Sorry, i haven't updated in awhile. Haven't really had much excitement during my commute...until last Thursday.
On my way to the gym in Forest Hills, on a Queens-bound F train, I had the unfortunate experience of sitting adjacent to a very sloppy diner. Now, I could be wrong here, but I think it's pretty difficult to turn the act of eating a Granny Smith apple into one big slopfest. A turkey sandwich or a raspberry crumb cake? OK, fine. I won't pass any judgment there. But an APPLE? Come on, guy. Get your shit together.
So I'm sitting there, reading my paper, when I notice bits of apple falling in every direction from this older man's face. Gross, but whatever. Shit happens. Until a piece falls on my brand-new boot. Despite my initial disgust, I thought, "Eh, it's just a piece of apple, whatevs." I tried to shake it off, but it appeared to be stuck to my boot and I didn't have to much room to maneuver my foot. Then this man proceeds to pull out a crumbly corn muffin (which, ironically, he scarfed down without dropping a crumb), some other snack, and a cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee. Although I was impressed with this man's ability to fit an entire five-course meal into his knapsack (good word, right? I could've just said "bag"), I was still perturbed by the fact that I'm pretty sure he noticed the piece of apple that fell on my shoe and didn't even apologize for it. F U.
Then a sick passenger (could this ride get any more fun?) causing the train to stop in the station at 57th prompted me to get up and take the F in the opposite direction and just go to the gym in Ridgewood. This is when I noticed the piece of apple had left a mark on my light-colored (NEW) boots. YUCK! Just a friendly reminder to all you filthy slobs out there: If you know you are a sloppy eater, please use a napkin while in a packed train car. Also, please make an effort to apologize when your saliva-soaked pieces of apple fall on someone else's shoe. Thanks.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
ghetto trash.
Honestly—honestly, now—there is nothing that makes my blood boil more than trashy bitches playing "music" loudly on their cell phones so all the world can hear. No, wait, I take that back. Nothing makes my blood boil more than said behavior on a fucking RUSH-HOUR MORNING TRAIN ON A TUESDAY. Are you kidding me?!?! Let me breathe deeply for a few seconds...brb.
Back. OK, so. The first time I had a run-in with some asshole playing his "music" (quotations because the quality of these ringtones or whatever is so horrific that you can barely make out the sounds and/or song, especially when being played at an obscene decibel level!!) on an AM train, he was sitting there all nonchalantly, phone in hand, playing something that was probably supposed to be hip-hop but sounded more like what a cat being mangled by barbed wire would. It was SO loud, it was comical. From one end of the train car to the other, everyone stared around in disbelief, and it baffled me that no one had the balls to stand up to this stupid kid. He was, what, maybe 18-19 years old, at most? Anyway, I was only on the train for 3 stops, but before I left I made sure to give him a piece of my mind. I told him it was rude and that (duh) not everyone wanted to listen to the music that he was listening to that particular January morning at 9 am. People were trying to read, trying to relax before they go to work, etc. "I'm just tryin to listen to my music, yo." You uneducated fool! Whatevs. Anyway, flash forward to this morning, 8:45 am.
The F train was especially slug-like—and packed to the brim. So I decide to transfer to the local R at Forest Hills so I could sit and read all the fun reading material I'd brought with me this morning (i.e., a Metro paper and the L Magazine). Good luck with that one, Emmy Jo! For as soon as I sit down, these two girls get on, and the more obnoxious of the pair shouts to her pal "this is a perfect place to play music yo!" Oh boy. I felt my internal temperature start to rise and knew something dangerous was bound to happen.
Then the fun begins and they start playing shit on their phones. All this dumb radio R&B crap, and I was like, OK, maybe once more people get on the train they'll stop. This was the first stop on the R and there weren't too many people; the girls were maybe 6-7 feet away from me and I kept shooting them nasty looks. I really cannot sit back and watch things like this happen without saying something, especially after one man boarded the train with a book and sat next to one of them, and as more & more people continued to get on the train, they continued to play their music. Why are people so scared to stand up to trashy kids?!
I wondered if I was the only one being annoyed by this until I looked up from my paper and, lo & behold, many irritated faces were looking in their direction. Really? After the 4th stop, still no one is saying anything? I then noticed the two middle-aged ladies sitting on either side of me with concerned faces. One was a Hispanic lady, the other possibly a Russian Jew. All of a sudden I felt a strong bond to these two strangers and was like "Can you believe these girls? that's so rude!" We all nod in agreement and the potentially Russian lady asks "Where is that coming from? Those girls over there?" and motions in their direction. It was a little hard to see their phones at this point because the train was getting crowded. I said yes, as I continued to stare at them with an evil eye. They saw me staring, at which point I shouted "Are you kidding me?!" (I guess this is my favorite way to initiate a subway spat!). Then the less obnoxious (but still annoying) of the two says to her friend "Is she talking to me?" to which I reply, "Yes I'm talking to you! That's so rude to play music like that on a morning train! Are you fucking kidding?" Apparently she was confused by this and, once again, asked her friend if I was talking to her. I said something about how it's just not nice (just call me grandma Favilla!) then the Russian(?) lady next to me called them "ghetto trash," which I thought was a very astute observation. The Hispanic lady agreed, but she was more quiet than the other woman.
The girls continue to play their music, but never answered me back directly. Maybe the tattoos scared them? Then so many people got on the train that I could no longer see them, but heard the more obnoxious girl (who, might I add, had the nastiest, brassiest bleached hair—yuck) say something like, "it's morning, people gotta wake up and go to work anyway! we're just helping wake them up, right?" and her little minion chuckling along. "see, this guy, he don't mind—he's a morning person, right?!" and something about bob marley. shut the fuck up. If only I could have seen them, I really don't know what I would have said. Instead, I shared a funny exchange with the Russian(?) lady who told me about the time she went into an empty shoe store to try on a pair of shoes but the girl behind the counter was so busy on her cell phone she told her they didn't have her size—without even bothering to look. She laughed, and then, the ghetto bitches started playing Rihanna's "Standing Ovation" and SINGING ALONG. O-M-G. The lady says in her accent, "They think they're so cute! But they are just ghetto trash." Hahha. Thank god for her comic relief. She said "When I get off of the train, I'm gonna say something to them. I'm not scared!" and I told her I wasn't either, and recounted the above story about the guy on the F train and we talked about how everyone is annoyed but no one has the guts to talk shit to these girls. I offered her my Metro newspaper and she took it & read it.
Unfortunately, they got off the train—at Steinway—before either of us, by which point they'd toned it down a bit and I'd put on my headphones because I just felt like it. I said good-bye to my new friend, who exited at Queens Plaza, and that was it.
It's not like I want to have a fist fight with anyone, but someone really needs to school people like this who don't realize how horribly rude and disrespectful it is to play your lame-ass music on a rush-hour train. AGH! I hope karma comes back to bite them in the ass today.
Back. OK, so. The first time I had a run-in with some asshole playing his "music" (quotations because the quality of these ringtones or whatever is so horrific that you can barely make out the sounds and/or song, especially when being played at an obscene decibel level!!) on an AM train, he was sitting there all nonchalantly, phone in hand, playing something that was probably supposed to be hip-hop but sounded more like what a cat being mangled by barbed wire would. It was SO loud, it was comical. From one end of the train car to the other, everyone stared around in disbelief, and it baffled me that no one had the balls to stand up to this stupid kid. He was, what, maybe 18-19 years old, at most? Anyway, I was only on the train for 3 stops, but before I left I made sure to give him a piece of my mind. I told him it was rude and that (duh) not everyone wanted to listen to the music that he was listening to that particular January morning at 9 am. People were trying to read, trying to relax before they go to work, etc. "I'm just tryin to listen to my music, yo." You uneducated fool! Whatevs. Anyway, flash forward to this morning, 8:45 am.
