This (the subject line) is what I heard one bum say to another today on my way home from work. It's not one of those jokes... "What did one bum say to another?" But rather, I guess a commentary on their culture and how rather than helping each other out, most times they are territorial and mean.
I guess this entry is a look at the culture of homeless people and my struggle with whether or not to pretend they don't exist like everyone else does.
Almost daily, no matter how hard I try to get on one of the last cars on the train, there is always someone who pipes up just after the doors sound their "bing bong" that warns you they're about to close, saying "Excuse me ladies and gentlemen..." Yes, excuse you. I got on this train to go home in peace and quiet. In fact, I can barely hear you above my mp3 player but I'm not sure if I should take out my headphones to hear you or if you're full of bullshit like the rest of them. But you're yelling too loud now, so it's a bit hard to ignore. And you look so sincere. What's that? You're looking for donations to help people who are hungry? Well, I was going to spend this change on laundry but maybe you should have it? Maybe you are lying.
It would be easy for me to give if he played the fiddle or sang some do-wop like some of them do. Pathetic pleas for change where you don't look like you're in need don't work for me! And why are you in my train car when I'm trying to zone out until I finally reach home? Why? And why is the man next to me falling asleep, and swaying as he does... he threatens to fall against me as he passes out with sleepiness. And I honestly want to punch him in the face as he gets closer, but I understand that he, like the rest of us, is tired as hell and just waiting to get home.
The conductor sounds like the Crypt Keeper as he announces each stop, the woman with one in the stroller and one in her arms still stands as people refuse to give up their seats. An ape-like man with Edward Scissor Hands fingernails picks and wipes his nose as Mikes motions to me to get closer to him to avoid the dirty bum. Above ground, a man in dirt-soaked overcoat, tattered jeans and a sheen of dust and grime protecting his skin from the judgment of shopping-bag-clad tourists blows a snot rocket into the grate where the subway train runs below, as his only belongings in a shopping cart nearby stink so people from one hundred yards away can smell the stench of poverty.
It is a thing to deal with, and it is a thing you have to painfully ignore. Every day out of work, I see the same dread-clad bum with his tattered Starbucks cup full of change, a lasting image of corporate America and its reaches. When I walk by him, his smell is not a stench. It is a familiar, non-offensive rustic musty smell and in a way I don't much mind him being there.
I don't know much to say on the issue of the homeless because I think the government has failed them and there's not much we can do for them now. But I will say that their presence around every corner makes me thankful for what I have.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
"Hello , just a short note to say hi and let you know we are thinking about you. We hope all is going great for you in New York. We saw mom and dad last Saturday and got your e-mail address. We went with them to Evan and Amy's open house. Their condo is nice and they seem very happy there. It was nice to get to visit with mom and dad. Dad said you may come home for Christmas that would be nice. Grandpa is feeling much better. He has had some health issues but they seem much better now and he got a good report from his doctor today. He went in for his check-up and got his flu shot. He must be feeling better he is teasing again. He asked mom and dad if you had a boyfriend and dad said yes, you were seeing someone who is a professional chef at a restaurant in Manhattan. (grandpa was impressed) . It just seems so far away he said. Fall is really here the leaves are all gold and beautiful. However they are starting to fall so it is sort of messy. I love fall and the colors. Well honey just wanted to say hello and let you know we miss you and love you bunches…. Grandpa Carl and "Gram "Dee"
This note from my grandpa and stepgrandmother Dee brought me to absolute tears. Even now I get choked up and stuffy reading the heart-felt email from two people who really care about me. Grandpa has been having some health problems lately and gets thinner every time I see him. Before the 2008 campaign began, Grandpa always used to say that I would be the first female president. Now that Hilary is leading in the polls, he said he called her people to see if I could be part of her staff. Out of all the silly and hilarious things he says (Grandpa is quite a kidder, never censoring himself and he always tells outrageously embellished stories), I have always remembered this quip:
"Shit or get off the pot."
If ever there were words I could live by, that phrase coming out of my grandfather's toothy grin would be them. To me, it always meant if you set out to do something, really do it, and don't do it half-assed. If you're not going to do it all the way and try your best, there's no point in doing it at all. In a way, that's how I've always tried to live and lately it's getting harder and harder. After a teary discussion (really half discussion, half me getting chewed out by a mother with an exercise-induced endorphin rush) with my mom today I realized I'm not being my usual aggressive self when it comes to assignments at Audubon and I really need to start making myself more known around the office. What I'm doing is not good enough, and I'm not trying hard enough, according to Mom, and ultimately, no matter how badly it makes me feel for being intimidated by the whole situation I've been thrown into, she's right.
