I responded to some craigslist ads and ended up finding a place ot live. I'll be sharing a small two bedroom apartment in Queens with Leann, a 21 year old waitress originally from South Africa who took some psychology courses before moving to New York around the age of 19.
Anyone who wants the address - whether to send me letters or presents in the mail, or to plan a trip to come visit me - e-mail me and I'll send it your way.
6.10.2007
Fat Bottomed Girls (Day 32)
A girl came into the store with a bent debit card that instead of being able to be swiped through the register, had to be entered manually. The girl was tan skinned, curly haired and average looking and when I joked, "ran it through the laundry machine?", she started her bubble voiced response with, "No I'm a big girl and I accidentally sat on it..."
As someone living in one of (if not the) fattest countries in the world, it's hard not to find at least one person a day who has at least a little extra weight. I dont' give it much thought (hell, I could lose some weight too) unless the person in question is obese, or at least acting in an obese way.
Obesity to me isn't all an issue of size, but rather an attitude. If you're overeight, but staying active - walking around, having fun, offering something meaningful to society, or maybe even acknowledging the fact that you're not a model and are trying to better yourself for your own purposes, fine.
if on the other hand you're allowing yourself to fall by the wayside by keeping a job that keeps you on your ass all day, eating fried foods and cheesecake, and instead of doing anything productive are rather taking up space, well, how does one allow themselves to become that?
My point here is that I was taken aback when the girl brought it up, as I hadn't given it a thougth myself, and it's not every day that you hear someone talk about their own weight without the slightest of uncomfortability coming along with it - and, without sounding sexist here - especially a woman. It was good to see that this person, at least, didn't believe in the "ignorance is bliss" rule. She appeared happy and healthy even as she was bringing up her weight. It seems logical to guess that this attitude isn't a rarity seen in a fleeting, coffee shop moment, but rather one that translates to her everyday life.
As someone living in one of (if not the) fattest countries in the world, it's hard not to find at least one person a day who has at least a little extra weight. I dont' give it much thought (hell, I could lose some weight too) unless the person in question is obese, or at least acting in an obese way.
Obesity to me isn't all an issue of size, but rather an attitude. If you're overeight, but staying active - walking around, having fun, offering something meaningful to society, or maybe even acknowledging the fact that you're not a model and are trying to better yourself for your own purposes, fine.
if on the other hand you're allowing yourself to fall by the wayside by keeping a job that keeps you on your ass all day, eating fried foods and cheesecake, and instead of doing anything productive are rather taking up space, well, how does one allow themselves to become that?
My point here is that I was taken aback when the girl brought it up, as I hadn't given it a thougth myself, and it's not every day that you hear someone talk about their own weight without the slightest of uncomfortability coming along with it - and, without sounding sexist here - especially a woman. It was good to see that this person, at least, didn't believe in the "ignorance is bliss" rule. She appeared happy and healthy even as she was bringing up her weight. It seems logical to guess that this attitude isn't a rarity seen in a fleeting, coffee shop moment, but rather one that translates to her everyday life.
Fashion (Day 31)
I'm a man in all the obvious ways as well as some that aren't so obvious. Aside from the whole "having a penis" thing, I eat steak, drink whiskey, like action movies and have a fear of commitment and even more of a fear of having children. I wear jeans, like brunettes and along with my special brand of charm - or "misanthropy" as I like to call it - comes the normality fo a few extra pounds that I could spare from my 69 and a half inches.
I'm finding, however, that "fashion" for a man here in New York means being built like a five foot four, 95 lbs. twelve year old girl. Every store I go into displays it's "extra small" size on the mannequins and tabletops, and every displayed pant size seems to only reach the length of 30 inches and the waist fo 32. The counter help performs he miracle of being able to fit into these clothes while all the while delivering no particular kind of service to their customers.
I suppose what I'm wondering here is when it became cool to be short, scrawny and awkward? I know that nerdiness becomes cool some time in your mid-twenties, and I know that most women like a man who at least pretends to be a bit cultured. That doesn't mean they like men whose body structure wouldn't allow them to help carry the groceries, let alone change a tire, and I'm almost certain that no woman wants a man whose newly purchased "extra small" shirt and size 28 jeans reeks of pheromones more than Chanel No. 5.
