Leaving the New York Bubble

If you really want to observe how New York has had an impact on your life, leave it.

I don't merely mean take the Q to Brooklyn or the LIRR to Montauk, but escape the New York bubble. To do that, you usually need to get on a plane, or a long train ride, or an even longer bus ride or an even even longer car ride.

I did not realize how important this step is in the whole "moving to New York from someplace out of New York" process, by my recent 5-day trip to Denver made me understand the city from a more enlightened perspective.

I have only lived here for about six months -- half a year if you want to think about it that way. Long enough to feel established and grow some short roots but short enough to still completely flounder at the awe of the city's magnanimosity, my time here has convinced my lifestyle that it needs to adapt in ways my brain didn't even acknowledge.

Exhibit A: Denver International Airport (DIA) uses an underground tram system to connect the three concourses with the main terminal and baggage claim. Within five minutes of disembarking the plane on Mile-High soil, I found myself face to face with a tram about as crowded as the R train on a Tuesday night at 9:45 p.m. (before most of the major shows let out but early enough so those leaving the comedy performances and the earlier plays care pining to get home). There was definitely room. But I was not going to succumb to the stubbornness of the weary travelers who would rather have their two feet of circum-personal space than let me on. Without a thought (all of this analysis came after), I pushed on, found a grab bar and awaited my baggage claim stop. Then came the thinking -- "Wow, that was really New York of me!"

Exhibit B: I dare any New Yorker to step into a suburban supermarket (not just a grocery store or a market but a SUPERmarket) and not feel envious. Even if all you eat are frozen Hungry Man dinners of mashed potatoes and Salisbury steak and don't care about the selection of fresh, pure produce, you would still feel jealous of the significantly lower prices. Aisle after aisle, frozen food freezer after deli counter, prepared food bar after produce racks (complete with those misters which make a "thunder" noise before turning on), cheese cooler after organic food section, sample table after fresh fish department, I stood enamored at what I was missing out on. Sure there is Whole Foods, the cult market of Manhattan, but have you seen the inflated prices there? Just to satisfy my urge for suburban SUPERmarket greatness in New York, I bought a box of scrumptious, juicy blueberries for $1 and two California avocadoes (the only true avocado) also for $1 each. Call it gluttony if you want, but I love my fresh produce.

Lastly, Exhibit C: Since moving to Manhattan, I've developed my already keen sense of direction to one in which I think of almost everything in terms of North, South, East and West. With a grid system like ours, it's so easy to find your way around; except when you go below Houston, I'm a little rickety. However, when you take away the grid, the park, the water, boy, I have no idea which way is up. At DIA, I finally figured out which side of the terminal I should tell my Aunt to pick me up by figuring out that I could not see the Rocky Mountains in any direction so I must be facing east. If you haven't figured it out, I use landmarks a lot. Perhaps a few more months of internal compass training in New York should do the trick of fine tuning my sense of direction enough not to get me lost in other parts of the world.

[Random NY fact: Manhattan doesn't exactly run due north to due south. The island is slightly slanted to the East. So when you walk up 5th Avenue, you actually head northeast instead of due north like you would think. Ssssh! Don't tell anyone though or you might be the enemy of many pedestrians. New Yorkers have adapted faithful directions to fit their needs.]

So get out New Yorkers, out I say! Then come back. Don't forget to share your renewed perspectives with me. Remember, you can only really appreciate what you have until you see both what you and others are missing out on.








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The Subway Celebrity

I had a whole other plan for my blog today.

I was going to talk about this generation’s incessant use of headphones. I was going to write about how we’ll all likely go deaf either from listening to headphones or from listening to other people listen to headphones. I was drafting it in my mind.

Then, about five minutes before I had to start drafting and start pouring coffee and refilling printer paper in my office, I saw her. That rounded-corner square button made of a silver-toned metal placed on the back center of a white trench coat. I saw it yesterday too!

Thus begins my continuation of last post’s subway characters…

In college, I used to think about the concept of “sidewalk celebrities.” At Boston University, most of your traveling happens on foot on…the sidewalks. I would see some of the same people every day, twice a week, or maybe just once in a blue moon, but something about them stuck out – the crazy rainbow-hair girl, the skateboard guy who would always hang out on a particular set of stairs, and the Care Bear backpack girl. After seeing them regularly, I would give them names like that.