So I have resolved next week to pitch some really stellar ideas, get to know my editors better and show them that I can take on bigger projects.
Meanwhile, I went to an art exhibit last night to cover an "Eco-footprint" themed project. Talking to the artists ahead of time, I was particularly interested in Barbara Roux, a Long Island resident who finds what she calls "small habitat niches" to photograph her "work."
She made this image by painting a bird on a glass pane and waiting for the sun to set enough for her to hold up the glass and project the image of the bird on an oak tree. It's called "As the Crow Flies."
Her other photography is stunning, and the self-proclaimed "Conservation artist" is quite the character. At the exhibit she gave me four little books full of her photography and invited me to a talk she's doing in a couple of weeks. This one is called "The earth views the sky.":
Barbara is so charming and sincere, I just might attend her talk if not to cover it journalistically, to listen to what this woman has to say.
Today was considerably chilly, and I went outside in a tee-shirt thinking I could handle it. Hey... it's not that cold, right? Mike often makes fun of me because I told him no one in Washington uses an umbrella. Which is true!! But I said this having no idea how large the rain drops here can be. As Mom said, "it isn't the delicate drizzle of the Northwest." I figured, hey, I've got a good raincoat, never bothered me before, I'll be alright. This, my friends, is not the case! I stole a random umbrella from the cubicle I work in on Thursdays as I left last night. I'm not sure who it belongs to, but it kept me dry as I trekked to the art exhibit.
I've been doing a lot of reading lately, as the hour train to work allows. By far my favorite author lately is David Sedaris. He also contributes to NPR's "This American Life" quite frequently (check out the radio show if you haven't already). Something about his writing and his voice I completely relate to, and if I were to write something, I mean... put it in a book I guess, it would be very similar to "Me Talk Pretty One Day" and "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim," his two latest compilations of essays. He views himself much as a rubbish collector. He takes down notes of stories in his everyday life and stories from family members and converts them into some of the most interesting, humorous writing I've ever enjoyed.
So... I live with this Vietnamese woman who I believe I've mentioned before. For the life of me, I can't remember how to pronounce her name. I've deduced that it starts with a "T," and there's probably an "A" at the end of it, but everything in the middle was hopelessly lost in the depths of my overwhelmed mind when I first met her. I've lived with her for almost a month and I can't remember her name. I feel awful. But what am I supposed to do? Just now ask her how to say her name? That would be terrible! At any rate, this woman is the most anal-retentive person I have ever met. She is obsessed with keeping the bathroom clean and tonight I made popcorn for dinner (classy, I know) and she knocked on my door to get help with her computer. She couldn't figure out why her volume control wasn't on her toolbar anymore, so after I fixed it, she tried to make small talk, all the while commenting on the "ugly" smell of popcorn. "Maybe the people downstairs made some," she said, with a scrunched, obviously dissatisfied face. "Yeah," I said. "I dunno." All the while I wanted to scream "IT WAS ME! I MADE THE POPCORN, OK?!" Upon entering my room again after she finally let me go, I made sure to squeeze in a little crack in the open door so she didn't see the full bowl of popcorn on my desk.
Things are (relatively) fine. It was a hard day, but this weekend will be better and I am determined to figure out this giant of a city.
This note from my grandpa and stepgrandmother Dee brought me to absolute tears. Even now I get choked up and stuffy reading the heart-felt email from two people who really care about me. Grandpa has been having some health problems lately and gets thinner every time I see him. Before the 2008 campaign began, Grandpa always used to say that I would be the first female president. Now that Hilary is leading in the polls, he said he called her people to see if I could be part of her staff. Out of all the silly and hilarious things he says (Grandpa is quite a kidder, never censoring himself and he always tells outrageously embellished stories), I have always remembered this quip:
"Shit or get off the pot."
