Just like the 24 hour grocery stores, Chinese restaurants and diners that can be found scattered around this city I have recently been introduced to the 24 hour garbage man. When I first moved into my lovely apartment over the even lovelier, and might I add tasty, steakhouse I was directed to leave my trash out with the nightly garbage left on the sidewalk by the kitchen. It didn't really occur to me how and where that was disposed of by morning. For all I knew it could follow in the path of those people the Mafia 'take care of'. East River bound.
It was about 2 weeks ago that I got the answer to the question that really hadn't been puzzling me, however the answer is quite interesting. Picture 4am, pitch black and me snoozing comfortably in my bed. Suddenly, within my dream I picture a dragon, or bear or some sort of loud creature growling at me. This strange change in dream sequence startled me awake, only to find the growling was really the garbage men outside doing their, apparently, nightly rounds.
It is only in the city that never sleeps that the garbage men literally cannot sleep, do we really produce that much crap? Apparently we do.
But there is a twist to this diatribe. Once I realize that it truly is a legit midnight service I decide to follow suit and leave my garbage outside with the pile of black bags produced by the restaurant. The next morning as I am leaving for my daily trek to work I see my 2 white garbage bags sitting all by their lonesome. Cast to the side by these sanitation fairies of the dark. My garbage has been rejected. I never thought that my self-esteem could be affected by trash, but this morning I was brought to wondering why my sacrifices to the rubbish gods were not good enough.
Since then I have not tried to utilize the night-rider garbage service, but next time I get ballsy enough I will have to invest in black bags. They will never know! I will get you Inspector Gadget, if it's the last thing I do.
Or something like that.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
2Feet and 4Shoes?
Ever since I crossed the boundary into womanhood, or started carrying a purse, I would look at the women with the hulking shoulder bags that resembled luggage and wonder 'Why, dear God, Why?'
I am one of those now. And I know why.
It's the shoes. Whenever I get asked why such a big bag, I blame it on the shoes. Who needs to carry 2 pairs of shoes on their person at all times? Apparently I do, its purse sacrifice for the sake of fashion. Although I am of somewhat Amazonian stature I sure do love my heels, therefore making it quite necessary to schlep around a more foot-friendly pair of shoes.
Although it seems quite normal, as women in business suits and sneaks scramble all around the subways during rush-hour, the fact that I am ok with wearing my brown uggs with black dress pants in public still makes me shudder a bit inside. The thing that I find even more ironic with this logic (a logic that I have come to employ) is that one sports this crazy ensemble on the streets only to get inside the protection of the office with the intention of looking fashionable. Even to this day I think it should be the other way around.
Nevertheless, I strut down 7th Ave every morning in my crazy boots (soon to be flip-flops) only to transform into fabulous once again after the office door has closed behind me. Only will I venture out in my painful heels to a luncheon, just to keep up the facade that I can withstand this pain all day for gorgeousness. To this end I have come to the conclusion that comfy shoes and dress attire are only acceptable on the streets of NYC from the hours of 7-9am and then again from 5-7pm.
To alert those fashion-conscious visitors to NY I think the establishment should put up signs on the side of the road. In my opinion they should be eerily similar to those which tell drivers which side of the road they can and cannot park on, only it will outline the hours and days which this crazy attire will be tactfully ignored by the fellow commuter.
No Skirts and Sneakers Allowed on Weekends & between the hours of 9-5 Mon-Fri. This is where our tax dollars should go. Congestion pricing anyone?
I am one of those now. And I know why.
It's the shoes. Whenever I get asked why such a big bag, I blame it on the shoes. Who needs to carry 2 pairs of shoes on their person at all times? Apparently I do, its purse sacrifice for the sake of fashion. Although I am of somewhat Amazonian stature I sure do love my heels, therefore making it quite necessary to schlep around a more foot-friendly pair of shoes.
Although it seems quite normal, as women in business suits and sneaks scramble all around the subways during rush-hour, the fact that I am ok with wearing my brown uggs with black dress pants in public still makes me shudder a bit inside. The thing that I find even more ironic with this logic (a logic that I have come to employ) is that one sports this crazy ensemble on the streets only to get inside the protection of the office with the intention of looking fashionable. Even to this day I think it should be the other way around.
Nevertheless, I strut down 7th Ave every morning in my crazy boots (soon to be flip-flops) only to transform into fabulous once again after the office door has closed behind me. Only will I venture out in my painful heels to a luncheon, just to keep up the facade that I can withstand this pain all day for gorgeousness. To this end I have come to the conclusion that comfy shoes and dress attire are only acceptable on the streets of NYC from the hours of 7-9am and then again from 5-7pm.
To alert those fashion-conscious visitors to NY I think the establishment should put up signs on the side of the road. In my opinion they should be eerily similar to those which tell drivers which side of the road they can and cannot park on, only it will outline the hours and days which this crazy attire will be tactfully ignored by the fellow commuter.
No Skirts and Sneakers Allowed on Weekends & between the hours of 9-5 Mon-Fri. This is where our tax dollars should go. Congestion pricing anyone?
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
It's Called an Alarm Clock
So I feel the need to comment on a chuckle-inspiring event that has become part of my morning walk to the subway. Usually I end up leaving my apartment around 8:30 to catch the subway into Manhattan. As I round my first corner I have become accustomed to seeing what I assume to be a girl, one can't always tell from the back, running Forrest Gump-style down the street.
