so, my day begins with the arrival of the 0600 train.  It doesn't Always blast it's horn, but like a good Pavlovian dog I've been conditioned to open my eyes and acknowledge the existence of it's passing anyway *shrugs*

I then turn over and go back to sleep for another hour untill Mariekes alarm goes off at 0700.  Again I awake, aknowledge the world for a bit, and again I go back to sleep.

Untill Marieke comes back in and kisses me goodbye as she leaves for work.  That's my cue to get up.  With no more Pavlovian conditioning, no more alarms, and no more humans in the house, I'd end up sleeping 'till noon, which would Not be good despite how Good it would feel, ya know?

*sip*

After I drag my sorry ass outta bed, there's the mandatory mug o' mud, visit to the bathroom, and cigarette, followed by a peek at my email, a poke or two around space.com, and any finishing touches I need to do to any outstanding homework I may have kicking around.

Then it's time to suit up, run the razor over my face, put my book bag in order, and hit the road.

Dressed in checks, white jacket, and sufficiently dark sunglasses, my bookbag and I make our way to the train.

Sometimes the conductor tags me, in which case I purchase a round trip ticket from Cold Spring to Poughkipsie, please.  Sometimes the conductor totally fails to notice the bozo in the clown suit and I get to ride for free *grins*  I like those days.

Poughkipsie is the end of the line, so I zone during the trip untill I notice that we aren't moving anymore.  Make my way through the train station which is remarkably easy in checks and whites... people tend to give clowns a wide berth, ya know?  Something to do with the rubber chicken and squirting flowers, I think. *shrugs*

When I get outside there's a fleet of Jamaican taxis waiting for me.  "Culilnary Man!  I give you good ride, man.  Come, come ride my taxi, I get you there smooth, man"

I like the Jamaicans.  Their rigs are beat up old jalopies held together with duct tape and a prayer, and if Bob Marley wasn't blaring outta the stereo you'd Swear the thing was gonna fly apart on the next turn.  But with the power of love we rattle our way the last few miles of my journey and then there I am, Roth Hall, a four story pile of Jesuit bricks turned school for food freeks.

Depending upon the time, I may grap a cup of coffe (which, despite the location, really isn't alla That Great *sighs*) and a muffin or two, or I'll just head off to class.

Classes are Classes, be they studying the flow of electrons through a conductor or calculating the yeild percentage of an apple... my math, writing *rolls eyes* and food safety courses are all pretty standard junior college fare.  Product Knowledge and Gastronomy, on the other hand, are kinda groovy.  In the one, the instructor holds up a lump of green leafy produce and asks "What's This?" and we try to figure it out.  "Arugula!  no, Savoy!  um, Kale?" and so on untill we get it or he gives up and tells us. Then he passes the stuff around and we all get to inspect it.  Sometimes there's tastings, too, which I always enjoy *grins*.  The other is basically the philosophy of food. *dreamy*  I Love Philosophy *grins*  We discuss the merrits of quality vs. condition, flavor vs. taste, banter food semantics, discuss important folks in food history, changes in the industry over the years, etc. etc.  Fun class.

No matter When I get out of class, it always seems to be exactly when a train is leaving, which means that I have an hour to catch the next train home.  To get to the train station I need a ride, so I call the local cab company.  These dudes are the anti-Jamaicans *sighs*  Slick, sleek, yellow cabs, overweight white conservative drivers, no music, and either a deathly silient ride OR, worse, the same inane questions about Culinary *sighs*

If I rode free that morning then I have to buy a ticket at the station from the gentleman on the permanent extasy trip... where they found this guy is beyond me but he is entirely too nice to be a public servent.  "Well Hello There!  Will You Be Going Into The City Today?"  uh, no, one way to Cold Spring, please  "Why Certainly!  Cold Spring Is Such A Lovely Place, Do You Live There?"  uh, ya... "Such A Beautiful Community, Cold Spring.  That Will Be $2.75.  Why, Thank You Very Much.  Here's Your Ticket. The Train Leaves On Track One At 7:33, Have A Lovely Trip And Thank You For Riding Metro North!  Have A Nice Day!" and so on... day after day, week after week... *rolls eyes*

For whatever reason the ride home always seems to take a little longer than the ride there... maybe because I've been sitting on my butt all day, I dunno *shrugs*

I get home, Marieke is already here, I dump the book bag, loose the zoot suit, we do some dinner, chat for a while.  If I can blow off the homework 'till the weekend then we spend the remaining few hours of the day together, hanging out, maybe watch a flick, if not then I spend those few hours writing a paper or peeking at books untill my head hurts...