If ever there were words I could live by, that phrase coming out of my grandfather's toothy grin would be them. To me, it always meant if you set out to do something, really do it, and don't do it half-assed. If you're not going to do it all the way and try your best, there's no point in doing it at all. In a way, that's how I've always tried to live and lately it's getting harder and harder. After a teary discussion (really half discussion, half me getting chewed out by a mother with an exercise-induced endorphin rush) with my mom today I realized I'm not being my usual aggressive self when it comes to assignments at Audubon and I really need to start making myself more known around the office. What I'm doing is not good enough, and I'm not trying hard enough, according to Mom, and ultimately, no matter how badly it makes me feel for being intimidated by the whole situation I've been thrown into, she's right.
So I have resolved next week to pitch some really stellar ideas, get to know my editors better and show them that I can take on bigger projects.
Meanwhile, I went to an art exhibit last night to cover an "Eco-footprint" themed project. Talking to the artists ahead of time, I was particularly interested in Barbara Roux, a Long Island resident who finds what she calls "small habitat niches" to photograph her "work."
She made this image by painting a bird on a glass pane and waiting for the sun to set enough for her to hold up the glass and project the image of the bird on an oak tree. It's called "As the Crow Flies."
Her other photography is stunning, and the self-proclaimed "Conservation artist" is quite the character. At the exhibit she gave me four little books full of her photography and invited me to a talk she's doing in a couple of weeks. This one is called "The earth views the sky.":
Barbara is so charming and sincere, I just might attend her talk if not to cover it journalistically, to listen to what this woman has to say.Today was considerably chilly, and I went outside in a tee-shirt thinking I could handle it. Hey... it's not that cold, right? Mike often makes fun of me because I told him no one in Washington uses an umbrella. Which is true!! But I said this having no idea how large the rain drops here can be. As Mom said, "it isn't the delicate drizzle of the Northwest." I figured, hey, I've got a good raincoat, never bothered me before, I'll be alright. This, my friends, is not the case! I stole a random umbrella from the cubicle I work in on Thursdays as I left last night. I'm not sure who it belongs to, but it kept me dry as I trekked to the art exhibit.
I've been doing a lot of reading lately, as the hour train to work allows. By far my favorite author lately is David Sedaris. He also contributes to NPR's "This American Life" quite frequently (check out the radio show if you haven't already). Something about his writing and his voice I completely relate to, and if I were to write something, I mean... put it in a book I guess, it would be very similar to "Me Talk Pretty One Day" and "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim," his two latest compilations of essays. He views himself much as a rubbish collector. He takes down notes of stories in his everyday life and stories from family members and converts them into some of the most interesting, humorous writing I've ever enjoyed.
So... I live with this Vietnamese woman who I believe I've mentioned before. For the life of me, I can't remember how to pronounce her name. I've deduced that it starts with a "T," and there's probably an "A" at the end of it, but everything in the middle was hopelessly lost in the depths of my overwhelmed mind when I first met her. I've lived with her for almost a month and I can't remember her name. I feel awful. But what am I supposed to do? Just now ask her how to say her name? That would be terrible! At any rate, this woman is the most anal-retentive person I have ever met. She is obsessed with keeping the bathroom clean and tonight I made popcorn for dinner (classy, I know) and she knocked on my door to get help with her computer. She couldn't figure out why her volume control wasn't on her toolbar anymore, so after I fixed it, she tried to make small talk, all the while commenting on the "ugly" smell of popcorn. "Maybe the people downstairs made some," she said, with a scrunched, obviously dissatisfied face. "Yeah," I said. "I dunno." All the while I wanted to scream "IT WAS ME! I MADE THE POPCORN, OK?!" Upon entering my room again after she finally let me go, I made sure to squeeze in a little crack in the open door so she didn't see the full bowl of popcorn on my desk.
Things are (relatively) fine. It was a hard day, but this weekend will be better and I am determined to figure out this giant of a city.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Columbus was a fraud
Happy Columbus Day to all! Apparently here, people are so immersed in tradition that they fail to denounce Christopher Columbus, the man who deliberately brought disease and violence to natives in Central America and then claimed to have "discovered" what we now call home. Here, Columbus Day is a real holiday, celebrated with an Italian pride parade. I watched the last third of the parade on TV. The usual marching bands, ethnic dancers and flag-waving kids were pictured. Now that I think about it, this is the third parade I've witnessed since coming to New York. I mentioned the Ragamuffin Parade in my last entry, and when I told my editor Julie about it, she jokingly said, "There's always a random parade." At the time, I thought she was joking but it's truly the case. Mike and I checked out a Dominican parade for a little bit on Saturday morning, and now this Columbus Day parade. I guess the best way to celebrate your culture around here is to dress up in a silly outfit and walk down a closed-off street.