The F train was especially slug-like—and packed to the brim. So I decide to transfer to the local R at Forest Hills so I could sit and read all the fun reading material I'd brought with me this morning (i.e., a Metro paper and the L Magazine). Good luck with that one, Emmy Jo! For as soon as I sit down, these two girls get on, and the more obnoxious of the pair shouts to her pal "this is a perfect place to play music yo!" Oh boy. I felt my internal temperature start to rise and knew something dangerous was bound to happen.
Then the fun begins and they start playing shit on their phones. All this dumb radio R&B crap, and I was like, OK, maybe once more people get on the train they'll stop. This was the first stop on the R and there weren't too many people; the girls were maybe 6-7 feet away from me and I kept shooting them nasty looks. I really cannot sit back and watch things like this happen without saying something, especially after one man boarded the train with a book and sat next to one of them, and as more & more people continued to get on the train, they continued to play their music. Why are people so scared to stand up to trashy kids?!
I wondered if I was the only one being annoyed by this until I looked up from my paper and, lo & behold, many irritated faces were looking in their direction. Really? After the 4th stop, still no one is saying anything? I then noticed the two middle-aged ladies sitting on either side of me with concerned faces. One was a Hispanic lady, the other possibly a Russian Jew. All of a sudden I felt a strong bond to these two strangers and was like "Can you believe these girls? that's so rude!" We all nod in agreement and the potentially Russian lady asks "Where is that coming from? Those girls over there?" and motions in their direction. It was a little hard to see their phones at this point because the train was getting crowded. I said yes, as I continued to stare at them with an evil eye. They saw me staring, at which point I shouted "Are you kidding me?!" (I guess this is my favorite way to initiate a subway spat!). Then the less obnoxious (but still annoying) of the two says to her friend "Is she talking to me?" to which I reply, "Yes I'm talking to you! That's so rude to play music like that on a morning train! Are you fucking kidding?" Apparently she was confused by this and, once again, asked her friend if I was talking to her. I said something about how it's just not nice (just call me grandma Favilla!) then the Russian(?) lady next to me called them "ghetto trash," which I thought was a very astute observation. The Hispanic lady agreed, but she was more quiet than the other woman.
The girls continue to play their music, but never answered me back directly. Maybe the tattoos scared them? Then so many people got on the train that I could no longer see them, but heard the more obnoxious girl (who, might I add, had the nastiest, brassiest bleached hair—yuck) say something like, "it's morning, people gotta wake up and go to work anyway! we're just helping wake them up, right?" and her little minion chuckling along. "see, this guy, he don't mind—he's a morning person, right?!" and something about bob marley. shut the fuck up. If only I could have seen them, I really don't know what I would have said. Instead, I shared a funny exchange with the Russian(?) lady who told me about the time she went into an empty shoe store to try on a pair of shoes but the girl behind the counter was so busy on her cell phone she told her they didn't have her size—without even bothering to look. She laughed, and then, the ghetto bitches started playing Rihanna's "Standing Ovation" and SINGING ALONG. O-M-G. The lady says in her accent, "They think they're so cute! But they are just ghetto trash." Hahha. Thank god for her comic relief. She said "When I get off of the train, I'm gonna say something to them. I'm not scared!" and I told her I wasn't either, and recounted the above story about the guy on the F train and we talked about how everyone is annoyed but no one has the guts to talk shit to these girls. I offered her my Metro newspaper and she took it & read it.
Unfortunately, they got off the train—at Steinway—before either of us, by which point they'd toned it down a bit and I'd put on my headphones because I just felt like it. I said good-bye to my new friend, who exited at Queens Plaza, and that was it.
It's not like I want to have a fist fight with anyone, but someone really needs to school people like this who don't realize how horribly rude and disrespectful it is to play your lame-ass music on a rush-hour train. AGH! I hope karma comes back to bite them in the ass today.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
sweet ink.
The other day, I'd been standing for a good 75% of the ride to work on the F train, when a seat freed up and I was able to rest my bootie (and my plethora of bags) for a few stops. As soon as I sat down, the woman next to me, a lady who was maybe in her 40s or 50s, and perhaps of Indian or Pakistani descent, said, "I'm so glad you sat down. I've been wanting to ask you where you get your tattoos done since I saw you get on the train!" What a nice surprise. Our exchange added a little sparkle to my otherwise ho-hum AM ride. She told me she'd wanted to get something done, and thought my arms were just beautiful. Way to make me blush, fellow commuter lady! Anyhow, she asked me if I had Alex's information on me, which I didn't, but then she gave me her email address and phone number so I could send it to her.
I emailed her the next morning with the info about Three Kings, but didn't get a response. I hoped I'd gotten her email address right, because some of the characters in her handwriting were a little ambiguous. And I thought it would be weird to call. Anyhow, I saw her a few days later on the train, but was too far away to ask her if she'd received my email. Oh well. I hope she did and ends up getting some sweet ink.
I emailed her the next morning with the info about Three Kings, but didn't get a response. I hoped I'd gotten her email address right, because some of the characters in her handwriting were a little ambiguous. And I thought it would be weird to call. Anyhow, I saw her a few days later on the train, but was too far away to ask her if she'd received my email. Oh well. I hope she did and ends up getting some sweet ink.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
L is NOT for loser!!
Just in time for my big move back to the hood (aka Ridgewood, Queens), the Straphangers ranked the L train the #1 train in the NYC subway system. Who the hell would have ever thought?!? Sadly, my beloved M train came in at a disappointing #11, but honestly, who cares about the M these days. It doesn't even run all the way into the city on the weekends and the L train is always a quick walk away from just about anywhere in Ridgewood. Why trust the M when you can trust your feet?
Anyway, let's just talk a little bit about how excited I am to be back on the L train. Now, many of you Williamsburg and "East Williamsburg" residents may be staring at the screen (like anyone is even reading this?) with baffled faces. "Is this girl delusional? The L train sucks! Forget ever getting a seat! And—oh, man—on the weekends?! You've gotta be kidding me, you crazy freak!!" But alas, let me elaborate on the future joys of living in Ridgewood and working off of 6th Avenue.
The first part, you see, means that I get a seat before the majority of L train commuters get on the train. And the second means that, coming home, I'm on that bad boy before it gets to crazy & wild union square. Worst-case scenario, I just hop on the other way one stop and am guaranteed a sweet seat. And wow, has the L train stepped up its game. 15-20 mins to Myrtle-Wyckoff! What the hell was I thinking when I moved to Kew Gardens.
Anyway, let's just talk a little bit about how excited I am to be back on the L train. Now, many of you Williamsburg and "East Williamsburg" residents may be staring at the screen (like anyone is even reading this?) with baffled faces. "Is this girl delusional? The L train sucks! Forget ever getting a seat! And—oh, man—on the weekends?! You've gotta be kidding me, you crazy freak!!" But alas, let me elaborate on the future joys of living in Ridgewood and working off of 6th Avenue.
The first part, you see, means that I get a seat before the majority of L train commuters get on the train. And the second means that, coming home, I'm on that bad boy before it gets to crazy & wild union square. Worst-case scenario, I just hop on the other way one stop and am guaranteed a sweet seat. And wow, has the L train stepped up its game. 15-20 mins to Myrtle-Wyckoff! What the hell was I thinking when I moved to Kew Gardens.
Monday, July 21, 2008
the train to nowhere.
Yea, yea, it's been awhile. Sorry, loyal readers. All 0.7 of you. But if you'd like to see a legitimate excuse for my absence, you can check out the blog I've been updating regularly every day for the past week for my class on writing & editing for the web here. The assignment ends tomorrow, so hopefully I'll be back here more often—though I plan on sticking with that bad boy too.
