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
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