This last week at Audubon was better, but not by much. I have a few more assignments and I'm hoping to finish them and knock off some socks around the office to "prove" myself. More on that when I actually finish the pieces, I suppose. I got an email from my old editor at E, asking me how I was doing and offering me some freelance work. He was disappointed to hear that Audubon is not taking advantage a "gem in their midst" as he called me (aww shucks), and assigned me a story that should make me a few extra bucks. That said, I am now officially a "freelance journalist," and I intend to pursue other work on my days off from Audubon.
Friday night I went to midtown Manhattan to meet Mike after he was done with work. We hit up what we thought would be less "midtown classy" and more "hole in the wall," a place with Guinness on tap and the Red Sox game on a big screen. Let me tell you... I've always thought baseball was one of the most boring games to watch on television, but after watching Manny Ramirez smash it out of the park to win the game, I am a fan. And not just any fan. A Sox fan in New York. I'm watching the Yankees game on mute as I type, secretly hoping they will lose so we'll have a series without those overpaid sons of bitches for once. The score is 4 to 1 Cleveland in the top of the 4th. I hope this trend continues. Is it so wrong to hate a team because they have all the money and they pay for their talent? It's always a given for the Yankees to be in the series because they've got the cash to pay for the best players... A-Rod used to be a sweetheart when he played for the Mariners, but look at what the Yankees money did to him! Yankees, do us all a favor and lose so the series will be interesting for once!
OK, I'm done with the baseball talk.
Saturday was Mike's sister's birthday party. Her name is Jasellynne (pronounced Jays-lin), but everyone calls her Jay. She's been cutting hair for about 13 years, and has lived in New York for about seven, and it was her 30th birthday last week. Mike and I ventured to what people call the "meat packing district." What I'm realizing is that young people here seem to claim the most industrial, disgusting places in the city as their new and trendy hangouts, and then in response, expensive trendy clubs and bars are built to accommodate. We made our way to "The Brass Monkey," after getting a bit turned around and stepping over multiple pools of stagnate water in the street. I often wonder how long such pools have been there and what kind of disease I could catch if my skin actually touched the cigarette-butt-, pigeon poo-, unidentified liquid-entrenched puddles. It hasn't rained much at all this last month. I rest my case.
Anyway, we met all of Jay's friends from the salon, some of her clients and other pals. As the night went on and we approached an hour when I would normally be calling it quits-- that's when the place got the most crowded. Wall-to-wall people, all pilgrims to this strange hole in the wall at the end of the street behind trucks and storage units. I was having a lot of fun until I had to basically punch people out to get to the bathroom, then I decided it was time to catch a cab.
The next day, Mike and I went to Columbus Circle, a roundabout with a huge statue of Christopher Columbus in the middle, the Time Warner building and CNN surrounding it. We both had a hankering for pasta, and walked around until my feet were blistered, trying to find a place with some starchy goodness. We settled for a cafe that served pasta, but Mike didn't end up having any in the end.
Last night, thanks to one of Jay's clients, we went to the New York film festival to catch the premier of "Margot at the Wedding," Nicole Kidman's new movie with Jack Black and Jennifer Jason Lee. Outside the theatre, Jay spotted Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell shopping in sloppy clothes, and I was surprised to see them so dressed down and regular-looking.
Going up the elevator, I couldn't help feeling grossly under-dressed and a bit nervous, as Jay was telling me to keep my eyes open for celebrities. When we walked into the lobby, I rounded a corner and saw a familiar face taking a photo with a fan. It was Willem DeFoe, the green goblin in Spiderman, he was in Shadow of a Vampire, American Psycho, but my favorite role was Klaus in the Life Aquatic:
The film itself was amazing. The cinematography set the gloomy mood and the dialog between characters created the tone of the disfunctional family these characters lived in. Highly recommended.
Afterward, Nicole Kidman, Jennifer Jason Lee and the child actors from the film took the stage. You see these pictures of Kidman in gossip magazines, looking gorgeous with her classy style and her completely translucent skin and you think, "There's no way she actually looks like this." But she does. And her Australian accent is charming. After we filed out and caught the train back, I thought that maybe going to see films might not be a bad free-time thing to do. There are certainly enough venues here to choose from.