Now this isn't ordinary running. The runner in question is fully equipped with one of the monogrammed L.L. Bean backpacks that so quickly throws my memory back to the book-heavy 8th grade days. I had a black one, the monstrous 2 pocket size, until high school hit and I downgraded to the cooler 1 pocket. If you have not been lucky enough to sport one of these bad boys you cannot imagine how much can it can fit, think dead body in the back of that creepy old man's Buick. That's a lot of crap!
Now, it really is the presence of the backpack which makes me break a smile every morning. Because she/he/it has just short of a body in her backpack it makes for the most awkward running I have ever witnessed. Swaying from side to side with each step, apparently frantic to get to the chosen destination. I thought it was funny the first morning, just passing it off as someone who over slept, but this morning rang in at number four in a row. I'm dying to know what is possessing this daily exodus on to Steinway St.
Every day I only catch this act as she is about to round the corner onto the cross street. Maybe if I ever catch her point of origin come Xmas I will leave a cutely wrapped alarm clock on the stoop. Or maybe I'll just continue to relish in my daily chuckle.
Now this isn't ordinary running. The runner in question is fully equipped with one of the monogrammed L.L. Bean backpacks that so quickly throws my memory back to the book-heavy 8th grade days. I had a black one, the monstrous 2 pocket size, until high school hit and I downgraded to the cooler 1 pocket. If you have not been lucky enough to sport one of these bad boys you cannot imagine how much can it can fit, think dead body in the back of that creepy old man's Buick. That's a lot of crap!
Now, it really is the presence of the backpack which makes me break a smile every morning. Because she/he/it has just short of a body in her backpack it makes for the most awkward running I have ever witnessed. Swaying from side to side with each step, apparently frantic to get to the chosen destination. I thought it was funny the first morning, just passing it off as someone who over slept, but this morning rang in at number four in a row. I'm dying to know what is possessing this daily exodus on to Steinway St.
Every day I only catch this act as she is about to round the corner onto the cross street. Maybe if I ever catch her point of origin come Xmas I will leave a cutely wrapped alarm clock on the stoop. Or maybe I'll just continue to relish in my daily chuckle.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
1 in 8.2
There are 8.2 million people that live in NYC, that does not include the countless people who make the daily commute from the surrounding 'burbs. With that, there are about 5,000 undergrads that scamper around my Hudson Valley alma mater. Staring out the subway window this morning I found my self thinking about less then a year ago when I carried the title of undergrad. As I was blankly gazing at the 57th St station sign I saw a familiar face walk by, that of one of my best college-hood friends.
In a city this size what is the chance I see someone I know? My address book includes about 7 good friends that live in this city with me. This is a 0.00000000625% chance that I will see one of them on my morning train ride. As my viewing of 21 this weekend taught me, that percentage may increase with the factor of variable change. However, 2+2 is a bit too advanced for me so factoring in variable change is like Fenway being rebuilt in the South Bronx, never gonna happen!
When I was at school it seemed like I would go weeks, even months, without seeing the people that didn't find a place within my busy schedule. I recall after a friend and I had a falling out I went about 9 months without running into them on our minuscule campus. I wonder if today is my day to beat the odds? Maybe, I'll buy a mega-million ticket.
In a city this size what is the chance I see someone I know? My address book includes about 7 good friends that live in this city with me. This is a 0.00000000625% chance that I will see one of them on my morning train ride. As my viewing of 21 this weekend taught me, that percentage may increase with the factor of variable change. However, 2+2 is a bit too advanced for me so factoring in variable change is like Fenway being rebuilt in the South Bronx, never gonna happen!
When I was at school it seemed like I would go weeks, even months, without seeing the people that didn't find a place within my busy schedule. I recall after a friend and I had a falling out I went about 9 months without running into them on our minuscule campus. I wonder if today is my day to beat the odds? Maybe, I'll buy a mega-million ticket.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Absence of Pen&Paper
A few months back I received a very thoughtful present in the form of a Moleskine journal with the intention that I write about the things that I encounter in 'the big city'. My first conclusion about the city: it is selfish. It takes all of my time! I should not be complaining about this being that 3 months ago I didn't have a date in my date book as far as the eye could see. However it has prevented me from writing in my journal.
The only time I truly have for myself is on my subway ride to and from work. Although surrounded by other people, this is me time, I know no one and don't care about what is going on around me. Perfect time to write you think? No! The train is too shaky, I could never keep my handwriting up to my anal standards. Therefore the electronic pen it shall be.
Introducing my 21st century Moleskine.
I really enjoy finding out little things about everyday city life that native New Yorkers take for granted. Check back for my attempts at a psycho-analyzing my new surroundings!
The only time I truly have for myself is on my subway ride to and from work. Although surrounded by other people, this is me time, I know no one and don't care about what is going on around me. Perfect time to write you think? No! The train is too shaky, I could never keep my handwriting up to my anal standards. Therefore the electronic pen it shall be.
Introducing my 21st century Moleskine.
I really enjoy finding out little things about everyday city life that native New Yorkers take for granted. Check back for my attempts at a psycho-analyzing my new surroundings!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