Anyway, yesterday, when, might I add, it was 3217897 degrees and obscenely humid out, I decide to take a quick evening trip to the mall. Let me start off by saying the mall is about a 10 to 12-minute train ride from my apartment, including the wait at 71st/Continental for the local train—as long as everything is on time.
So I go to the mall, make my purchase, skedaddle on out, and hope to be back home within 15 minutes, but lo and behold—there are NO TRAINS running toward Jamaica/Union Tpke. W-T-F. So I have to take the train to Roosevelt, then switch across the platform for an express going the opposite way. Luckily, I had the ice from a passion iced tea to keep me cool on the sweltering platform. Or so I thought. Until the train took 15 f'ing minutes to come. Which feels more like 500 minutes when it's 110 degrees (literally, I'd assume) in the station.
THEN, it lingers at the next stop for 5 minutes, opening & closing the doors for about 5 minutes. Again, this feels like an hour. Thank god the express train was on its way when I crossed over the platform. All in all, it took me close to 40 minutes, door to door, to return home from the goddamn mall. I know it was a Sunday, but...really? This is why I want to move to London.
Despite this horrific experience, there is a cute story that came out of it that I wanted to share. So, the train pulls up to the Grand Ave. station, and two elderly men with bags board the car. These men were not together. Some young guy gives up his seat so one of the elderly men could sit, but as soon as the elderly guy puts his butt down, he notices the other man with bags, and offers HIS seat to him. How cute is that?! The elderly man standing signaled that he didn't want to sit, and there was brief "are you sure?" "yes, don't worry" type of exchange that followed. What's funny is that the guy sitting totally had more bags than the one he was offering the seat to, and they both looked about the same age. What a nice little group.
Oh, and now i have a bad-ass leather jacket for the fall. So I guess it wasn't such a bad night after all.
Anyway, yesterday, when, might I add, it was 3217897 degrees and obscenely humid out, I decide to take a quick evening trip to the mall. Let me start off by saying the mall is about a 10 to 12-minute train ride from my apartment, including the wait at 71st/Continental for the local train—as long as everything is on time.
So I go to the mall, make my purchase, skedaddle on out, and hope to be back home within 15 minutes, but lo and behold—there are NO TRAINS running toward Jamaica/Union Tpke. W-T-F. So I have to take the train to Roosevelt, then switch across the platform for an express going the opposite way. Luckily, I had the ice from a passion iced tea to keep me cool on the sweltering platform. Or so I thought. Until the train took 15 f'ing minutes to come. Which feels more like 500 minutes when it's 110 degrees (literally, I'd assume) in the station.
THEN, it lingers at the next stop for 5 minutes, opening & closing the doors for about 5 minutes. Again, this feels like an hour. Thank god the express train was on its way when I crossed over the platform. All in all, it took me close to 40 minutes, door to door, to return home from the goddamn mall. I know it was a Sunday, but...really? This is why I want to move to London.
Despite this horrific experience, there is a cute story that came out of it that I wanted to share. So, the train pulls up to the Grand Ave. station, and two elderly men with bags board the car. These men were not together. Some young guy gives up his seat so one of the elderly men could sit, but as soon as the elderly guy puts his butt down, he notices the other man with bags, and offers HIS seat to him. How cute is that?! The elderly man standing signaled that he didn't want to sit, and there was brief "are you sure?" "yes, don't worry" type of exchange that followed. What's funny is that the guy sitting totally had more bags than the one he was offering the seat to, and they both looked about the same age. What a nice little group.
Oh, and now i have a bad-ass leather jacket for the fall. So I guess it wasn't such a bad night after all.
Monday, June 30, 2008
cup of change
So, the other day, a man with no legs used his hands to walk through the train car (and subsequently, between train cars—I got a little nervous for the guy, but it seems he knew what he was doing) begging for money. Actually, just shaking a cup with change, because really, are any words necessary when you have no legs?
Anyhow, the thing that bothered me just a bit was that this man held out his cup and didn't even acknowledge the people who gave him some dough. Now, I understand: When you have no legs, you are probably very, very angry at the world, perhaps even severely depressed. Maybe you've even contemplated whether life is worth living. I, for one, probably would not be walking around with a party hat on, throwing confetti if i were in this poor soul's position. However, I think it's only common courtesy—no matter how terrible your situation is—to acknowledge other people who find it in their heart to donate their money (or food, goods, whatever) to you. Say "thanks," give them a nod of appreciation—something. Honestly, it really, really sucks that you have no legs, and I do feel an extreme amount of sympathy for you. If I had the power to give you your legs back, I really would. At the same time, though, it is not my fault that you don't have legs, so please don't make it seem like I owe you this quarter or dollar because of your disability. I hate to sound cold-hearted, because I think that, as civilized human beings, we DO all owe each other consideration and especially sympathy for those who are in a worse-off place than we are. But just express even a tinge of appreciation, no?
Anyhow, the thing that bothered me just a bit was that this man held out his cup and didn't even acknowledge the people who gave him some dough. Now, I understand: When you have no legs, you are probably very, very angry at the world, perhaps even severely depressed. Maybe you've even contemplated whether life is worth living. I, for one, probably would not be walking around with a party hat on, throwing confetti if i were in this poor soul's position. However, I think it's only common courtesy—no matter how terrible your situation is—to acknowledge other people who find it in their heart to donate their money (or food, goods, whatever) to you. Say "thanks," give them a nod of appreciation—something. Honestly, it really, really sucks that you have no legs, and I do feel an extreme amount of sympathy for you. If I had the power to give you your legs back, I really would. At the same time, though, it is not my fault that you don't have legs, so please don't make it seem like I owe you this quarter or dollar because of your disability. I hate to sound cold-hearted, because I think that, as civilized human beings, we DO all owe each other consideration and especially sympathy for those who are in a worse-off place than we are. But just express even a tinge of appreciation, no?
on the way back to ridgewood, via the J
young black kid (loudly): damn, yo, there's mad white people on this train.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
couple.
This morning I found myself sitting next to an adorable elderly woman reading the Metro newspaper. She was definitely at least around 80, as per the state of her very spotted and veiny hands, and a set of rather large jowls (yes, really). Anyhow, she looked very chic, in a white blazer with a delicate gold floral/branch pattern, some beige pants, and cute Keds. Her glasses were so huge that at first glance, I wondered if she had any problems reading that tiny newspaper print, but she seemed to be getting along just fine. I noticed she was reading a story about new movies, and then she moved on to the letters/op-ed page.
Then I noticed right next to her was an elderly man, dressed more business-like, also reading the Metro. He had a magnifying device, however, and I couldn't get mad at him when the top of his paper brushed against my shoulder for about a minute. He was too blind to even realize what was going on. When I fidgeted in my seat a bit, he moved his paper closer toward him. Anyhow, took me a couple of moments for me to gather that the two were together; they had matching wedding rings, and eventually they mumbled a few words to one another. They had gotten on the train before my stop, which means they had come from Jamaica, and they got off a Rockefeller Center. I wondered if they worked together? It was all a very cute scene.
Maybe I'm feeling a little hormonal around this time of the month, but for what it's worth, I really hope that I'm still hopping on and off of the train when I'm in my 80s—whether with a husband, friend, or by myself—reading up on what's new and going places in my fun little Keds. Or Nike dunks, cause I'll still be stylin'.
Then I noticed right next to her was an elderly man, dressed more business-like, also reading the Metro. He had a magnifying device, however, and I couldn't get mad at him when the top of his paper brushed against my shoulder for about a minute. He was too blind to even realize what was going on. When I fidgeted in my seat a bit, he moved his paper closer toward him. Anyhow, took me a couple of moments for me to gather that the two were together; they had matching wedding rings, and eventually they mumbled a few words to one another. They had gotten on the train before my stop, which means they had come from Jamaica, and they got off a Rockefeller Center. I wondered if they worked together? It was all a very cute scene.
