This town is dirty. There’s no denying it. I sweep up piles of dirt in my apartment twice week. My dog needs a bath almost daily because dirt and mud get caked in his fur. After a snow, muddy, slushy water clogs every intersection. I deal with it with frequent showers and house cleaning, but some things still gross me out.
I was walking through the port authority bus terminal this morning and a man was standing at a wall, clipping his fingernails. He was just letting them drop to the floor. I’m all for hygiene, but that is disgusting! Just because this city doesn’t exactly sparkle, doesn’t give you permission to drop your nasty nails in the subway station.
And it’s not like the city makes no attempt to keep things clean, either. Trash is picked up twice a week in my neighborhood and sorters go through the garbage to separate the recyclables. It makes a huge difference, too. When we had our last big snowstorm, garbage collectors didn’t come for five days and a wall of trash piled up for blocks.
The city sticks to tight regiment though, so despite the fact that millions of New Yorkers accumulate tons of trash ever week, the city manages to do a pretty awesome job keeping it off the streets. New York car owners are stuck with the frustration of moving their cars almost every other day because of street sweepers. They come through the city on alternate sides of the street almost daily, scrubbing the sidewalks with their bristle teeth. There are signs throughout the subway discouraging litter and for the most part, people pick up after themselves. So yes, New York is dirty, but not as dirty as it could be…so let’s keep the nail trimming to personal lavatories and while in Manhattan, keep it clean.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Subway Story – Quickie
Okay. I now have a new winner for the best Subway experience after this weekend…well, at least top three. I had just come from the theatre (pause for shock), so it was about 11:00 PM on a Saturday night and after a glass of wine at intermission and another with dinner four hours earlier, I was probably the most sober person waiting for the 2.
It started with a one-toothed woman asking which side of the platform was uptown (for the record, both sides went uptown), and doing a spontaneous dance when I told her she was the in right place. Because of the dental situation, she kind of freaked me out , so I made a conscious decision when the train arrived to stay out of her car. As a result, I followed this couple into the train that had obviously been drinking…heavily.
The woman got a seat and the man stood comfortably between her legs when the train closed its doors and started to accelerate. The train was packed and I stood roughly two feet away. I was getting off at 72nd to find a friendly bar on Amsterdam, which meant I was only on this train one stop. One stop and 30 blocks.
Early in on the five-minute ride, the woman reached into her purse and pulled out her i-pod. She turned up the music and handed an ear bud to the man, sticking the other in her own ear. They both started listening to the music and moving to the sexy beats only they could hear. By the end of the ride, they were full on grinding to the music. They used the bench, switched positions, got on the floor, used a pole, moved other people out of the way – it was amazing. They basically had sex with their clothes on in front of 60 strangers. Even the unshakable New Yorkers riding with me were a little fazed. We exchanged glances and occasionally laughed out loud at their outrageous, spontaneous performance. Did they realize they weren’t in a dance club? That they were, in fact, the only people who could hear this intoxicating beat? Or were they just drunk and horny?
You know, it was probably the latter, but whatever it was, it made for a great subway ride and a good shared laugh with my fellow New Yorkers. God, I love the Subway.
It started with a one-toothed woman asking which side of the platform was uptown (for the record, both sides went uptown), and doing a spontaneous dance when I told her she was the in right place. Because of the dental situation, she kind of freaked me out , so I made a conscious decision when the train arrived to stay out of her car. As a result, I followed this couple into the train that had obviously been drinking…heavily.
The woman got a seat and the man stood comfortably between her legs when the train closed its doors and started to accelerate. The train was packed and I stood roughly two feet away. I was getting off at 72nd to find a friendly bar on Amsterdam, which meant I was only on this train one stop. One stop and 30 blocks.
Early in on the five-minute ride, the woman reached into her purse and pulled out her i-pod. She turned up the music and handed an ear bud to the man, sticking the other in her own ear. They both started listening to the music and moving to the sexy beats only they could hear. By the end of the ride, they were full on grinding to the music. They used the bench, switched positions, got on the floor, used a pole, moved other people out of the way – it was amazing. They basically had sex with their clothes on in front of 60 strangers. Even the unshakable New Yorkers riding with me were a little fazed. We exchanged glances and occasionally laughed out loud at their outrageous, spontaneous performance. Did they realize they weren’t in a dance club? That they were, in fact, the only people who could hear this intoxicating beat? Or were they just drunk and horny?