As for women, their fashion sense isn't any better. All day long I see women walking down the street wearing what can only be defined as a short dress over top of their pants along with sunglasses so large that they put Bono's to shame. Gone are the days when all a woman had to do was look good ina pair of jeans, replaced by todays standard of gaudiness and cellular telephones that cause the perception of Times Square exploding onto their face.
"It costs a fortune to look this trashy," is a quote of Bono's I read once without giving it a second thought. Here in this city, though, where it's hard to find any of the aforementioned products for less than fifty dollars, perhaps it is true that tackiness, gaudiness, or more simply - trashiness acts as social stature. I can only hope I never become rich to the point of looking like rags.
I'm finding, however, that "fashion" for a man here in New York means being built like a five foot four, 95 lbs. twelve year old girl. Every store I go into displays it's "extra small" size on the mannequins and tabletops, and every displayed pant size seems to only reach the length of 30 inches and the waist fo 32. The counter help performs he miracle of being able to fit into these clothes while all the while delivering no particular kind of service to their customers.
I suppose what I'm wondering here is when it became cool to be short, scrawny and awkward? I know that nerdiness becomes cool some time in your mid-twenties, and I know that most women like a man who at least pretends to be a bit cultured. That doesn't mean they like men whose body structure wouldn't allow them to help carry the groceries, let alone change a tire, and I'm almost certain that no woman wants a man whose newly purchased "extra small" shirt and size 28 jeans reeks of pheromones more than Chanel No. 5.
As for women, their fashion sense isn't any better. All day long I see women walking down the street wearing what can only be defined as a short dress over top of their pants along with sunglasses so large that they put Bono's to shame. Gone are the days when all a woman had to do was look good ina pair of jeans, replaced by todays standard of gaudiness and cellular telephones that cause the perception of Times Square exploding onto their face.
"It costs a fortune to look this trashy," is a quote of Bono's I read once without giving it a second thought. Here in this city, though, where it's hard to find any of the aforementioned products for less than fifty dollars, perhaps it is true that tackiness, gaudiness, or more simply - trashiness acts as social stature. I can only hope I never become rich to the point of looking like rags.
5.31.2007
"In My Country There Is Problem, And That Problem Is Transport..." (Day 30)
"I've gone local."
These words rang through my head while taking the Q train to work at 4:45 in the morning, and to a lot of you, they mean nothing. To the millions of people who take MTA transport, however, it means that whatever "express" train you thought you got on, is actually making every stop (a "scenic route", of sorts) instead of the minimal stops an express train makes on its regular run.
I don't have a problem with a longer train ride, to be honest. I just wish I knew when to expect them. A reasonable person might retort, "Why not look at a schedule!", and that would be a proper response in any other city. While there are schedules available here, however, no one seems to make use of them. Trains arrive and depart at will, which is about every 5 to 10 minutes during normal business hours - so I have no complaints on that, however they also get delayed or re-routed at will as well.
A lot of trains actually have signs clarifying any misgivings about the route or routes that stop on that track. For example, at Church Avenue, the B train says where it goes and when - late nites and weekends have exclusions. At the same stop, however, the Q train placard tells riders that it's an express to Manhattan at "all times." I don't pretend to know the inner workings of the MTA, however in the month I've been in this city, I've "gone local" twice when I shouldn't have, have been told my train is delayed because of "an investigation" at another station twice, and have once been informed that my Q train was becoming an N train and that instead of waiting on the same track for the following Q, I'd have to walk up the stairs, to the right, down the ramp, to the left and then back down some stairs to catch another Q - which ended up being late.
Announcements on board or in the train stations are a normal expectation as well, however, half the time the announcements on board are inaudible due to a problem with volume control, and when an announcement inside the station is made my a human instead of a machine, it's inaudible because of speed of delivery or the sounds of thousands of overlapping footsteps and conversations.
A lot of times things go right on the MTA trains, however, and without them I wouldn't get to play my movie making game, nor would I have had half the conversations I had in my first week of being here. Still, it's not unheard of to have to deal with crazy women on ecstasy shouting "those ain't my niggas, them's white fingas on the triggas", foul smells, mystery goops and liquids, litter, and plain old assholes. For all of that, it's not unreasonable to ask to be informed about which route my train is going and when.