Maybe I'm feeling a little hormonal around this time of the month, but for what it's worth, I really hope that I'm still hopping on and off of the train when I'm in my 80s—whether with a husband, friend, or by myself—reading up on what's new and going places in my fun little Keds. Or Nike dunks, cause I'll still be stylin'.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
green-bug massacre
this morning, on my walk to the train station, all sorts of insects were finding themselves attracted to me. i think it's because i was wearing a bright shirt & bright shoes. or maybe i just resembled a tree with my crazy hair. anyhow, as i sat down on a bench on the train platform, i found one of those cool neon-green bugs climbing along the gym bag hanging from my shoulder.
now, these are very cute little bugs. but i was still not fond of idea of this bright little fellow finding his way in my hair, under my shirt, or in some other indecent place. so i gently brushed him away. but instead of him falling gracefully to the bench and continuing on his path, i accidentally KILLED HIM! i felt so bad. so bad, in fact, that i am still thinking about it, 7 hours later. poor guy! he was just walking along, being all green and fun. i should've just left him alone.
RIP mr cute bright-green bug
now, these are very cute little bugs. but i was still not fond of idea of this bright little fellow finding his way in my hair, under my shirt, or in some other indecent place. so i gently brushed him away. but instead of him falling gracefully to the bench and continuing on his path, i accidentally KILLED HIM! i felt so bad. so bad, in fact, that i am still thinking about it, 7 hours later. poor guy! he was just walking along, being all green and fun. i should've just left him alone.
RIP mr cute bright-green bug
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
overheard on the F train
"That bitch got so many roaches up in her house. I came in, she asked me if I wanted to sit down, I was like, 'nah.' She asked me if I wanted some food, I was like, 'nah.' I don't want those roaches crawlin on me. Shit."
Friday, May 23, 2008
the R train rumble
It's been a relatively slow week in subway news, aside from the nerdy guy with an NYU tote bag who I caught taking pictures of himself with his cell phone this morning. On a rush-hour train! What a lame-ass. He actually held his phone at arm's length at one point, checked to see if anyone was looking (I was, but he didn't notice!) and snapped a photo of himself looking all coy. And then he took two more. Geek alert x 500!
Sooo... I thought I'd take this opportunity to tell a postmortem story about my crazy run-in with some ghetto assholes on the R train last Friday. It never ceases to amaze me the type of trash that Queens breeds. Or that the world breeds in general, really.
After a (very rainy) night on the town with my two lady friends starting immediately after work, I was exhausted by 10:30 pm. I decide to take the local train all the way to Queens because I'm so tired I don't even feel like getting up to switch to the other side of the platform and wait. Somewhere between 34th & 42nd streets, a few hispanic (just giving you the visuals here!! don't write me any letters) thug-like fellows get on the train. they are loud and annoying, probably in their early 20s, if even that. Anyhow, let's get back to the fact that I am extremely sleepy and I am closing my eyes, because that's what people do when they're tired. This did not deter two of these idiots from sitting on either side(!!) of me and proceeding to say things about how "beautiful" i was and if they could "talk to me," and finally, how me closing my eyes was my "defense". what the fuck?! perhaps the black bandana around my head had confused them into thinking I was into thug-life, but seriously, did these guys really think i'd 1) be interested in them, and 2) that it wasn't going to annoy the shit out of me to try to talk to me while i was trying to sleep???
After one stop of this nonsense, I had had it. I got up and said, "I'm exhausted and I don't want to fucking talk to anyone." Waiting for the train to stop, one of the guys was all like, "Oh, you gettin' nervous? That's yo defense o somethin?" To which I quickly and nastily replied, "I don't get nervous." And then they said something like "you smell like asshole" or something like that which, in retrospect, was pretty funny. but at the time my blood was boiling and I just yelled a few expletives in their direction! I got out and went into the next train car to resume my slumber. Two stops later... I hear a jumble of unintelligible ghettospeak. I open my eyes to a very loud "Guess who's bizzack" and a stare in my direction from about 10 feet away. I was about to commit homicide.
Although the train was crowded, I shouted across the people between me and this idiotic monkey and was like, "Really? Did you really come into the next train car just to bother me?" to which the guy says "yo, don't gas yo'self up, yo. i'm just sayin', guess who's bizzack." I say "Then don't look at me when you speak." I then go on to hear them mumble stuff about how "she think she a 10 but she really like a 5, yo." again, what the fuck?! did these elementary-school dropouts really think I cared about their opinion of me? i would care more about what a stink-emitting homeless man doused in booze thought of me. and obviously this situation makes no sense since THEY were the ones trying to talk to ME! anyway, I decided not to feed the feeble minds of these pieces of trash and ignored them for the rest of the ride home. it worked, because they really didn't say anything after that but did proceed to try to fight with an innocent-looking middle-aged mexican man who they felt was staring at them. the poor guy was probably tired, coming home from work (he had work boots on), staring at them because they were making a scene and there was nothing more interesting to look at. they even approached him and tried to start something, but he was so passive about everything that I guess they didn't get the response they were looking for and became disinterested.
My question is: With the world already frightening overpopulated, why must people like this exist? What's the point? Men(?) with no respect for ladies and whose main aspiration is to fight and talk about fighting. Makes me sad for them.
Sooo... I thought I'd take this opportunity to tell a postmortem story about my crazy run-in with some ghetto assholes on the R train last Friday. It never ceases to amaze me the type of trash that Queens breeds. Or that the world breeds in general, really.
After a (very rainy) night on the town with my two lady friends starting immediately after work, I was exhausted by 10:30 pm. I decide to take the local train all the way to Queens because I'm so tired I don't even feel like getting up to switch to the other side of the platform and wait. Somewhere between 34th & 42nd streets, a few hispanic (just giving you the visuals here!! don't write me any letters) thug-like fellows get on the train. they are loud and annoying, probably in their early 20s, if even that. Anyhow, let's get back to the fact that I am extremely sleepy and I am closing my eyes, because that's what people do when they're tired. This did not deter two of these idiots from sitting on either side(!!) of me and proceeding to say things about how "beautiful" i was and if they could "talk to me," and finally, how me closing my eyes was my "defense". what the fuck?! perhaps the black bandana around my head had confused them into thinking I was into thug-life, but seriously, did these guys really think i'd 1) be interested in them, and 2) that it wasn't going to annoy the shit out of me to try to talk to me while i was trying to sleep???
After one stop of this nonsense, I had had it. I got up and said, "I'm exhausted and I don't want to fucking talk to anyone." Waiting for the train to stop, one of the guys was all like, "Oh, you gettin' nervous? That's yo defense o somethin?" To which I quickly and nastily replied, "I don't get nervous." And then they said something like "you smell like asshole" or something like that which, in retrospect, was pretty funny. but at the time my blood was boiling and I just yelled a few expletives in their direction! I got out and went into the next train car to resume my slumber. Two stops later... I hear a jumble of unintelligible ghettospeak. I open my eyes to a very loud "Guess who's bizzack" and a stare in my direction from about 10 feet away. I was about to commit homicide.
