Hot damn, New York is beautiful in the Fall. Spring and summer are nice and all, but tey don't hold a candle to the bright colors, crisp temperatures, and piercing blue skies of the fall. \
I was walking my dog the other morning and the park was absolutely exploding with color. There was a film crew setting up on my way in and a fashion shoot in process on my way out. I obviously wasn't the only one who recognized the park's beauty this time of year.
Some trees along the periphery of the great lawn turn such a bright shade of red it looks like they're on fire. I brought my dog upstate to walk along the trees without the disruption of concrete a couple weeks ago. It was an absolutely lovely afternoon and the canopy formed by trees of bright gold, yellow and orange were something out of a Robert Frost poem. Puppy loved running along the trees and I enjoyed escaping the city to this Autumnal paradise, if only for a few hours.
I love the west coast - the sushi is better, the people are more relaxed, the weather more temperate - but the west coast doesn't compare to the east when it comes to changing leaves. It's not even a contest. The northwest has trees, sure, but they're always green! The trees here change dramatically and suddenly - announcing the new season with a flourish.
Ella Fitzgerald's version of "April in Paris" may be more popular, but for my listening pleasure, you can't beat her belting out "Autumn in New York."
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Dance Dance Revolution
New Yorkers have a rhythm. There's a natural beat and pulse to the city that not only provides a driving energy, but also the city's soundtrack.
I was on the subway to Brooklyn one bright, beautiful Sunday and a man came on the subway in a black coat and sunglasses. We shared a pole and stoof facing each other as we rumbled our way downtown. I'm certainly used to being in close proximity to others after nine months here, but he stood quite close, like we knew each other and he was about to tell me a story. He had earbuds in and was obviously listening to music he enjoyed, because he started bopping his head slightly and swaying his hips. This movement became more and more exaggerated until it felt like he was trying to dance with me. I stole a glance with another female passenger and she laughed out loud. I think we looked ridiculous.
Dancing is certainly a part of life here. There are hundreds of dance clubs and it's often seen as a way to top off the evening. I was at a birthday party last month and a oman there claimed she had too much to drink. "I'm going to have to find a club and dance it off," she said. Most people would try to sleep off a buzz, but this is New York.
So while the instant dance party on the subway ride was a little awkward, I let it go. I did however, change cars the next stop.
I was on the subway to Brooklyn one bright, beautiful Sunday and a man came on the subway in a black coat and sunglasses. We shared a pole and stoof facing each other as we rumbled our way downtown. I'm certainly used to being in close proximity to others after nine months here, but he stood quite close, like we knew each other and he was about to tell me a story. He had earbuds in and was obviously listening to music he enjoyed, because he started bopping his head slightly and swaying his hips. This movement became more and more exaggerated until it felt like he was trying to dance with me. I stole a glance with another female passenger and she laughed out loud. I think we looked ridiculous.
Dancing is certainly a part of life here. There are hundreds of dance clubs and it's often seen as a way to top off the evening. I was at a birthday party last month and a oman there claimed she had too much to drink. "I'm going to have to find a club and dance it off," she said. Most people would try to sleep off a buzz, but this is New York.
So while the instant dance party on the subway ride was a little awkward, I let it go. I did however, change cars the next stop.
Run run run...as fast as you can....
The New York City marathon was last weekend and it was a really big deal. I knew it was going to be big when they started putting up fencing in the park five days early - which, incidentally, confused the heck out of my dog. He kept getting stuck between the fences. I would call for him 25 yards ahead only to find him stuck and frustrated.
Another sign that this marathon was rather colossal was when my boss from the upper east side gym I teach at Sunday mornings e-mailed me that she had found me a sub. "You won't make it across the park," she wrote simply. She was right.
I actually saw the marathon in Seattle one year. I was trying, unsuccessfully to get around South Lake Union and they had closed off some of the streets. I remember there were cops directing traffic. As I waited for them to give me the go ahead to pass through the course, I watched the smattering of runners make their way. They looked tired. There were very few people cheering them on - maybe 1/2 a dozen - and the runners outfits of white t-shirts and running shorts were muted and unassuming. It was actually a little quiet.
This is not the marathon scene in New York. The marathon scene in New York consists of waves of thousands upon thousands of runners from all over the world making their collective way through the city. They wear bright colors and costumes, they paint their faces and wave their flags. Marathon runners in New York write their names in bright, decisive strokes across their chest so when people cheer them on, it can be on a first name basis.
Along the path of the marathon, people bring water and snacks to distribute to the runners. Bands play upbeat, energizing music and the entire atmosphere is the unlikely combination of block party and torture chamber. I saw runners limping along the sidelines with pained expressions and runners with bright red, flushed cheeks that looked like they were in the middle of a good cry. Some runners made it look easy, but most, at mile 22, looked ready to give up.
Marathons in general seem a little insane. You don't run the full distance until the day of the race because of the toll it takes on your body. You have to grease down your chest to avoid chaffing of such severity you will bleed through your shirt. Blisters are guaranteed. No part of your body comes away from a marathon undamaged. Marathons are destructive. Yet in New York, the demand to get into the NYC Marathon is so great, there's a lottery. The "winners" get to participate in 26+ miles of hell.