So, at the end of the long weekend, I grabbed a human-head-sized bagel and "coahfee" (I'm going to start saying it like that now) and headed home to Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. I walked around the neighborhood a bit but in the record-breaking 87-degree weather, it was hard to enjoy. This is OCTOBER, people!! I should be wearing wool socks by now, but noooo. I long for the cruddy, cold, rainy weather of my homeland.
I apologize for the impossibly long update, but there's just so much to write about. Tomorrow starts another work week, and another week of observing the amazing explosion of culture that is New York.
This last week at Audubon was better, but not by much. I have a few more assignments and I'm hoping to finish them and knock off some socks around the office to "prove" myself. More on that when I actually finish the pieces, I suppose. I got an email from my old editor at E, asking me how I was doing and offering me some freelance work. He was disappointed to hear that Audubon is not taking advantage a "gem in their midst" as he called me (aww shucks), and assigned me a story that should make me a few extra bucks. That said, I am now officially a "freelance journalist," and I intend to pursue other work on my days off from Audubon.
Friday night I went to midtown Manhattan to meet Mike after he was done with work. We hit up what we thought would be less "midtown classy" and more "hole in the wall," a place with Guinness on tap and the Red Sox game on a big screen. Let me tell you... I've always thought baseball was one of the most boring games to watch on television, but after watching Manny Ramirez smash it out of the park to win the game, I am a fan. And not just any fan. A Sox fan in New York. I'm watching the Yankees game on mute as I type, secretly hoping they will lose so we'll have a series without those overpaid sons of bitches for once. The score is 4 to 1 Cleveland in the top of the 4th. I hope this trend continues. Is it so wrong to hate a team because they have all the money and they pay for their talent? It's always a given for the Yankees to be in the series because they've got the cash to pay for the best players... A-Rod used to be a sweetheart when he played for the Mariners, but look at what the Yankees money did to him! Yankees, do us all a favor and lose so the series will be interesting for once!
OK, I'm done with the baseball talk.
Saturday was Mike's sister's birthday party. Her name is Jasellynne (pronounced Jays-lin), but everyone calls her Jay. She's been cutting hair for about 13 years, and has lived in New York for about seven, and it was her 30th birthday last week. Mike and I ventured to what people call the "meat packing district." What I'm realizing is that young people here seem to claim the most industrial, disgusting places in the city as their new and trendy hangouts, and then in response, expensive trendy clubs and bars are built to accommodate. We made our way to "The Brass Monkey," after getting a bit turned around and stepping over multiple pools of stagnate water in the street. I often wonder how long such pools have been there and what kind of disease I could catch if my skin actually touched the cigarette-butt-, pigeon poo-, unidentified liquid-entrenched puddles. It hasn't rained much at all this last month. I rest my case.
Anyway, we met all of Jay's friends from the salon, some of her clients and other pals. As the night went on and we approached an hour when I would normally be calling it quits-- that's when the place got the most crowded. Wall-to-wall people, all pilgrims to this strange hole in the wall at the end of the street behind trucks and storage units. I was having a lot of fun until I had to basically punch people out to get to the bathroom, then I decided it was time to catch a cab.
The next day, Mike and I went to Columbus Circle, a roundabout with a huge statue of Christopher Columbus in the middle, the Time Warner building and CNN surrounding it. We both had a hankering for pasta, and walked around until my feet were blistered, trying to find a place with some starchy goodness. We settled for a cafe that served pasta, but Mike didn't end up having any in the end.
Last night, thanks to one of Jay's clients, we went to the New York film festival to catch the premier of "Margot at the Wedding," Nicole Kidman's new movie with Jack Black and Jennifer Jason Lee. Outside the theatre, Jay spotted Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell shopping in sloppy clothes, and I was surprised to see them so dressed down and regular-looking.
Going up the elevator, I couldn't help feeling grossly under-dressed and a bit nervous, as Jay was telling me to keep my eyes open for celebrities. When we walked into the lobby, I rounded a corner and saw a familiar face taking a photo with a fan. It was Willem DeFoe, the green goblin in Spiderman, he was in Shadow of a Vampire, American Psycho, but my favorite role was Klaus in the Life Aquatic:
The film itself was amazing. The cinematography set the gloomy mood and the dialog between characters created the tone of the disfunctional family these characters lived in. Highly recommended.