Although the train was crowded, I shouted across the people between me and this idiotic monkey and was like, "Really? Did you really come into the next train car just to bother me?" to which the guy says "yo, don't gas yo'self up, yo. i'm just sayin', guess who's bizzack." I say "Then don't look at me when you speak." I then go on to hear them mumble stuff about how "she think she a 10 but she really like a 5, yo." again, what the fuck?! did these elementary-school dropouts really think I cared about their opinion of me? i would care more about what a stink-emitting homeless man doused in booze thought of me. and obviously this situation makes no sense since THEY were the ones trying to talk to ME! anyway, I decided not to feed the feeble minds of these pieces of trash and ignored them for the rest of the ride home. it worked, because they really didn't say anything after that but did proceed to try to fight with an innocent-looking middle-aged mexican man who they felt was staring at them. the poor guy was probably tired, coming home from work (he had work boots on), staring at them because they were making a scene and there was nothing more interesting to look at. they even approached him and tried to start something, but he was so passive about everything that I guess they didn't get the response they were looking for and became disinterested.
My question is: With the world already frightening overpopulated, why must people like this exist? What's the point? Men(?) with no respect for ladies and whose main aspiration is to fight and talk about fighting. Makes me sad for them.
Monday, May 19, 2008
black-eyed betty
I woke up with a shiner on Sunday morning. Bar brawl, you ask? F'ed some bitches up and walked away with only a black eye as my damage? Alas, I am not that tough/cool, and the reality is...my eye fell into a pole. Yea. I'm a big ass. But come on, it's pretty funny, no?
Dozing off on the F train Saturday night, the train jerked, and, mid-slumber, so did my head. Unlucky for me, I was sitting in the corner of a three-seater right next to...a pole. At first it just hurt as you might expect your eye bone(?) to hurt after being slammed into a piece of metal. A few moments later I noticed there was a little bump next to my eye, but didn't really think much of it, as the pain had subsided as quickly as it came. My glasses were unharmed, so I was happy about that. Went back to dozing off, got up at my stop, and went to bed all fine and dandy. The next morning, I looked like this:
Two days later, it's still purple and it hurts when I squint or close my eyes too tightly...What a jerk!! Anyhow, if at least one of you gets a good laugh outta this story, then I think putting myself in harm's way was all worth it.
Dozing off on the F train Saturday night, the train jerked, and, mid-slumber, so did my head. Unlucky for me, I was sitting in the corner of a three-seater right next to...a pole. At first it just hurt as you might expect your eye bone(?) to hurt after being slammed into a piece of metal. A few moments later I noticed there was a little bump next to my eye, but didn't really think much of it, as the pain had subsided as quickly as it came. My glasses were unharmed, so I was happy about that. Went back to dozing off, got up at my stop, and went to bed all fine and dandy. The next morning, I looked like this:
Two days later, it's still purple and it hurts when I squint or close my eyes too tightly...What a jerk!! Anyhow, if at least one of you gets a good laugh outta this story, then I think putting myself in harm's way was all worth it.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
the leg-spreader.
You've all met him several times—perhaps even several times within one day, if you're unlucky. He's the guy with his legs spread so far apart he's spilling into three seats at once.
Now, I understand that guys have junk. And even though I don't have have this junk, I can understand how it might get uncomfortable sitting in one position for a long time with one leg very close to the other, especially in a sweltering train car. But for the love of Jesus Christ, is it really necessary to spread your legs that far?? The other night, I was reduced to nearly half of my seat because the guy sitting next to me wanted to pretend he was using his knees to hold a yardstick. Sure, he was a bigger dude, but if your stuff is really that annoying, can't you just stand up instead of making those sans scrotum so uncomfortable? Pisses me off.
Now, I understand that guys have junk. And even though I don't have have this junk, I can understand how it might get uncomfortable sitting in one position for a long time with one leg very close to the other, especially in a sweltering train car. But for the love of Jesus Christ, is it really necessary to spread your legs that far?? The other night, I was reduced to nearly half of my seat because the guy sitting next to me wanted to pretend he was using his knees to hold a yardstick. Sure, he was a bigger dude, but if your stuff is really that annoying, can't you just stand up instead of making those sans scrotum so uncomfortable? Pisses me off.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
madness
I apologize, ahead of time, to anyone who is bored by this typical AM-commute horror story, but 100% pure hatred toward the F train was really the only emotion I was capable of feeling this morning.
so, i'm late for work by about 15 minutes, to begin with. no biggie, since I knew today would be a slow day anyway. however, on top of this, the train doesn't come for about 10 minutes. you may believe differently, but personally, I think that's simply an unacceptable amount of time to be waiting for a rush-hour train. four minutes should be the cut-off, then we get refunded for our fare. that's just how i would run things.
anyway, i have my gym bag, purse, and lunch tote bag with me. that's a lot of bags. of course, there were zero seats and there was nearly zero space to stand. whatever, at least the A/C was on full blast, which was a lovely & unexpected surprise. needless to say, however, my ride was still not a pleasant one by any means. everyone kept moving around and repositioning themselves, so with my gym bag on the floor, i had to constantly shuffle it between my feet or pick it up if people wanted to get by. annoying, but i can deal. then there was the large sweaty man behind me who kept grazing his back against mine. disgusting. but again, nothing i haven't survived before.
but the clincher here is that the train stopped at EVERY station, lingering for several minutes. there were also few "trains ahead of us, will be moving shortly" announcements, but i wondered how that could possibly be when I waited ten minutes for the train to even arrive AND it was moving at the pace of a paraplegic snail?!? (i know, that analogy does not really make sense since snails don't have legs, but whatever. it was fucking slow as shit is what i'm trying to say.) how was it that this train had caught up to any train ahead of it? liars.
then it gets stuck between stations about three times. THEN, when I finally think we're in the clear, at 34th st., one station away from 23rd, where I work, the conductor announces that the next stop will be West 4th. (!!!!!!) i almost completely lost it at that point, but I didn't want to come off as the crazy redheaded cursing bag lady, so i merely said "you're fucking kidding me" and exited the train. waiting for the next F/V train to arrive, i was hit by yet another fun surprise: a signal malfunction in midtown had caused all trains to run at slower speeds. there was no next arriving F/V train!!! so after 10 minutes, i decided i'd just walk from 34th to 23rd, which was actually a good idea because the walk calmed my nerves a bit and i was able to leave a message for my boss (who, it turns out, wasn't coming in until an hour later than usual anyway). in total, door to door, it took me 1 hour and 20 minutes to get to work today. this is why i hate the F train.
i love that when i have to be at a cancer walk in times square on a saturday morning at 6:45, however, i can get there in 25 minutes. this does not make sense.
so, i'm late for work by about 15 minutes, to begin with. no biggie, since I knew today would be a slow day anyway. however, on top of this, the train doesn't come for about 10 minutes. you may believe differently, but personally, I think that's simply an unacceptable amount of time to be waiting for a rush-hour train. four minutes should be the cut-off, then we get refunded for our fare. that's just how i would run things.
anyway, i have my gym bag, purse, and lunch tote bag with me. that's a lot of bags. of course, there were zero seats and there was nearly zero space to stand. whatever, at least the A/C was on full blast, which was a lovely & unexpected surprise. needless to say, however, my ride was still not a pleasant one by any means. everyone kept moving around and repositioning themselves, so with my gym bag on the floor, i had to constantly shuffle it between my feet or pick it up if people wanted to get by. annoying, but i can deal. then there was the large sweaty man behind me who kept grazing his back against mine. disgusting. but again, nothing i haven't survived before.
but the clincher here is that the train stopped at EVERY station, lingering for several minutes. there were also few "trains ahead of us, will be moving shortly" announcements, but i wondered how that could possibly be when I waited ten minutes for the train to even arrive AND it was moving at the pace of a paraplegic snail?!? (i know, that analogy does not really make sense since snails don't have legs, but whatever. it was fucking slow as shit is what i'm trying to say.) how was it that this train had caught up to any train ahead of it? liars.
then it gets stuck between stations about three times. THEN, when I finally think we're in the clear, at 34th st., one station away from 23rd, where I work, the conductor announces that the next stop will be West 4th. (!!!!!!) i almost completely lost it at that point, but I didn't want to come off as the crazy redheaded cursing bag lady, so i merely said "you're fucking kidding me" and exited the train. waiting for the next F/V train to arrive, i was hit by yet another fun surprise: a signal malfunction in midtown had caused all trains to run at slower speeds. there was no next arriving F/V train!!! so after 10 minutes, i decided i'd just walk from 34th to 23rd, which was actually a good idea because the walk calmed my nerves a bit and i was able to leave a message for my boss (who, it turns out, wasn't coming in until an hour later than usual anyway). in total, door to door, it took me 1 hour and 20 minutes to get to work today. this is why i hate the F train.
i love that when i have to be at a cancer walk in times square on a saturday morning at 6:45, however, i can get there in 25 minutes. this does not make sense.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
deodorant and cigarettes
Never a dull moment on the Manhattan/Brooklyn-bound F train.
