Moleskine

From Awe to Awe-less

2008-09-24T08:54:00.000-07:00

I have officially taken it for granted. I'm ashamed to say that with as many new experiences this city has provided me none have been documented since May. 5 months without a pen-able experience, I think not. To you, New York, I apologize. I will, once again, make it a point to recognize and illustrate your wonders.

As much as my growing NYC tenure is becoming everyday life, same-old, same-old (horrid, I know), living here has made me realize there are some aspects of suburbia that I took for granted 21 years long, which now echo in my sporadic homesickness. Trees and crickets.

Although I have a tree outside my apartment window, it is entangled with power lines and entirely not the same as the lush green blanket which greets me on my journeys back to Connecticut. There is something about relatively undisturbed nature which is so desirable and completely unattainable in this concrete jungle I call a home. Whether it is upcoming fall foliage that I will miss so much or the fact that the squirrels are confined to the borders of Central Park, nature is forced in New York. As I look out my office window to the apartment building across the street I notice about 10 different varieties of trees planted on the roof of the building, directly adjacent to a satellite dish. I find it amusing because if a homeowner planted a tree on top of their house anywhere other then here family members might consider a mental health intervention.

For me summer isn't summer until I hear the low drone of the crickets when I open my bedroom window at night. For as much noise as a city resident puts up with, in this department a dropping pin could be heard 5 blocks away. On especially quiet city nights I supplement the noiselessness with my sound machine, close enough to satisfy but not quite right.

Having realized this missing piece early on this summer, I assumed I would have to travel outside the city limits to quench my audible need; however, last night I found the diamond in this rough. I woke up around 5 am with a headache, so I groggily made my way to the kitchen for some medication. As I stepped out of the bedroom and the hum of the fan, I stopped short. I had found my crickets! In the wee hours the city turned suburban, only to change back before anyone suspected. It will be our little secret New York, just don't fall quiet when I need you.

The Circle of Life

2008-05-08T07:07:00.000-07:00

As a child I was whimsically educated about the way in which nature cycles by a song uttered on a cartoon African savanna. Disney told me that animals live and die in order to sustain the balance that is nature. It seemed that these brave animals died heroic deaths saving their friends and loved ones. I have encountered this circle in a small corner of NYC located just outside the entrance to the N train.

Comparatively speaking, this Circle of Life is like the trash-laden projects compared to Simba's lavish pad. The setting is that of a tall concrete wall on one side and a parking lot on the other. The wall has curiously shaped holes every 3 feet, about 7 feet up. These holes are always oozing some sort of liquid, and pigeons are always flapping in and out. I suspected that they used these urban orafaces as nesting places and my suspicions were confirmed when I spied eggs one day on my walk to the subway. I found it intriguing that animals can always make the best of their habitat, making a cozy home out of a cold stone structure.

It was after I started thinking about these pigeons and thier Astorian life-cycle, that the afore mentioned circle began to play out before my eyes. The first day my reaction was, "Ew, squashed bird" the second time I began to feel bad. Over the past three weeks, only 3 feet away from where pigeon parents nurture their young I have encountered three road-killed birds. Not only is it not pleasant to have to look at twice a day on my commute, it is a gruesome sign of the ill-effects that humans have on nature.

The circle of life takes into account death by natural causes and sustaining those higher on the food chain, but does it also apply to those creatures that can't evade the Goodyear tire tracks?

Perhaps I will write to Disney suggesting a plot twist in the next Lion King sequel. Simba and Friends: African Crosswalks Installed.

The Windy City?

2008-05-05T06:50:00.000-07:00

For a city so clogged with human creation nature still manages to poke through. Some of this nature sparks thoughts of a magnificent force beyond which we can comprehend. The little saplings that thrive amidst a concrete jungle or the large bird population that can decidedly not live on stale bread alone. One of the most consuming and diverse instances of nature that I have found on this tiny island is wind.

There are many different kinds of wind that inhabit our fair city. The kind that ruins a perfectly good hairstyle out of nowhere, the constant gust which makes you glad on those days that you didn't style your hair at all, and the kind that is nothing more then a gentle breeze and makes you thank the lucky stars for an such an amazing day. However it needs to be said that I have not been roaming these city streets for long enough to experience the harsh winds, the biting winds and the downright frigid winds; that might be a later post come January. But for now the former are the gusts that I have come to know and expect.

But these are not the city phenomenon that I have chosen to ramble about today. The chosen is an event that I dread every time I descend into the bowels of the subway. Subway Wind. Just the mention makes me shudder. I'm not sure what it is about this strange occurance that gives me the heebie jeebies, but it sure does. Where the hell does it come from?

I'm not talking about the wind that gusts when a train is approaching, I'm talking about the wind that appears out of nowhere, depositing who knows what on all in its path. After living here for a few months now I am used to the continual feeling of grime that surrounds my new homeland, however despite being used to that, I feel the immediate need for a shower after I encounter subway wind.

Come to think of it, I feel the need for a shower after just discussing it.

Just Plain Rubbish

2008-04-23T08:54:00.000-07:00

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.

2Feet and 4Shoes?

2008-04-11T09:50:00.000-07:00

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?

It's Called an Alarm Clock

2008-04-09T10:39:00.001-07:00

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.

1 in 8.2

2008-04-08T08:04:00.001-07:00

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.

Absence of Pen&Paper

2008-04-07T12:10:00.000-07:00

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!