Afterward, Nicole Kidman, Jennifer Jason Lee and the child actors from the film took the stage. You see these pictures of Kidman in gossip magazines, looking gorgeous with her classy style and her completely translucent skin and you think, "There's no way she actually looks like this." But she does. And her Australian accent is charming. After we filed out and caught the train back, I thought that maybe going to see films might not be a bad free-time thing to do. There are certainly enough venues here to choose from.So, at the end of the long weekend, I grabbed a human-head-sized bagel and "coahfee" (I'm going to start saying it like that now) and headed home to Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. I walked around the neighborhood a bit but in the record-breaking 87-degree weather, it was hard to enjoy. This is OCTOBER, people!! I should be wearing wool socks by now, but noooo. I long for the cruddy, cold, rainy weather of my homeland.
I apologize for the impossibly long update, but there's just so much to write about. Tomorrow starts another work week, and another week of observing the amazing explosion of culture that is New York.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Week One
So yesterday marked a week since I officially moved to Brooklyn. My work week was a little slow. They're in between issues, wrapping up one while just starting on another one, so there's not a whole lot for me to do here. My supervising editor Julie suggested I come up with some story ideas to pitch for the primary editor I'll be working with this week, Keith Kloor. I researched, made a list and emailed him using my new fancy email (squery@audubon.org), but have since not heard anything either way. Hopefully tomorrow I can talk more with him about what he expects of me and what he's looking for with pitches.
Dad left Tuesday and I was really glad he came with me and I was able to show him around the city for his first time. Like me, he was surprised at how clean the city is. And like me, he expected all of the buildings to be intimidatingly tall, where you'd feel so closed in to the street between these structures that the thought of anything green or beautiful would be a far cry from anything you'd see here. But it's not like that (well, not everywhere in the city anyway). We took a bus tour around the city, being sure to stop in Little Italy for some good eats (three cheers for authentic gnocchi!). I bought myself some $5 knockoff sunglasses in Chinatown, we went to Central Park and generally had a great day.
The Empire State building... They built it in a little over a year. Quite an architectural marvel:
This site is called "Tiles for America." It's across the street from the hospital where the 9-11 survivors were taken and apparently children and other stood outside the hospital windows with support in the form of signs and candles but soon started making ceramic tiles to show their support. A lot of these are from around the country and it still stands as a sort of memorial.
This mirrored, sloped building made the reflection of another look like Toontown so I took a photo.
This is Strawberry Fields, located in Central Park, around the corner from where John Lennon was shot. The area is designated as a "quiet area" because so many come to pay their respects, but all I heard was bums sitting around on the benches, engaged in philosophical conversation with no one in particular.
There were some pretty good views of the skyline from the park, which Dad thought needed more open space.
When I went with Dad to drop him off at the Grand Central to head back to Connecticut. I walked him to the track and said, "Well, here it is," and gave him a big hug. He squeezed me and held on. He didn't want to let go... and then I said, "Dad, I'll be OK. I love you." That is when he started to cry. I said, "Dad, stop, you're making me cry," and I looked into his teary eyes. I can only guess at what he was thinking, but leaving your own daughter alone in one of the biggest cities in the world, knowing that she is pretty much on her own in a very big world must be very daunting. It's hard to be act brave when you know inside you're a bit scared as well.
This week at work my very young very hip editor Julie showed me a foodmart around the corner from NYU where you can get sushi by weight among other very yummy very natural foods. We hung out in the park and talked about my family, where I came from and basically how I got here. She just finished the graduate program at NYU for science writing and got hired as an assistant editor at Audubon. To be so lucky!! Come to find out most of their interns come from the science writing program so taking someone from the west coast, let alone outside of the program, let alone the east coast as an intern is very unusual for the magazine. I feel increasingly lucky to be in the position I am, even after organizing boxes of archived magazines and spending the better part of a day calling people to see which of Audubon's subscriptions to other magazines like E or National Geographic had expired and if/when they would. Lucky kid right here. And I'm getting used to riding the subway.
One thing I've discovered though is that people here think subways are one of the better ways to get a captive audience. One man, possibly a minister, yelled about the troubles of the city's homeless, saying any type of donation would help them to feed the hungry. He also reminded us that the line between being comfortable and homeless is very thin, and tragedy could strike any of us unexpectedly. Another woman on a different train, her voice wasn't as loud and didn't project as much but she announced that she and her family had become recently homeless for whatever reason. When no one paid attention or gave her any change, she got off at the next stop yelling that we should all ask ourselves why it was so hard to give to those in need. She claimed even she helped other homeless. But... in those situations I go through a very distinct though process, somewhat of an internal conflict:
"Wow, that is really sad. Should I give her a dollar?"