Monday was Cinco de Mayo, and since I love all things Mexican—guacamole, Chipotle, the hat dance, my friend Connie—I had decided to celebrate as long into the night as possible. Things went as planned. Four hours of sleep and many ounces of alcohol later, at the Van Wyck-Briarwood platform, I prayed to the subway gods that I would get a seat. Lo and behold, the last three (!!) cars had seats aplenty, so I walked into the one with the most seats available, assuming I would get my pick of the litter. Little did I realize the reason for this plethora of seats: a crazy homeless man with two teeth in the corner of the car.
Walking into the train, I observed that the area within a 3-seat circumference of this man was empty. However, I was a bit perplexed because that all too familiar Queens-homeless-person stink was nowhere to be found. "Sweet," I thought. "He must just look crazy, so everyone is staying away from him, but at least he doesn't smell like poo!"
Moments later, I understood why: He started spraying aerosol deodorant all over his body. At first I respected the fact that this hobo was hygiene-conscious and didn't want to offend fellow commuters with his stench. Until he continued to spray the deodorant continuously... for TEN WHOLE MINUTES. He likely used up the entire can, spraying himself, literally, from head to toe. Now, I am not opposed to hot-man-smelling deodorant. But imagine sitting 10 feet away from a corner in which an ENTIRE can had been sprayed. Pretty nauseating.
I then wondered if this crazy man was trying to make a statement—like, "Oh, you think I stink like shit because of the natural odor created due to not showering? Wait til I smell like what is conventionally accepted as 'good,' but to the extreme!!" But I think this is giving him too much credit.
I then see him pull out a pack of cigarettes and toss it on the seat directly in front of him. He proceeded to pull one out, light it up, and smoke it leisurely while playing a crossword puzzle in the daily paper!! Just as I started feeling simultaneously enraged that I would have to deal with the smell of smoke and afraid that this man would set himself/the train car ablaze, it occurred to me that the smell of smoke was being overpowered by the scent of the deodorant! After one initial whiff of the smoke, I smelled it no longer.
Although this man continued to behave erratically, standing up a few times to hold his newspaper to the ceiling, letting his tongue hang sloppily out of his mouth, and coughing/hacking up phlegm (and possibly both lungs) to an extent I had never before witnessed, I wondered whether he was simply insane or perhaps he was trying to show some consideration for us smoke-hating commuters by masking it with deodorant. Or making an artsy statement. Maybe he wasn't even homeless.
Monday was Cinco de Mayo, and since I love all things Mexican—guacamole, Chipotle, the hat dance, my friend Connie—I had decided to celebrate as long into the night as possible. Things went as planned. Four hours of sleep and many ounces of alcohol later, at the Van Wyck-Briarwood platform, I prayed to the subway gods that I would get a seat. Lo and behold, the last three (!!) cars had seats aplenty, so I walked into the one with the most seats available, assuming I would get my pick of the litter. Little did I realize the reason for this plethora of seats: a crazy homeless man with two teeth in the corner of the car.
Walking into the train, I observed that the area within a 3-seat circumference of this man was empty. However, I was a bit perplexed because that all too familiar Queens-homeless-person stink was nowhere to be found. "Sweet," I thought. "He must just look crazy, so everyone is staying away from him, but at least he doesn't smell like poo!"
Moments later, I understood why: He started spraying aerosol deodorant all over his body. At first I respected the fact that this hobo was hygiene-conscious and didn't want to offend fellow commuters with his stench. Until he continued to spray the deodorant continuously... for TEN WHOLE MINUTES. He likely used up the entire can, spraying himself, literally, from head to toe. Now, I am not opposed to hot-man-smelling deodorant. But imagine sitting 10 feet away from a corner in which an ENTIRE can had been sprayed. Pretty nauseating.
I then wondered if this crazy man was trying to make a statement—like, "Oh, you think I stink like shit because of the natural odor created due to not showering? Wait til I smell like what is conventionally accepted as 'good,' but to the extreme!!" But I think this is giving him too much credit.
I then see him pull out a pack of cigarettes and toss it on the seat directly in front of him. He proceeded to pull one out, light it up, and smoke it leisurely while playing a crossword puzzle in the daily paper!! Just as I started feeling simultaneously enraged that I would have to deal with the smell of smoke and afraid that this man would set himself/the train car ablaze, it occurred to me that the smell of smoke was being overpowered by the scent of the deodorant! After one initial whiff of the smoke, I smelled it no longer.
Although this man continued to behave erratically, standing up a few times to hold his newspaper to the ceiling, letting his tongue hang sloppily out of his mouth, and coughing/hacking up phlegm (and possibly both lungs) to an extent I had never before witnessed, I wondered whether he was simply insane or perhaps he was trying to show some consideration for us smoke-hating commuters by masking it with deodorant. Or making an artsy statement. Maybe he wasn't even homeless.
Friday, May 2, 2008
5/2 - What a day for transport
Today on the 8:25 am Q from 7th Ave, Brooklyn:
1. Pole hugger - On a rush hour train!
2. Stroller (no! illegal!?) with psycho child
3. The above causing the illusion of space and lots of pushing and doors closing into people who refuse to step aside - so we don't leave right away to say the least.
4. Crazy giant umbrella swinger on the way up the stairs at 14th St. Watch out!
The above mentioned pole hugger was really, really hugging the pole - this was not a lean, it was an embrace. In my mind I am saying, "how can this be happening?" Then I realized he was reading from a prayer book and praying. Oh. Shut me up. Except that's still no excuse for pole hugging, am I right? There is NO excuse for pole hugging. You can do it on a 3am local E train back to Queens, but that's about it. You can even lay down on that train, really.
The stroller lady was feeding her kid crackers with peanut butter. Smelled real good. But, I guess he wasn't interested because he proceeded to scream and run around between people's legs and throw himself and his sticky peanut butter fingers onto the door and cry. Good morning to you, too.
So I moved to another pole cluster as best I could. But then, of course, the person who I had been standing over got up at DeKalb and some random chick got to sit down. Should have been me. Should have been me. Wait, is "should've" not a word? Spell check underlines it and I refuse to use improper spelling or grammar on a blog!
Looking forward to this weekend when every train I need is running on another train's track.
"Train's" is not a word? Spell check is crazy.
1. Pole hugger - On a rush hour train!
2. Stroller (no! illegal!?) with psycho child
3. The above causing the illusion of space and lots of pushing and doors closing into people who refuse to step aside - so we don't leave right away to say the least.
4. Crazy giant umbrella swinger on the way up the stairs at 14th St. Watch out!
The above mentioned pole hugger was really, really hugging the pole - this was not a lean, it was an embrace. In my mind I am saying, "how can this be happening?" Then I realized he was reading from a prayer book and praying. Oh. Shut me up. Except that's still no excuse for pole hugging, am I right? There is NO excuse for pole hugging. You can do it on a 3am local E train back to Queens, but that's about it. You can even lay down on that train, really.