These words rang through my head while taking the Q train to work at 4:45 in the morning, and to a lot of you, they mean nothing. To the millions of people who take MTA transport, however, it means that whatever "express" train you thought you got on, is actually making every stop (a "scenic route", of sorts) instead of the minimal stops an express train makes on its regular run.
I don't have a problem with a longer train ride, to be honest. I just wish I knew when to expect them. A reasonable person might retort, "Why not look at a schedule!", and that would be a proper response in any other city. While there are schedules available here, however, no one seems to make use of them. Trains arrive and depart at will, which is about every 5 to 10 minutes during normal business hours - so I have no complaints on that, however they also get delayed or re-routed at will as well.
A lot of trains actually have signs clarifying any misgivings about the route or routes that stop on that track. For example, at Church Avenue, the B train says where it goes and when - late nites and weekends have exclusions. At the same stop, however, the Q train placard tells riders that it's an express to Manhattan at "all times." I don't pretend to know the inner workings of the MTA, however in the month I've been in this city, I've "gone local" twice when I shouldn't have, have been told my train is delayed because of "an investigation" at another station twice, and have once been informed that my Q train was becoming an N train and that instead of waiting on the same track for the following Q, I'd have to walk up the stairs, to the right, down the ramp, to the left and then back down some stairs to catch another Q - which ended up being late.
Announcements on board or in the train stations are a normal expectation as well, however, half the time the announcements on board are inaudible due to a problem with volume control, and when an announcement inside the station is made my a human instead of a machine, it's inaudible because of speed of delivery or the sounds of thousands of overlapping footsteps and conversations.
A lot of times things go right on the MTA trains, however, and without them I wouldn't get to play my movie making game, nor would I have had half the conversations I had in my first week of being here. Still, it's not unheard of to have to deal with crazy women on ecstasy shouting "those ain't my niggas, them's white fingas on the triggas", foul smells, mystery goops and liquids, litter, and plain old assholes. For all of that, it's not unreasonable to ask to be informed about which route my train is going and when.
Mini Meta Post (Day 29)
It finally happened.
I'm failing my mission. I started this blog in an attempt to write a little bit each day on my first year in New York. I the past week, however, I've been writing more like very other day - sometimes every third.
It's all my fault, I suppose. No one to blame but myself. I'm the one who found a job within a week of arriving here, and I'm the one working 40 uneven hours of work a week and losing the energy to write every nite.
Likewise, I'm the one who came to New York with no place to live other than on my friend's couch, thus forcing me to spend what time I have to peruse the internet on craigslist looking for sublets so as not to overstay my welcome.
So this is an apology to you the reader albeit an empty one. A promise that "I'll never do it again", isn't following, nor is any real guilt towards you.
The guilt I feel is from feeling as though I've failed my writing experiment within the first month of taking it on. I can tell myself (and you) that I'll try to do better, or that I'll be more diligent, but in the end all I can do is write a post that sounds apologetic but isn't in order to decrease the number of posts I have backed up.
I'm failing my mission. I started this blog in an attempt to write a little bit each day on my first year in New York. I the past week, however, I've been writing more like very other day - sometimes every third.
It's all my fault, I suppose. No one to blame but myself. I'm the one who found a job within a week of arriving here, and I'm the one working 40 uneven hours of work a week and losing the energy to write every nite.
Likewise, I'm the one who came to New York with no place to live other than on my friend's couch, thus forcing me to spend what time I have to peruse the internet on craigslist looking for sublets so as not to overstay my welcome.
So this is an apology to you the reader albeit an empty one. A promise that "I'll never do it again", isn't following, nor is any real guilt towards you.
The guilt I feel is from feeling as though I've failed my writing experiment within the first month of taking it on. I can tell myself (and you) that I'll try to do better, or that I'll be more diligent, but in the end all I can do is write a post that sounds apologetic but isn't in order to decrease the number of posts I have backed up.
5.27.2007
Holidays In The Sun (Day 26-28)
This weekend saw me not doing anything new, so much as relaxing on my days off when I could, as well as helping to show some of New York to Josh's parents.
Friday started early as my plans for later that evening were canceled and Josh started inviting me along to show his parents around New York as we went about tidying up his apartment. Our later excursion to the post office was a confusing one as a local drug store advertised postal service but then referred us up the street to the crowded and un air conditioned post office. Upon finishing our business there Josh and I headed back to his apartment, but then separated soon thereafter as I headed into Manhattan to pick up my paycheck.
