I am always hungry; as I type, I am hungry. Recently, I have developed a particular fondness for chicken quesadillas. If you’re wondering, the best place to grab some quesadillas is at a contemporary, well-furnished spot in Brooklyn named Calexico. My initial encounter with the restaurant resulted from an excruciatingly long bike ride on a rather chilly day.

I love riding my five-year-old, bright green mountain bike; her name is Kwendy (don’t ask) and she’s been there for me through thick and thin. I have yet to escort her on an official tour of Baruch. The time will come. I cannot possibly go four years without introducing her to the buildings, sidewalks, and people that have coalesced to define my new, bizarre world.

Lastly, I never spell thesaurus correctly (thank heavens for spell check), I would like to pursue a career in marketing, and I am intolerably outgoing. Cheers.