Certainly it's a monumental achievement - a triumph of will. I suppose if forced to do one, New York wouldn't be a bad place to do it. I was talking to my brother about the city the other day and he said when you first leave the airport "the energy of New York City hits you right in the face." So it would be preferable to attempt a marathon in a city with such innate, pulsing energy as opposed to the sweet calm of a place like Seattle. But I don't know.
I think in the years to come my New York City Marathon participation won't involve pinning a number to my chest, but rather cheering on those who do.
Another sign that this marathon was rather colossal was when my boss from the upper east side gym I teach at Sunday mornings e-mailed me that she had found me a sub. "You won't make it across the park," she wrote simply. She was right.
I actually saw the marathon in Seattle one year. I was trying, unsuccessfully to get around South Lake Union and they had closed off some of the streets. I remember there were cops directing traffic. As I waited for them to give me the go ahead to pass through the course, I watched the smattering of runners make their way. They looked tired. There were very few people cheering them on - maybe 1/2 a dozen - and the runners outfits of white t-shirts and running shorts were muted and unassuming. It was actually a little quiet.
This is not the marathon scene in New York. The marathon scene in New York consists of waves of thousands upon thousands of runners from all over the world making their collective way through the city. They wear bright colors and costumes, they paint their faces and wave their flags. Marathon runners in New York write their names in bright, decisive strokes across their chest so when people cheer them on, it can be on a first name basis.
Along the path of the marathon, people bring water and snacks to distribute to the runners. Bands play upbeat, energizing music and the entire atmosphere is the unlikely combination of block party and torture chamber. I saw runners limping along the sidelines with pained expressions and runners with bright red, flushed cheeks that looked like they were in the middle of a good cry. Some runners made it look easy, but most, at mile 22, looked ready to give up.
Marathons in general seem a little insane. You don't run the full distance until the day of the race because of the toll it takes on your body. You have to grease down your chest to avoid chaffing of such severity you will bleed through your shirt. Blisters are guaranteed. No part of your body comes away from a marathon undamaged. Marathons are destructive. Yet in New York, the demand to get into the NYC Marathon is so great, there's a lottery. The "winners" get to participate in 26+ miles of hell.
Certainly it's a monumental achievement - a triumph of will. I suppose if forced to do one, New York wouldn't be a bad place to do it. I was talking to my brother about the city the other day and he said when you first leave the airport "the energy of New York City hits you right in the face." So it would be preferable to attempt a marathon in a city with such innate, pulsing energy as opposed to the sweet calm of a place like Seattle. But I don't know.
I think in the years to come my New York City Marathon participation won't involve pinning a number to my chest, but rather cheering on those who do.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
As part of the White Light Festival, I went to Lincoln Center this weekend and listened to a panel of experts discuss the virtue of silence. The panel was made up of a religious author, who discussed the role of silence in faith and ceremony, a best-selling author who "practiced" silence (every other Monday she's silent...she's done this 18 years), a professor who studied the sociological and cultural implications of silence, and a professor of neuroscience who discussed the physiological effects of science on the brain.
I thought this was an interesting topic to tackle in a city that has so little silence as part of its genetic code. It was like having a panel on strip malls or laziness; exploring a topic rather foreign to a typical New Yorker.
The panel spoke of the importance of silence in daily life. They described silence as the space in our lives; the tool that helps orient ourselves in the density of constant noise. Without silence we can't put the noise we experience - however the noise is externalized - in perspective. I thought this was fascinating. If there's one thing New Yorkers lack even more than silence, it's space. Perhaps silence is a way for us to create space in a city that has none.
But how do you find silence in New York? In addition to the audible assault of honking horns, wailing sirens, rumbling trains, and the chatter of nine million - New York is filled with another type of noise - the uproar created by incessant stimulation. I have never felt so bombarded by messaging as I have since moving here. Information is everywhere. You can check your stocks on reader boards scrolling across Times Square, the subway is covered from floor to ceiling in posters, people rattle off information at you rather than to you, in every cab there are TVs within and billboards on top, and still it's not enough - half of the people you pass on the street walk or ride with their nose in their smart phones...the flash and grind of messages are unending . At times it feels impossible to escape. Is it any wonder our yoga classes are packed? People are so desperate for a period of silence, they'll make room in their lives and pay good money to find it even in its most generic and transient forms.
As a result of this rapid-fire messaging, New Yorkers process and dispense data quickly and with little patience. This city is too big - there's too much diverse data at our fingertips - to really delve into the complexities of a single subject, we'd rather skim on the surface. From house parties to elevators, New Yorkers want to know what you think on a variety of subjects in 3 words or less - they don't have time for much more. Conversations veer from Bloomberg to Afghanistan to the future of Green Peace within a blink of an eye and you are expected to keep up. In a sense, New Yorkers value breadth rather than depth.