Once in Manhattan, I spent some time at my store saying hi to co-workers before heading out to decide what to do with my day. Deciding once again to make my way into Times Square to check out novelty T-Shirt prices for family members as well as to track down the MTV store to see what it was all about, I deposited my check and headed into headed up 7th Ave.
The trip was an ultimate disappointment, however, not only because I hate Times Square enough to begin with, but also in that the MTV store was nothing like I expected it to be. It was small, had only a meager selection of T-Shirts and housed a minimal selection of stickers at the front counter. To be honest, if any company or corporation had a market to advertise to, I figured MTV would be it. On a personal note, I was hoping for a vintage room featuring Liquid Television and Remote Control T-Shirts, a wall of nothing but Unplugged CD's and DVD's, and maybe even Duff's leather jacket or Kennedy's glasses encased in glass.
To be honest, the rest of my Friday nite was boring. My initial plan after my, er, initial plans got canceled, was to try to track down Joe and go get drunk with him. As it happened, however, he tried to call me around 8pm when I was napping and my phone was on silent. I woke up around 10pm as Josh and his parents walked in from their sightseeing and dinner.
On Saturday I decided to join Cait, along with Josh, his parents and two of their friends in more sightseeing. I'll be gin by saying that Josh's parents and their friends are in their late 40's or early 50's, hail from a suburb of Pittsburgh, and have never seen New York before. So their list of sights to see included the following:
1) Statue of Liberty
2) Ground Zero
3) Times Square
4) Eat at a "real" New York Deli
Instead of taking a ferry to get up close and personal with Lady Liberty in 90 degree weather, we decided to take the train into Battery Park which offers a fine view of the statue. The first to get frustrated with the pace we had to keep with Josh's parents, I saw Cait giving the same eye roll I was and found comfort and kinship in it. Still, Josh' parents (and now their friends) had been nothing but nice to me, and there I was saying to myself that these were the people I hate in New York - the slow walkers, the eons who take up the entire sidewalk, the ones who move with no purpose and take pictures in the middle of the street - I couldn't help but be frustrated, but I felt like a terrible person at the same time.
In perspective, however, seeing Ground Zero and Lady Liberty wound's be things I would go and do on my own, so I was glad ot see them, even if at my own pace our list of stops would've taken me two hours as opposed to a whole day. That evening, after Josh's parents made their way back to Pennsylvania, the three of us had a mini-bitchfest for a few minutes and then decided it was time to buy a twelve pack of beer and watch House re-runs.
My workday today was my making of amends for hating our tourist tagalongs yesterday I suppose. The store wasn't busy in the slightest due to the Memorial Day weekend, but what customers we did have all seemed to be tourists from out of the country. I was pleasant to all of them while still finding it odd that these fok would be taking a long weekend over Memorial Day weekend, an American holiday. One British woman told me she expected the city to not be as busy which I sort of chuckled at because A) it's New York, and B) I had actually thought it was a slow weekend int eh city from teh previous ones I had seen.
Friday started early as my plans for later that evening were canceled and Josh started inviting me along to show his parents around New York as we went about tidying up his apartment. Our later excursion to the post office was a confusing one as a local drug store advertised postal service but then referred us up the street to the crowded and un air conditioned post office. Upon finishing our business there Josh and I headed back to his apartment, but then separated soon thereafter as I headed into Manhattan to pick up my paycheck.
Once in Manhattan, I spent some time at my store saying hi to co-workers before heading out to decide what to do with my day. Deciding once again to make my way into Times Square to check out novelty T-Shirt prices for family members as well as to track down the MTV store to see what it was all about, I deposited my check and headed into headed up 7th Ave.
The trip was an ultimate disappointment, however, not only because I hate Times Square enough to begin with, but also in that the MTV store was nothing like I expected it to be. It was small, had only a meager selection of T-Shirts and housed a minimal selection of stickers at the front counter. To be honest, if any company or corporation had a market to advertise to, I figured MTV would be it. On a personal note, I was hoping for a vintage room featuring Liquid Television and Remote Control T-Shirts, a wall of nothing but Unplugged CD's and DVD's, and maybe even Duff's leather jacket or Kennedy's glasses encased in glass.