You know, it was probably the latter, but whatever it was, it made for a great subway ride and a good shared laugh with my fellow New Yorkers. God, I love the Subway.
I have a theatre habit. I might need an intervention:
In the last ten days, I’ve been to the theatre four times. Four. Times. Last weekend I went to see Lend Me a Tenor. An older play, to be sure, but it got fantastic reviews, was nominated for a Tony and in the Cheap Tickets line, the line for plays only had four people and the line for musicals had thousands. So Lend Me a Tenor it was. The show was tight, the blocking was clever the performances were great – but I still walked away wishing there was a little more….music.
The next day was dreary, so I went to a converted church around the corner from my house and saw Macbeth. I loved it. The weather and surroundings were perfect for such a macabre tale and I was immediately transported to that world. Leaving the theatre I had to blink several times to adjust to the light, despite the heavy clouds, not only because of my time spent in the dark room, but because of the dark subject matter.
Last night I saw a musical based on Dan Savage’s novel, The Kid, a memoire he wrote about he and his partner adopting a child from a homeless girl in Portland. The show had some old favorites – cast members from Title of Show, Avenue Q and Company – and the first act was tight, entertaining, edgy, and a lot of fun – some of the best theatre I’ve seen since I moved here. The talent was fantastic and it was a joy and pleasure to witness. The second act left something to be desired as it deteriorated into sap and schmaltz and slow, forgettable ballads about the joys of becoming a parent…blah blah blah….but overall I enjoyed myself immensely.
Today, I went to see White’s Lies with Helen, my friend from work. Helen used to work at BAM and has a membership to this online club that gets her free tickets to the arts. Once on this magical site, you can simply click a button and receive tickets to dozens of shows within a day or two of curtain….FREE! It is a dangerous site to which she’s graciously granted me access. It will be all I can do not to be on that puppy daily.
In fact, moving to New York for me is kind of like an alcoholic moving into a bar or a diabetic moving into a chocolate factory – maybe it’s too much of a good thing. I love the theatre. My very favorite, ideal, perfect day would definitely involve a visit to the theatre. I get goose bumps when the lights go down and the music swells – the energy and joy of the theatre is absolutely thrilling. It’s one of my favorite things on earth.
This is okay in a town like Seattle, where you can make plans to attend community theatre or touring shows ten times a year or so, but here, theatre is everywhere. There are four theatres within four square miles of my house. Four. And now with the obstacle of outrageous $125 Broadway ticket prices no longer an issue (thank you Helen!), I might be moving into the theatre.
I must show discretion. I must not overdose for fear of losing my love of the theatre or (heaven forbid) making it a less “special” experience due to overexposure.
I don’t really see that happening though. The theatre is magical. Every performance, every line, every note is a unique moment into and of itself. That’s an experience that will be very hard to touch, even if I see a show every single day.
So for now I’m going to push my fears aside and continue to utilize this great gift of New York City. For the next several months, you’ll know where to find me. That place where the lights go down and the curtain goes up.
The next day was dreary, so I went to a converted church around the corner from my house and saw Macbeth. I loved it. The weather and surroundings were perfect for such a macabre tale and I was immediately transported to that world. Leaving the theatre I had to blink several times to adjust to the light, despite the heavy clouds, not only because of my time spent in the dark room, but because of the dark subject matter.
Last night I saw a musical based on Dan Savage’s novel, The Kid, a memoire he wrote about he and his partner adopting a child from a homeless girl in Portland. The show had some old favorites – cast members from Title of Show, Avenue Q and Company – and the first act was tight, entertaining, edgy, and a lot of fun – some of the best theatre I’ve seen since I moved here. The talent was fantastic and it was a joy and pleasure to witness. The second act left something to be desired as it deteriorated into sap and schmaltz and slow, forgettable ballads about the joys of becoming a parent…blah blah blah….but overall I enjoyed myself immensely.
Today, I went to see White’s Lies with Helen, my friend from work. Helen used to work at BAM and has a membership to this online club that gets her free tickets to the arts. Once on this magical site, you can simply click a button and receive tickets to dozens of shows within a day or two of curtain….FREE! It is a dangerous site to which she’s graciously granted me access. It will be all I can do not to be on that puppy daily.
In fact, moving to New York for me is kind of like an alcoholic moving into a bar or a diabetic moving into a chocolate factory – maybe it’s too much of a good thing. I love the theatre. My very favorite, ideal, perfect day would definitely involve a visit to the theatre. I get goose bumps when the lights go down and the music swells – the energy and joy of the theatre is absolutely thrilling. It’s one of my favorite things on earth.
