he really meant it.

You would think that all the wealth I encountered on a daily basis would have inspired me to want that kind of life. You know, to be like the young people on a show like Gossip Girl where all you do is party and you use your connections, money and influence to get what you want.

It has inspired me, but I must say that even though I am a lowly teacher at a Community College, I would not change my station or status for anything. I enjoy being normal, knowing how to wait in line at different places. I enjoy interacting with the cogs in all of the bureaucracies I (like many of you) encounter every day.

Take the DMV for instance. No one likes to go to the DMV. But when you're there, everyone is equal and the same. Black, white, rich, poor need to do the same types of things. License renewal. Title services, etc.

"Do you have any idea who my father is?" isn't going to fly there. If you said that to one of the workers there you'd probably get the same response "Did you fill out the 10-16 form sir? No? Well, you have to go to that desk over there, fill out the 10-16, and wait in line again to bring it back to me." If I worked at the DMV and someone said angrily or out of frustration, "Do you know who my father is?" to me, I would ask "Is your voice dressing up for Halloween right now?"

Anyway, enough of that for today. I'm done. Swear to Taco.

Welcome to the World

My name is Jack and I am a husky taco. Not really; I actually called the blog husky taco because I think Husky dogs are cool and I enjoy ethnic foods. I looked for a picture of a husky with a taco in its mouth but couldn't find any.

I have a cat named Taco who looks like a husky. I myself am husky, though, if we're talking about the adjective. The cat pictured on the page is not Taco. That's Battlecat. Yes, like He-Man.

I recently bought a house in Deacon's Walk in Newark that I love. Taco's name was Deacon when I got him at the SPCA, but it didn't quite stick. So I named him Taco after the character on "The League."

Teacher by day, helper of family by night. When not at school I am helping out my mom with her house and I help my grandmother at Rockland Place, the assisted living facility where she lives.

I teach math at a local college in Wilmington and although I enjoy it very much I feel like the students are not as bright as they were a few years ago. Somebody asked me why a triangle doesn't have four sides. Swear. To. Taco.

PS: Until I find a better way to end the blog (Dy-no-MITE! or some other enchanting catch-phrase), we'll go with swear to taco.