To be honest, the rest of my Friday nite was boring. My initial plan after my, er, initial plans got canceled, was to try to track down Joe and go get drunk with him. As it happened, however, he tried to call me around 8pm when I was napping and my phone was on silent. I woke up around 10pm as Josh and his parents walked in from their sightseeing and dinner.
On Saturday I decided to join Cait, along with Josh, his parents and two of their friends in more sightseeing. I'll be gin by saying that Josh's parents and their friends are in their late 40's or early 50's, hail from a suburb of Pittsburgh, and have never seen New York before. So their list of sights to see included the following:
1) Statue of Liberty
2) Ground Zero
3) Times Square
4) Eat at a "real" New York Deli
Instead of taking a ferry to get up close and personal with Lady Liberty in 90 degree weather, we decided to take the train into Battery Park which offers a fine view of the statue. The first to get frustrated with the pace we had to keep with Josh's parents, I saw Cait giving the same eye roll I was and found comfort and kinship in it. Still, Josh' parents (and now their friends) had been nothing but nice to me, and there I was saying to myself that these were the people I hate in New York - the slow walkers, the eons who take up the entire sidewalk, the ones who move with no purpose and take pictures in the middle of the street - I couldn't help but be frustrated, but I felt like a terrible person at the same time.
In perspective, however, seeing Ground Zero and Lady Liberty wound's be things I would go and do on my own, so I was glad ot see them, even if at my own pace our list of stops would've taken me two hours as opposed to a whole day. That evening, after Josh's parents made their way back to Pennsylvania, the three of us had a mini-bitchfest for a few minutes and then decided it was time to buy a twelve pack of beer and watch House re-runs.
My workday today was my making of amends for hating our tourist tagalongs yesterday I suppose. The store wasn't busy in the slightest due to the Memorial Day weekend, but what customers we did have all seemed to be tourists from out of the country. I was pleasant to all of them while still finding it odd that these fok would be taking a long weekend over Memorial Day weekend, an American holiday. One British woman told me she expected the city to not be as busy which I sort of chuckled at because A) it's New York, and B) I had actually thought it was a slow weekend int eh city from teh previous ones I had seen.
5.25.2007
Good Little Children (Night 25)
It's infrequent, anymore, that I see what the world would refer to as "good" children anymore. While I admit to being not only crotchety, but also a misanthrope, that doesn't change the fact that many parents today don't appear to be there for their children in any sense other than to pay their cell phone bill, buy them a venti frappucino at Starbuck's, and take them shopping. Simple values like picking up after oneself, saying "please" and "thank you", and being respectful of others seem to have fallen by the wayside as today's parents are busier and busier with their own lives.
So tonite I was shocked when at around 10:30pm a boy around seven years old offered to hold his mother's bag in his lap while he sat and she stood for the duration of their ride on the Q train. Not only that, but on crowded train car, the mother took the time to give a mini-lesson in geography and subtraction to the child when he asked where they were and how many more stops they had. Not once did the mother ignore the boy, and not once did she raise her voice or degrade the child. Ina world (or city) more accepting, I would've like to have talked to the boy and his mother to tell the child how nice he was to her, see what kind of things he's interested in, and to tell his mother that I liked how curly her hair was.
I found myself continuing to look over and watch the mother and child throughout the train ride in awe of all that was going on inside their immediate nucleus. What I was even more in awe of, by juxtaposition, was that when a seat net to the child freed up on the car, a man took it instead of pointing it out to the mother. It seems some people just haven't been raised right.
So tonite I was shocked when at around 10:30pm a boy around seven years old offered to hold his mother's bag in his lap while he sat and she stood for the duration of their ride on the Q train. Not only that, but on crowded train car, the mother took the time to give a mini-lesson in geography and subtraction to the child when he asked where they were and how many more stops they had. Not once did the mother ignore the boy, and not once did she raise her voice or degrade the child. Ina world (or city) more accepting, I would've like to have talked to the boy and his mother to tell the child how nice he was to her, see what kind of things he's interested in, and to tell his mother that I liked how curly her hair was.
I found myself continuing to look over and watch the mother and child throughout the train ride in awe of all that was going on inside their immediate nucleus. What I was even more in awe of, by juxtaposition, was that when a seat net to the child freed up on the car, a man took it instead of pointing it out to the mother. It seems some people just haven't been raised right.
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