"No, you don't know if she's running a scam. Besides, you don't have a whole lot to spare. And she probably doesn't even try to find a job. People like that aren't down on their luck, they just don't try hard enough."
"That's not it. Stuff can happen to anyone and our government doesn't exactly make it easy for people to get back on their feet."
By the time I've finished the argument with myself, the person is already gone and I've missed my chance to chip in some change. Most of the time, though, I try to have my headphones on or bury my nose in a book to avoid the opportunity to feel compassionate. I just can't afford it.
So this weekend I was a bit lazy getting going on Saturday, called my parents and then heard some noise going on around the corner. Apparently there was a parade.
It was less of a Daffodil-elaborate -floats parade as it was a bunch of 6th grade marching bands, Tae Kwon Do , Boy Scout Troupes and kids dressed up in their Halloween costumes parade, but something told me this kind of thing was a huge tradition in the neighborhood. Everyone was out on 3rd Avenue right around the corner from my place. Italian grandpas with their pumpkin-dressed grandchildren in their laps, Latino moms with strollers wrangling their Mr. Incredibles and Spidermen little boys, and little girls dressed as princesses and Disney characters. I love this neighborhood. In the background down third, you can see the Verrazano Bridge which connects Brooklyn to Staten Island:
Five blocks away from my room there's a waterfront park. The footbridge across the freeway had some intricate designs I found interesting:
Here's the bridge again from the park:
From there you can see Manhattan, including the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building in full view. If I get motivated I might run the promenade down there this week.
This here is my street. 76th :)
And this is my house. 328. It's an old-fashioned row house. The plumbing is old. My window is the one on the left with the shutters. I pretty much love it.
This weekend I went to CT to visit with Mike and his friends on his last day at his old restaurant. I drank Coors Light and Corona in the kitchen with the whole kitchen staff, just bullshitting and celebrating Mike's last day. The next day we hung out with his mom and her new husband, who both seem to like me a lot (a good thing). We rode the train into the city to Mike's sister's. He'll be staying there until he finds a place to live. Mike's sister Jay says finding an apartment in New York is like a part time job. A few places that looked like they were going to work for him didn't, and now he's stuck on an air mattress on the floor at his sister's. His first day went well and he has the weekend off so hopefully soon the whole room thing will pan out for him. Meanwhile, it's great to have him around again :)
In all, I still can't really believe I'm here and I work in Manhattan. Bizzare. I'm excited to start getting my bearings a bit more, eating at all the wonderful cuisines in my neighborhood and finding my niche somewhere in this crazy city.
Thanks for reading,
Shawno
Dad left Tuesday and I was really glad he came with me and I was able to show him around the city for his first time. Like me, he was surprised at how clean the city is. And like me, he expected all of the buildings to be intimidatingly tall, where you'd feel so closed in to the street between these structures that the thought of anything green or beautiful would be a far cry from anything you'd see here. But it's not like that (well, not everywhere in the city anyway). We took a bus tour around the city, being sure to stop in Little Italy for some good eats (three cheers for authentic gnocchi!). I bought myself some $5 knockoff sunglasses in Chinatown, we went to Central Park and generally had a great day.
The Empire State building... They built it in a little over a year. Quite an architectural marvel:
This site is called "Tiles for America." It's across the street from the hospital where the 9-11 survivors were taken and apparently children and other stood outside the hospital windows with support in the form of signs and candles but soon started making ceramic tiles to show their support. A lot of these are from around the country and it still stands as a sort of memorial.
This mirrored, sloped building made the reflection of another look like Toontown so I took a photo.
This is Strawberry Fields, located in Central Park, around the corner from where John Lennon was shot. The area is designated as a "quiet area" because so many come to pay their respects, but all I heard was bums sitting around on the benches, engaged in philosophical conversation with no one in particular.
There were some pretty good views of the skyline from the park, which Dad thought needed more open space.