The stroller lady was feeding her kid crackers with peanut butter. Smelled real good. But, I guess he wasn't interested because he proceeded to scream and run around between people's legs and throw himself and his sticky peanut butter fingers onto the door and cry. Good morning to you, too.
So I moved to another pole cluster as best I could. But then, of course, the person who I had been standing over got up at DeKalb and some random chick got to sit down. Should have been me. Should have been me. Wait, is "should've" not a word? Spell check underlines it and I refuse to use improper spelling or grammar on a blog!
Looking forward to this weekend when every train I need is running on another train's track.
"Train's" is not a word? Spell check is crazy.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
the good ol' days.
Let's talk a little bit about 1988.
Ronald Reagan was (sadly) in office as president. Ladies (including my mom) were in a tizzy over one-time-wonder RIck Astley's smash hit "Never Gonna Give You Up." Bad-ass kids were rocking out to Guns N Roses. But most importantly, it marked the end of an era in which graffiti ruled the subway stations, platforms, and cars in a way that has, quite tragically, been unrivaled to this day.
Check out the awesome website that inspired this post: http://www.subwayoutlaws.com
I was 5, and I recall being a wide-eyed kindergartener en route to P.S. 88 every weekday morning, waiting with my mom for the M train at Knickerbocker Avenue. It was the onset of my career as an NYC subway commuter. At the time, I believe that measures to clean up the graffiti "problem" had already started being taken, and harsh laws calling for jail time were soon to be imposed. But, lucky for me, there were still a bunch of trains on the JMZ line that showcased gorgeous works of art from some of the city's best graffiti artists. I remember being amazed by all the candy-colored designs that consumed entire train cars, and asking my mom if it was REALLY possible that these were created with a spray can of paint. I always imagined acrobatic artists, putting these pieces together while clinging to the top or the side of a train car in motion—I was too young (maybe too stupid?) to realize that trains, like cars!, parked in the evening.
Anyhow, there was always this air of mystique that surrounded these puffy, whimsical, three-dimensional tags and designs—in addition to them being just plain pretty to look at. Unfortunately, I missed the heyday of graffitied interiors, but I feel like this art would have really made riding the train a more inspiring, thought-provoking experience had it never been outlawed. Call me crazy! I love graffiti when it's done well and it's not just a tag scribbled over someone else's lame tag in black Sharpie. I appreciate good art in all forms, unless it's like, being used to deface someone's house or something. But the subway? Come on, guys! This is NYC, creativity capital of the world. Our tax dollars could have gone to such better use than making spray-paint-proof train cars a standard across the board. Who knows—maybe our fares would have still been lingering at a sweet $1.25!
I think that someone really needs to bring this art back to the NYC subway—whether it's something that can be done in a more organized manner, or whatever. In addition to promoting our community of artists, it just makes life as a commuter a little more interesting. Who wants to stare at a boring grey train for the next 30 years until they retire?
Ronald Reagan was (sadly) in office as president. Ladies (including my mom) were in a tizzy over one-time-wonder RIck Astley's smash hit "Never Gonna Give You Up." Bad-ass kids were rocking out to Guns N Roses. But most importantly, it marked the end of an era in which graffiti ruled the subway stations, platforms, and cars in a way that has, quite tragically, been unrivaled to this day.
Check out the awesome website that inspired this post: http://www.subwayoutlaws.com
I was 5, and I recall being a wide-eyed kindergartener en route to P.S. 88 every weekday morning, waiting with my mom for the M train at Knickerbocker Avenue. It was the onset of my career as an NYC subway commuter. At the time, I believe that measures to clean up the graffiti "problem" had already started being taken, and harsh laws calling for jail time were soon to be imposed. But, lucky for me, there were still a bunch of trains on the JMZ line that showcased gorgeous works of art from some of the city's best graffiti artists. I remember being amazed by all the candy-colored designs that consumed entire train cars, and asking my mom if it was REALLY possible that these were created with a spray can of paint. I always imagined acrobatic artists, putting these pieces together while clinging to the top or the side of a train car in motion—I was too young (maybe too stupid?) to realize that trains, like cars!, parked in the evening.
Anyhow, there was always this air of mystique that surrounded these puffy, whimsical, three-dimensional tags and designs—in addition to them being just plain pretty to look at. Unfortunately, I missed the heyday of graffitied interiors, but I feel like this art would have really made riding the train a more inspiring, thought-provoking experience had it never been outlawed. Call me crazy! I love graffiti when it's done well and it's not just a tag scribbled over someone else's lame tag in black Sharpie. I appreciate good art in all forms, unless it's like, being used to deface someone's house or something. But the subway? Come on, guys! This is NYC, creativity capital of the world. Our tax dollars could have gone to such better use than making spray-paint-proof train cars a standard across the board. Who knows—maybe our fares would have still been lingering at a sweet $1.25!
I think that someone really needs to bring this art back to the NYC subway—whether it's something that can be done in a more organized manner, or whatever. In addition to promoting our community of artists, it just makes life as a commuter a little more interesting. Who wants to stare at a boring grey train for the next 30 years until they retire?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
drunk on the D, wasted on the W?
You know what I think would be a fantastic idea? If the MTA were to begin serving alcoholic beverages (and all types of beverages, really--and snacks, while we're at it) on subway platforms (AND cars!), a la MetroNorth and LIRR style. I mean, really. Instead of raising fares, wouldn't this be a smart strategy to generate some dough to fill that pesky "deficit" the MTA is always complaining about?
Yes, obviously there are already several independent snack/magazine vendors at stations throughout the city. But the ideal would be to have such concession stands available at every single station, where each one of them also served ALCOHOL, 24/7. Perhaps even a mini-car on your train devoted to serving food & drink? Why hasn't this happened already?! We could drink up in paper bags and it would all be legal and sweet.
Think about how great this would be for partiers en route: Going to a soiree in Greenpoint but losing your buzz as you wait to transfer to the never-arriving G train? Grab an ice-cold 40 of Bud and get back on track! Trying to save some cash by living in bumblefuck Queens but you hang out on the LES every weekend? Don't convince yourself you can't start the pregaming at your crib for fear of passing out on the ride there--just keep the party rolling on the F train and save a few bucks at the bar!
Even more positive, however, would be the effects on everyday commuters during rush hour. How many times I have longed for a stiff one on the way home when stuck between stations because of "red signals ahead"! And could you imagine the business to be made when one of those really fucked-up "we're staying underground for a good hour because of a broken train ahead of us" situations arises?!?! I am getting so excited just thinking about it. The anger & resentment felt toward our fellow commuters--this could all so easily be transformed into an amicable, partylike experience with a few sips of booze to tone down the annoyance of having to contort one's body in ways never before known to be possible. Or to deal with the horrid stench of soot-covered homeless man just to get a seat in the only empty train car.
Imagine a subway where stinky-ethnic-food-carrying person and smug businesswoman mingle effortlessly. Or ironic hipster graphic-designer man from Minnesota and boombox-carrying thug from Bed Stuy become instant best friends. I think this is just what we need to generate a perpetual air of camaraderie, and it could really transform the NYC subway system & culture as we know it.
Yes, obviously there are already several independent snack/magazine vendors at stations throughout the city. But the ideal would be to have such concession stands available at every single station, where each one of them also served ALCOHOL, 24/7. Perhaps even a mini-car on your train devoted to serving food & drink? Why hasn't this happened already?! We could drink up in paper bags and it would all be legal and sweet.