This all makes sense for a city that moves fast and prides itself on compression. But where, in this cacophony of data, streaming information, and other noise, can a typical New Yorker find silence? It's not easy - and perhaps they don't want to.
New Yorkers have gotten pretty good at avoiding it. People in general often don't want to uncover what's lurking in the depths of silence. What's hidden in the murk under the constant noise that perpetuates our every day. What's hidden in that void could be feeling of inadequacy, questioning, doubt, the struggle to deal with our own morality. We fear what will rise up when we make the space for silence. It's no wonder we reach out for constant stimulation. We use this constant stimulation as drug - to ward off hte depression that may lurk just under the surface, and theree seems to be no bigger users than New Yorkers and no bigger pusher than New York itself. New York, in essence, is one big distraction from silence.
So where can I find my silence? I guess that's one of the reasons I wake up at such an early hour every day. I know this is the city that doesn't sleep, but somehow the hour between 5 and 6 on a weekday morning is pretty darn quiet. There are no honking horns, no crowded sidewalks. I often walk to the park or the gym without seeing another soul.
The park I guess is my sanctimony. It's the one constant in my time here and something i wouldn't trade for anything. The dog is an excuse, but I wake up every morning and head to the park with other dog owners as most New Yorkers are hitting the snooze button or fighting the crowds, already deep into their commute. I walk around the aptly named great lawn, I take in the weather, the changing seasons reflected in the dense trees that surround the park, and occasionally exchange a glance with my puppy. I run into other dog owners and we'll make small talk, but many mornings, we'll say nothing at all. And that silence, like the sunrise we often see over the skyline that early in the morning, is truly golden.
I thought this was an interesting topic to tackle in a city that has so little silence as part of its genetic code. It was like having a panel on strip malls or laziness; exploring a topic rather foreign to a typical New Yorker.
The panel spoke of the importance of silence in daily life. They described silence as the space in our lives; the tool that helps orient ourselves in the density of constant noise. Without silence we can't put the noise we experience - however the noise is externalized - in perspective. I thought this was fascinating. If there's one thing New Yorkers lack even more than silence, it's space. Perhaps silence is a way for us to create space in a city that has none.
But how do you find silence in New York? In addition to the audible assault of honking horns, wailing sirens, rumbling trains, and the chatter of nine million - New York is filled with another type of noise - the uproar created by incessant stimulation. I have never felt so bombarded by messaging as I have since moving here. Information is everywhere. You can check your stocks on reader boards scrolling across Times Square, the subway is covered from floor to ceiling in posters, people rattle off information at you rather than to you, in every cab there are TVs within and billboards on top, and still it's not enough - half of the people you pass on the street walk or ride with their nose in their smart phones...the flash and grind of messages are unending . At times it feels impossible to escape. Is it any wonder our yoga classes are packed? People are so desperate for a period of silence, they'll make room in their lives and pay good money to find it even in its most generic and transient forms.
As a result of this rapid-fire messaging, New Yorkers process and dispense data quickly and with little patience. This city is too big - there's too much diverse data at our fingertips - to really delve into the complexities of a single subject, we'd rather skim on the surface. From house parties to elevators, New Yorkers want to know what you think on a variety of subjects in 3 words or less - they don't have time for much more. Conversations veer from Bloomberg to Afghanistan to the future of Green Peace within a blink of an eye and you are expected to keep up. In a sense, New Yorkers value breadth rather than depth.
This all makes sense for a city that moves fast and prides itself on compression. But where, in this cacophony of data, streaming information, and other noise, can a typical New Yorker find silence? It's not easy - and perhaps they don't want to.
New Yorkers have gotten pretty good at avoiding it. People in general often don't want to uncover what's lurking in the depths of silence. What's hidden in the murk under the constant noise that perpetuates our every day. What's hidden in that void could be feeling of inadequacy, questioning, doubt, the struggle to deal with our own morality. We fear what will rise up when we make the space for silence. It's no wonder we reach out for constant stimulation. We use this constant stimulation as drug - to ward off hte depression that may lurk just under the surface, and theree seems to be no bigger users than New Yorkers and no bigger pusher than New York itself. New York, in essence, is one big distraction from silence.
So where can I find my silence? I guess that's one of the reasons I wake up at such an early hour every day. I know this is the city that doesn't sleep, but somehow the hour between 5 and 6 on a weekday morning is pretty darn quiet. There are no honking horns, no crowded sidewalks. I often walk to the park or the gym without seeing another soul.
The park I guess is my sanctimony. It's the one constant in my time here and something i wouldn't trade for anything. The dog is an excuse, but I wake up every morning and head to the park with other dog owners as most New Yorkers are hitting the snooze button or fighting the crowds, already deep into their commute. I walk around the aptly named great lawn, I take in the weather, the changing seasons reflected in the dense trees that surround the park, and occasionally exchange a glance with my puppy. I run into other dog owners and we'll make small talk, but many mornings, we'll say nothing at all. And that silence, like the sunrise we often see over the skyline that early in the morning, is truly golden.
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