When I went with Dad to drop him off at the Grand Central to head back to Connecticut. I walked him to the track and said, "Well, here it is," and gave him a big hug. He squeezed me and held on. He didn't want to let go... and then I said, "Dad, I'll be OK. I love you." That is when he started to cry. I said, "Dad, stop, you're making me cry," and I looked into his teary eyes. I can only guess at what he was thinking, but leaving your own daughter alone in one of the biggest cities in the world, knowing that she is pretty much on her own in a very big world must be very daunting. It's hard to be act brave when you know inside you're a bit scared as well.
This week at work my very young very hip editor Julie showed me a foodmart around the corner from NYU where you can get sushi by weight among other very yummy very natural foods. We hung out in the park and talked about my family, where I came from and basically how I got here. She just finished the graduate program at NYU for science writing and got hired as an assistant editor at Audubon. To be so lucky!! Come to find out most of their interns come from the science writing program so taking someone from the west coast, let alone outside of the program, let alone the east coast as an intern is very unusual for the magazine. I feel increasingly lucky to be in the position I am, even after organizing boxes of archived magazines and spending the better part of a day calling people to see which of Audubon's subscriptions to other magazines like E or National Geographic had expired and if/when they would. Lucky kid right here. And I'm getting used to riding the subway.
One thing I've discovered though is that people here think subways are one of the better ways to get a captive audience. One man, possibly a minister, yelled about the troubles of the city's homeless, saying any type of donation would help them to feed the hungry. He also reminded us that the line between being comfortable and homeless is very thin, and tragedy could strike any of us unexpectedly. Another woman on a different train, her voice wasn't as loud and didn't project as much but she announced that she and her family had become recently homeless for whatever reason. When no one paid attention or gave her any change, she got off at the next stop yelling that we should all ask ourselves why it was so hard to give to those in need. She claimed even she helped other homeless. But... in those situations I go through a very distinct though process, somewhat of an internal conflict:
"Wow, that is really sad. Should I give her a dollar?"
"No, you don't know if she's running a scam. Besides, you don't have a whole lot to spare. And she probably doesn't even try to find a job. People like that aren't down on their luck, they just don't try hard enough."
"That's not it. Stuff can happen to anyone and our government doesn't exactly make it easy for people to get back on their feet."
By the time I've finished the argument with myself, the person is already gone and I've missed my chance to chip in some change. Most of the time, though, I try to have my headphones on or bury my nose in a book to avoid the opportunity to feel compassionate. I just can't afford it.
So this weekend I was a bit lazy getting going on Saturday, called my parents and then heard some noise going on around the corner. Apparently there was a parade.
It was less of a Daffodil-elaborate -floats parade as it was a bunch of 6th grade marching bands, Tae Kwon Do , Boy Scout Troupes and kids dressed up in their Halloween costumes parade, but something told me this kind of thing was a huge tradition in the neighborhood. Everyone was out on 3rd Avenue right around the corner from my place. Italian grandpas with their pumpkin-dressed grandchildren in their laps, Latino moms with strollers wrangling their Mr. Incredibles and Spidermen little boys, and little girls dressed as princesses and Disney characters. I love this neighborhood. In the background down third, you can see the Verrazano Bridge which connects Brooklyn to Staten Island:
Five blocks away from my room there's a waterfront park. The footbridge across the freeway had some intricate designs I found interesting:
Here's the bridge again from the park:
From there you can see Manhattan, including the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building in full view. If I get motivated I might run the promenade down there this week.
This here is my street. 76th :)
And this is my house. 328. It's an old-fashioned row house. The plumbing is old. My window is the one on the left with the shutters. I pretty much love it.
This weekend I went to CT to visit with Mike and his friends on his last day at his old restaurant. I drank Coors Light and Corona in the kitchen with the whole kitchen staff, just bullshitting and celebrating Mike's last day. The next day we hung out with his mom and her new husband, who both seem to like me a lot (a good thing). We rode the train into the city to Mike's sister's. He'll be staying there until he finds a place to live. Mike's sister Jay says finding an apartment in New York is like a part time job. A few places that looked like they were going to work for him didn't, and now he's stuck on an air mattress on the floor at his sister's. His first day went well and he has the weekend off so hopefully soon the whole room thing will pan out for him. Meanwhile, it's great to have him around again :)
In all, I still can't really believe I'm here and I work in Manhattan. Bizzare. I'm excited to start getting my bearings a bit more, eating at all the wonderful cuisines in my neighborhood and finding my niche somewhere in this crazy city.
Thanks for reading,
Shawno
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