This is okay in a town like Seattle, where you can make plans to attend community theatre or touring shows ten times a year or so, but here, theatre is everywhere. There are four theatres within four square miles of my house. Four. And now with the obstacle of outrageous $125 Broadway ticket prices no longer an issue (thank you Helen!), I might be moving into the theatre.
I must show discretion. I must not overdose for fear of losing my love of the theatre or (heaven forbid) making it a less “special” experience due to overexposure.
I don’t really see that happening though. The theatre is magical. Every performance, every line, every note is a unique moment into and of itself. That’s an experience that will be very hard to touch, even if I see a show every single day.
So for now I’m going to push my fears aside and continue to utilize this great gift of New York City. For the next several months, you’ll know where to find me. That place where the lights go down and the curtain goes up.
All the Single Ladies
I was sitting in a meeting Friday afternoon with the entire marketing staff (all 39 of them) when I noticed something a bit odd. The department is overwhelmingly female. So around the table, there were 35 women and four men. We all were roughly 25-40 years old. Everyone was fit, fairly attractive, and based on the fact they were in the room…employed and relatively successful. Here’s what was weird:
Only one of the 35 women wore a wedding ring, yet ALL FOUR of the men were married. I found myself drifting to this phenomenon while the conversation moved from website design to social media. What was up with all these single ladies? ONE was married. ONE?!?
I started thinking about the women I had met in New York and realized that while some of them were in committed relationships, not one was married. I had to dig deeper.
It turns out the ladies from Sex and the City weren’t totally full of crap…it’s hard to get a man in this town. In fact, there are three single heterosexual women living in Manhattan for every one heterosexual man. In general, the women seem to be smart, driven, and very fit, yet walking down the aisle is a rarity.
Going to lunch at the deli across from the office, the dining room is full of women eating salads alone. The women are amazing here, too. They are primped, primed and ready. Between their weekly mani / pedis, monthly facials, and quarterly visit to the salon, they barely have time to walk down the street looking fabulous. Every day, I get completely made up for work. Every. Day.
I do my hair, put on full make-up and double check my outfit. I’m not necessarily looking for men, but a full primp is the expectation in this city.
I started talking to a woman after my group cycle class this past Sunday after she learned I just moved here. “New York is a tough town,” she said as I nodded in agreement. “There are people that learn after a year they really love it and there are people that learn after a year they need to get out.”
I continued to nod, taking this on as a challenge. So far, I was loving this town and I was hoping the love affair wouldn’t be short-lived. Then, she said something rather unexpected.
“I’m not sure if you’re dating or in a relationship, but there are a lot of women here who can’t find a man, so they move on. It’s hard. It’s really hard.” She quickly amended her personal situation by saying, “but not for me. I’ve been married forever.”
I found this incredible. I had personally noticed a lot of single women, but this conversation was all the validation I needed. Being single and female in New York was a highly precarious position.
I was at an east side bar the other night and not one, but three guys tried out this same line: “so, shall we go back to your place?’ Huh? Where’s the creativity in that? No double entendre, no inquiry into my astrological chart, nothing. But perhaps the come ons wee so unoriginal because they didn’t have to be. If one woman turned you down, there were two others lined up right behind her.
I was out with a friend last weekend in the lower east side and I told him if I were a man living in New York, I would never settle down – why would you? Odds are in your favor and the beauty is abundant. These women are well- read, coiffed, primped, polished and have likely just come from a class at the 92nd street Y on how to give a better blow job. This is a single man’s paradise. For single ladies...it's a challenge.
Only one of the 35 women wore a wedding ring, yet ALL FOUR of the men were married. I found myself drifting to this phenomenon while the conversation moved from website design to social media. What was up with all these single ladies? ONE was married. ONE?!?
I started thinking about the women I had met in New York and realized that while some of them were in committed relationships, not one was married. I had to dig deeper.
It turns out the ladies from Sex and the City weren’t totally full of crap…it’s hard to get a man in this town. In fact, there are three single heterosexual women living in Manhattan for every one heterosexual man. In general, the women seem to be smart, driven, and very fit, yet walking down the aisle is a rarity.
Going to lunch at the deli across from the office, the dining room is full of women eating salads alone. The women are amazing here, too. They are primped, primed and ready. Between their weekly mani / pedis, monthly facials, and quarterly visit to the salon, they barely have time to walk down the street looking fabulous. Every day, I get completely made up for work. Every. Day.