Think about how great this would be for partiers en route: Going to a soiree in Greenpoint but losing your buzz as you wait to transfer to the never-arriving G train? Grab an ice-cold 40 of Bud and get back on track! Trying to save some cash by living in bumblefuck Queens but you hang out on the LES every weekend? Don't convince yourself you can't start the pregaming at your crib for fear of passing out on the ride there--just keep the party rolling on the F train and save a few bucks at the bar!
Even more positive, however, would be the effects on everyday commuters during rush hour. How many times I have longed for a stiff one on the way home when stuck between stations because of "red signals ahead"! And could you imagine the business to be made when one of those really fucked-up "we're staying underground for a good hour because of a broken train ahead of us" situations arises?!?! I am getting so excited just thinking about it. The anger & resentment felt toward our fellow commuters--this could all so easily be transformed into an amicable, partylike experience with a few sips of booze to tone down the annoyance of having to contort one's body in ways never before known to be possible. Or to deal with the horrid stench of soot-covered homeless man just to get a seat in the only empty train car.
Imagine a subway where stinky-ethnic-food-carrying person and smug businesswoman mingle effortlessly. Or ironic hipster graphic-designer man from Minnesota and boombox-carrying thug from Bed Stuy become instant best friends. I think this is just what we need to generate a perpetual air of camaraderie, and it could really transform the NYC subway system & culture as we know it.
Friday, April 25, 2008
I like your hair color, butterfly
is what some crazy muttered to me the other day on the F going home from work. Way to boost my ego, psychotic old man!
smart decisions on the F train
As of late, I have found myself devising efficient strategies for snagging a seat on the often late, and therefore always packed, rush-hour morning F train.
Now mind you, this is not as easy a feat as when I lived in Ridgewood and commuted via the L train. I stuck to a very simple strategy for getting a seat on the way back home: If it walks & talks* like a hipster, stand nearby. By using this no-fail technique, I was usually able to sit at some point by the Grand St. stop. (I usually had a seat in the AM since it wasn't too packed by the time the train arrived at Wyckoff-Myrtle.)
*note: because there is often a very fine line between Polish (read: most definitely getting off at Wyckoff-Myrtle) and hipster, it was very important to ensure that the person in question was, indeed, a native English speaker in order to snag a seat.
These days, however, things are a little more complex. The F train, as it runs its route in Queens, does not pass through any hip or even "up-and-coming" neighborhoods as defined by modern-day standards. In fact, it traverses through some of the most ghetto and uncool, respectively, 'hoods in the borough. After a year and a half of living in Kew Gardens, though, keen observation has provided me with the following rules for my morning commute:
-Be on the lookout for anyone who is NOT wearing business/professional attire. If they are carrying a briefcase, there is no chance they are getting off anywhere in Queens. Steer clear of such individuals and instead hover near anyone dressed in extremely casual clothing, semi-crazy-looking and/or talking to oneself (tip-off that they probably don't have a job, especially not in the city, but proceed with caution) and/or carrying a small bag--or even better, no bag at all.
-The "extremely casual clothing" rule especially applies to thug-like individuals. Bandanas, teardrop tattoos, music blaring from a phone and/or other handheld device, an angry mother with 3 or more young children: These signals practically scream "I'm getting off at Queensbridge." No idea where they're going at 9 am, but stand near one of these rare gems in the morning and you will be on your way to seated bliss.
-The elderly are likely to depart in Queens, especially if they are particularly frail-looking or carrying a cane. Perhaps they enjoy making early-morning visits to friends/family or are going to/coming from a doctor's appointment. Whatever the reason may be, it's a 90% guarantee that they will leave behind an empty seat sooner rather than later.
-Steer clear of anyone with luggage. They are clearly a tourist on their way into the city from JFK -- there is no way they're spending their dream vacation in NYC in Queensbridge or Jackson Heights. No seat for you, buddy.
-Make your way to anyone in the 12 to 18 age range carrying a backpack and/or reading a textbook. There are plenty of public and private junior highs & high schools scattered along the F line in Queens, and chances are good that they're getting off somewhere in the Q-boro (many of them even depart as soon as Forest Hills!). If they look particularly astute, though, it's likely that they go to some fancy-ass school in the city, so it's a kind of hit-or-miss.
Please note that I am by no means a seat nazi. I willingly give up my seat for an elderly or pregnant person when I see one, but in the summer, when the average temperature in the station is about 115 degrees and in the train itself, 100 degrees, it's important to be on your game as to avoid looking like you just ran the NYC marathon before arriving at work. Getting a seat really helps. Especially if, like me, you carry a purse/normal bag, gym bag, and sometimes a bag with lunch during your commute. Sweat central trying to juggle all that shit while holding onto a poll and dodging several limbs as you attempt to maintain stability.
Now mind you, this is not as easy a feat as when I lived in Ridgewood and commuted via the L train. I stuck to a very simple strategy for getting a seat on the way back home: If it walks & talks* like a hipster, stand nearby. By using this no-fail technique, I was usually able to sit at some point by the Grand St. stop. (I usually had a seat in the AM since it wasn't too packed by the time the train arrived at Wyckoff-Myrtle.)
*note: because there is often a very fine line between Polish (read: most definitely getting off at Wyckoff-Myrtle) and hipster, it was very important to ensure that the person in question was, indeed, a native English speaker in order to snag a seat.
These days, however, things are a little more complex. The F train, as it runs its route in Queens, does not pass through any hip or even "up-and-coming" neighborhoods as defined by modern-day standards. In fact, it traverses through some of the most ghetto and uncool, respectively, 'hoods in the borough. After a year and a half of living in Kew Gardens, though, keen observation has provided me with the following rules for my morning commute:
-Be on the lookout for anyone who is NOT wearing business/professional attire. If they are carrying a briefcase, there is no chance they are getting off anywhere in Queens. Steer clear of such individuals and instead hover near anyone dressed in extremely casual clothing, semi-crazy-looking and/or talking to oneself (tip-off that they probably don't have a job, especially not in the city, but proceed with caution) and/or carrying a small bag--or even better, no bag at all.
-The "extremely casual clothing" rule especially applies to thug-like individuals. Bandanas, teardrop tattoos, music blaring from a phone and/or other handheld device, an angry mother with 3 or more young children: These signals practically scream "I'm getting off at Queensbridge." No idea where they're going at 9 am, but stand near one of these rare gems in the morning and you will be on your way to seated bliss.
-The elderly are likely to depart in Queens, especially if they are particularly frail-looking or carrying a cane. Perhaps they enjoy making early-morning visits to friends/family or are going to/coming from a doctor's appointment. Whatever the reason may be, it's a 90% guarantee that they will leave behind an empty seat sooner rather than later.
-Steer clear of anyone with luggage. They are clearly a tourist on their way into the city from JFK -- there is no way they're spending their dream vacation in NYC in Queensbridge or Jackson Heights. No seat for you, buddy.
-Make your way to anyone in the 12 to 18 age range carrying a backpack and/or reading a textbook. There are plenty of public and private junior highs & high schools scattered along the F line in Queens, and chances are good that they're getting off somewhere in the Q-boro (many of them even depart as soon as Forest Hills!). If they look particularly astute, though, it's likely that they go to some fancy-ass school in the city, so it's a kind of hit-or-miss.
Please note that I am by no means a seat nazi. I willingly give up my seat for an elderly or pregnant person when I see one, but in the summer, when the average temperature in the station is about 115 degrees and in the train itself, 100 degrees, it's important to be on your game as to avoid looking like you just ran the NYC marathon before arriving at work. Getting a seat really helps. Especially if, like me, you carry a purse/normal bag, gym bag, and sometimes a bag with lunch during your commute. Sweat central trying to juggle all that shit while holding onto a poll and dodging several limbs as you attempt to maintain stability.
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