Now, BU is a big school, but New York is a MUCH BIGGER city. What are the odds that I would see the same person twice two days in a row!? According to the July 1, 2006 census, there were 8,250,567 people living in New York City and according to the MTA’s Website, New York’s annual subway ridership is 1.563 billion. You can do the math.

Granted, apparently rounded-corner-square-button-made-of-silver-toned-metal girl and I do ride the same subway at the same time and get off at the same stop (49^th Street NRW downtown train at about 5 to 9:00 a.m. in case you were wondering), but still, there must be thousands of others with the same commute.

According to the July 1, 2006 census, there were 8,250,567 people living in New York City and according to the MTA’s Website, New York’s annual subway ridership is 1.563 billion. You can do the math.

What I find interesting, is with this celebrity, I don’t even know what her face looks like – just the button. So if she ever switches up coats, her celebrity status will be gone to me.

Here’s another example. Before I get on the N-R-W at 59^th St. every morning, I have to ride the 6 train from my apartment at 96^th Street, and of course back again every afternoon. Three times now in less than three months I have seen the beep-boxing, smile encouraging, Da-doo-run-running duo of old homeless men singing, dancing and asking for money on the 6 train. They must target a certain demographic with their oldies tunes, but I always find them entertaining. Of course I realize they go out of their way to be heard and recognized (unlike my button girl), but still what are the chances that I end up on the same train and the same car as this duo? I’m not going to find out the math, but I’d say slim.

What is different about subway/sidewalk celebrities from regular celebrities is that only you know about them. Well, you and maybe a few others. But on the scale of someone like Madonna, Angelina Jolie and well, need I say Sarah Palin, your celebrities just don’t have the popularity. That’s the cool part though, and if it gets you through your morning and afternoon commutes, even better.

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The Subway Elite

Hailing originally from a suburb north of Los Angeles, California – a city teeming with the rich and famous – I find myself curious underneath the streets of Manhattan? Could Mr. Sweaty Armpits standing above me be a “somebody”? Wall Street gurus’s get pit stains too, I think.

I live on the Upper East Side. I work in Times Square. I ride the subway a lot. To top it off, I have to take two different lines to travel two and from work, so that doubles my exposure to weary underground travelers.

Whereas Los Angeles’ famous people are usually in someway tied to Hollywood, New York City is dynamic because it’s famous people can be Broadway or movie stars, provocative journalists, corporate CEOs or the aforementioned Wall Street gurus. (I’ll be nice to the guru’s since they’ve been receiving the bad end of the stick lately).

When you ride the subway, first of all, you are not even acknowledged unless you are rude or you happen to be in someone’s way. However, one thing New Yorkers are good at is giving up a seat for someone who needs it. People are especially generous for pregnant women, and boy have I seen a lot of them. Maybe New Yorkers reproduce more than other major cities. I’d have to check that statistic. Anyway, so maybe you are acknowledged for five seconds, but that is no way near enough time to truly make a connection with someone (hence why the Craigslist missed connections feature is popular with many).

Bringing back the comparison, Los Angeles’ elite are people you’d want to pass on the street to say you saw them, but New York’s elite could really make a difference to your life. Well, at least from the point of view of a young, recent college grad like me. I majored in environmental science and minored in journalism. If I happened to meet an exec. from Scientific American or Discovery Magazine or even the New York Times Science Section and they liked me, WAM BAM, I could land my dream job. Alas, you can’t really know unless someone wrote their name and profession in Sharpie on their forehead.

I’m the type to strike up a conversation with my neighbor on an airplane. I like how the interaction passes the time and I’ve met some interesting people over the years. However, I think people would think me as strange as my roommate did when I tried to humanely capture and release the cockroach inhabiting our bathroom if I tried to strike up friendly talk on the 6 Train.

I hope I’m not conveying the idea that I’m some naïve girl from California who wants to be happy and friendly with everyone, even if I am a new New Yorker. I have definitely had my fare share of creep experiences on the Subway in the two months I’ve lived here. Just the other day I was stared down by a man with a red gash under his eye. It wasn’t so much a malicious stare, but I think he was just trying to freak me out. Every time I looked up, there were his eyes. Come to think of it, I don’t really remember him blinking. Of course I’ve also shared a “holding bar” (what are those things called exactly?) with likely prostitutes, bank robbers and drug dealers. But hey, that’s the big city for you.

Even so, amid all of us thousands of normal people, Manhattan’s elite must be there. They can’t all be taking cabs and limos to work everyday. I’ll let you know when I find mine.

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