I do my hair, put on full make-up and double check my outfit. I’m not necessarily looking for men, but a full primp is the expectation in this city.
I started talking to a woman after my group cycle class this past Sunday after she learned I just moved here. “New York is a tough town,” she said as I nodded in agreement. “There are people that learn after a year they really love it and there are people that learn after a year they need to get out.”
I continued to nod, taking this on as a challenge. So far, I was loving this town and I was hoping the love affair wouldn’t be short-lived. Then, she said something rather unexpected.
“I’m not sure if you’re dating or in a relationship, but there are a lot of women here who can’t find a man, so they move on. It’s hard. It’s really hard.” She quickly amended her personal situation by saying, “but not for me. I’ve been married forever.”
I found this incredible. I had personally noticed a lot of single women, but this conversation was all the validation I needed. Being single and female in New York was a highly precarious position.
I was at an east side bar the other night and not one, but three guys tried out this same line: “so, shall we go back to your place?’ Huh? Where’s the creativity in that? No double entendre, no inquiry into my astrological chart, nothing. But perhaps the come ons wee so unoriginal because they didn’t have to be. If one woman turned you down, there were two others lined up right behind her.
I was out with a friend last weekend in the lower east side and I told him if I were a man living in New York, I would never settle down – why would you? Odds are in your favor and the beauty is abundant. These women are well- read, coiffed, primped, polished and have likely just come from a class at the 92nd street Y on how to give a better blow job. This is a single man’s paradise. For single ladies...it's a challenge.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Soooo Sleepy
The other day I got to work groggy and bleary-eyed and by accident turned off my computer instead of turning it on. As I sat down in my vinyl office chair, these words popped up on my screen:
Monitor Going to Sleep
I’ve never been more jealous of my monitor.
There’s a nasty side effect from the fun and festivities of New York City, a little something called sleep depravation.
I’m a sleeper. In Seattle, I regularly got 9-10 hours of sleep a night and that was with a 6:00 AM aerobics class. I often went to bed when it was still light outside, not unlike a toddler. I always felt refreshed, replenished, and downright bushy-tailed.
In New York, I struggle to fall asleep in the “PM” and I still wake up at 5. I did some rough calculations and figured I got about 40 hours of sleep last week. 40 hours. Over 7 nights. That’s just not enough. I’m not only of these people like Albert Einstein or Bill Clinton who both claimed they only needed 90 minutes – 3 hours of sleep a night. I happen to enjoy…and need…a good night sleep.
I’m not sure what the solution is at this point. Every night it seems I’m staying out until 9 or 10 or 11, and when I get home, the energy of the evening stays with me and I can’t even think of sleep. So I end up texting friends (many of whom conveniently reside in a time zone three hours earlier) or writing (like…right now) or reading or staring at the ceiling of my tiny apartment or planning my outfit for the next day or painting my toenails or surfing the web for more fun things to do in New York or well, or just about anything other than sleep. Eventually my energy starts to mellow a bit an my eyes start to feel heavier and around midnight or one I finally brush and floss, take the dog for one more walk around the block, and pull out my bed. I’m out seconds after my lights, and the alarm comes like a cruel joke moments later.
The pulse and drive and stimulation of New York allow me to keep up this pace. In the midst and mist of Seattle with its low grey cloud and easy-going disposition, I would be napping under my desk at work by noon. Remarkably, I generally make it through the day fairly well. My serious caffeine addiction helps me along, but really I just wake up excited to be in New York, even when it seems like the night has passed in a blink. That excitement carries me through to the next day…and the next. I don’t think I’m the only one who lives on this general lack of sleep, either. Whenever I reach out to friend at 11, 12, 1 in the morning, they almost always hit me back. In the office, I notice frequent yawns and droopy eyes. When I was talking to a New Yorker the other day about this, he confirmed my suspicions. “I don’t feel like I’ve slept more than give hours a night since I moved here,” I told him. “Yeah,” he replied. “And you won’t. There’s just too much to do to spend time sleeping.”
The most extreme example of this presented itself on a recent Saturday night. A friend invited me to visit an upper eastside bar since he was going to be bartending. I’d been having a pretty full day with a concert at the MET and a lovely meal complete with corn bread and green beans* in Harlem, and a little frat-esque party in the east village, so I was thinking I would only be at this bar an hour or so before heading home and calling it another successful day in NYC.
I ended up closing the bar down.
In Seattle, this would mean 2:00 AM, which is still late, but in New York closing the bar down means 4:00 AM. And if you’re closing the bar, you’re going to need to get waffles after you leave, especially if you’re name is Erin Gilbert. So, this meant I climbed into bed just before 5:00 in the morning, and actually was starting to fall asleep when my alarm went off. Some people may see this as a sign. A sign that perhaps this late night / early morning living is getting a little out of control and perhaps yours truly should think about putting more value on hitting the hay. Perhaps.
I still believe that if you truly want to experience all New York has to offer and keep your day job, there’s simply very little time for sleep. The old expression appears to be true. New York is truly the city that never….zzzzzzzz…..
**I'm not a huge fan of soul food, but the green beans are out of this world. I think they're about 2/3rds butter and 1/3rd green bean. Outstanding.
Monitor Going to Sleep
I’ve never been more jealous of my monitor.
There’s a nasty side effect from the fun and festivities of New York City, a little something called sleep depravation.
I’m a sleeper. In Seattle, I regularly got 9-10 hours of sleep a night and that was with a 6:00 AM aerobics class. I often went to bed when it was still light outside, not unlike a toddler. I always felt refreshed, replenished, and downright bushy-tailed.
In New York, I struggle to fall asleep in the “PM” and I still wake up at 5. I did some rough calculations and figured I got about 40 hours of sleep last week. 40 hours. Over 7 nights. That’s just not enough. I’m not only of these people like Albert Einstein or Bill Clinton who both claimed they only needed 90 minutes – 3 hours of sleep a night. I happen to enjoy…and need…a good night sleep.
I’m not sure what the solution is at this point. Every night it seems I’m staying out until 9 or 10 or 11, and when I get home, the energy of the evening stays with me and I can’t even think of sleep. So I end up texting friends (many of whom conveniently reside in a time zone three hours earlier) or writing (like…right now) or reading or staring at the ceiling of my tiny apartment or planning my outfit for the next day or painting my toenails or surfing the web for more fun things to do in New York or well, or just about anything other than sleep. Eventually my energy starts to mellow a bit an my eyes start to feel heavier and around midnight or one I finally brush and floss, take the dog for one more walk around the block, and pull out my bed. I’m out seconds after my lights, and the alarm comes like a cruel joke moments later.
The pulse and drive and stimulation of New York allow me to keep up this pace. In the midst and mist of Seattle with its low grey cloud and easy-going disposition, I would be napping under my desk at work by noon. Remarkably, I generally make it through the day fairly well. My serious caffeine addiction helps me along, but really I just wake up excited to be in New York, even when it seems like the night has passed in a blink. That excitement carries me through to the next day…and the next. I don’t think I’m the only one who lives on this general lack of sleep, either. Whenever I reach out to friend at 11, 12, 1 in the morning, they almost always hit me back. In the office, I notice frequent yawns and droopy eyes. When I was talking to a New Yorker the other day about this, he confirmed my suspicions. “I don’t feel like I’ve slept more than give hours a night since I moved here,” I told him. “Yeah,” he replied. “And you won’t. There’s just too much to do to spend time sleeping.”
The most extreme example of this presented itself on a recent Saturday night. A friend invited me to visit an upper eastside bar since he was going to be bartending. I’d been having a pretty full day with a concert at the MET and a lovely meal complete with corn bread and green beans* in Harlem, and a little frat-esque party in the east village, so I was thinking I would only be at this bar an hour or so before heading home and calling it another successful day in NYC.
I ended up closing the bar down.
In Seattle, this would mean 2:00 AM, which is still late, but in New York closing the bar down means 4:00 AM. And if you’re closing the bar, you’re going to need to get waffles after you leave, especially if you’re name is Erin Gilbert. So, this meant I climbed into bed just before 5:00 in the morning, and actually was starting to fall asleep when my alarm went off. Some people may see this as a sign. A sign that perhaps this late night / early morning living is getting a little out of control and perhaps yours truly should think about putting more value on hitting the hay. Perhaps.
I still believe that if you truly want to experience all New York has to offer and keep your day job, there’s simply very little time for sleep. The old expression appears to be true. New York is truly the city that never….zzzzzzzz…..
**I'm not a huge fan of soul food, but the green beans are out of this world. I think they're about 2/3rds butter and 1/3rd green bean. Outstanding.
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