Attention hipsters

The great thing about having a blog is that I can rant as much as I want when I want and where I want (assuming it's close to a computer). I invoke this privilege today to recount my commuting experience this morning and to issue advice to all those tragically hip New Yorkers who cross my path.

I normally don't leave the confines of the N train during the morning rush until my appointed stop, but this morning, in an effort to shop at Trader Joe's before the hoards descended upon it, I hopped off the train at Union Square just after 9:00 AM.

Union Square, where the yellow trains, green trains and grey L train converge, is a mad house at any time of day and is especially intimidating at 9:00 AM when all the people with "serious jobs" have been at work for an hour or more and those left commuting are the aimless, oblivious commuters who don't have to be at work till 9:30 or 10:00. (Apologies to those diligent commuters with flexible schedules for lumping you into the latter category.)

It was in this setting that I encountered my first tragic hipster of the day. I more wove around him than encountered him, really, seeing as how he was WANDERING AIMLESSLY ON THE SUBWAY PLATFORM! Come on! You're in the subway station, that implies intent to RIDE A SUBWAY TRAIN. You've got the express to your right, the local to the left, JUST PICK ONE AND GET OUT OF MY F***ING WAY!

Of course I said none of this, being the gentile southern lady I am (heh). I just grumbled about f***ing hipsters and went on my way. But thinking back on this guy I'm really bugged by the pervasive trait that all the tragic hipsters seem to share: those enormous f***ing aviator sunglasses. Have you noticed that irrespective of weather, temperature, and most annoyingly, location, the aviators are always donned, the hair is always shaggy and those retarded looking military hats are always on their heads (except when replaced by the equally annoying newsboy hats).

Maybe that's why this poor kid was wandering aimlessly on the Union Square platform, he couldn't see through his hip yet impractical sunglasses to determine which train he should get on. Was that it? Or was it that he had the sunglasses on to hide his bloodshot eyes from the harsh neon lights of the subway platform?

Either way, hipsters of New York, let's be practical. You don't live in Miami, LA, San Tropez or any of the other well-lit destinations that might necessitate consistent wearing of aviator sunglasses. You live in New York City where 7 million people miraculously manage to live together without doing each other serious bodily harm (at least not on a regular basis). And you, hip though you are, must do your part to maintain this ecosystem.

So while I realize that you take a great deal of pride in your appearance and have invested heavily in your plaid and corduroy wardrobe, please think for a moment about how your utter oblivion to the world around you may piss off those of us who are not quite as hip as you.

And take off your sunglasses inside for f**k's sake.

Thanks to The Fed, Columbia's subversive newspaper, for the hipster guide. It's worth looking at the full size picture here.

Would you like coffee with your Evil Subway Eye?

On a recent morning as my train crossed the Manhattan Bridge and I gleefully anticipated filling the seat my mark was about to vacate, a small subway drama unfolded across the car.

To set the scene, I was at the end of the car, facing a very "local" man sitting down in the right seat of a two-seater next to the train door. A young hipster was standing next to him drinking a cup of coffee.

I was reading my New Yorker across the car when I suddenly heard the local man exclaim, "Whaddaya think this is a f***ing cafeteria?" The hipster looked like he very much thought that this was definitely not a cafeteria, and that he was about to get his ass kicked. He apologized softly as the local guy mopped the 5 drops of coffee off his shirt. The local guy continued to grumble about how the hipster ruined his shirt (which if you ask me, the coffee stain was an improvement) and flashed the uncomfortable looking hipster the evil subway eye.

You may think at this point that I'm extremely uncaring about the plight of the working man and am an advocate for hipster rights, but you're wrong. I think that hipsters are a next step in the evolution of the annoying girls with big bangs with whom I went to middle school who became the annoying partiers I went to college with who drunkenly pulled the fire alarm at 3 AM on a Sunday morning. I'm a big fan of local Brooklynites, especially the ones who have been there since before Brooklyn became "hip." I love listening in on their conversations at the local laundromat. Their lives are so different from mine, somehow more "real" and less plastic than my own burgeoning yuppie existence.

But in this case, I had to pity the hipster and turn my evil subway eye to the local guy. I mean, really, it's 8:00 in the morning, and we're all a bit annoyed to be schlepping into work. Could you cut the guy some slack? And the subway looks in no way like a cafeteria! I mean is that really the best disparaging remark he could come up with? And seriously, his shirt looked like it was purchased circa 1985 and, as I mentioned above, the coffee was really an improvement.

In my view, you've gotta feel bad to the hipster trying desperately to get his morning caffeine boost so that he can face another day of his youth, knowing all the while that 25 looms like a large gray cloud over his head. That one day, dressing in corduroy pants, plaid shirts, jaunty hats, slouching and badly needing a haircut will no longer be a viable option. That he'll have to grow up, get a haircut and perhaps do something more productive with his Saturday afternoons than hanging out in Williamsburg discussing the greatness of Iron and Wine and experiencing the existential angst that only comes from wearing a jaunty hat and sipping over-priced microbrews.

Though perhaps equally angsty and yet ultimately thrilling was the hipster's nearly-averted early morning ass kicking drama that I observed. Ah, commuting! still better than the Metro red line in DC.

Commuter Profiling

As a rider of the D train from Brooklyn to Manhattan, I am faced with a daily dilemma: will I find a seat or will my feet fall off by the time I get to work? It's not that I wear uncomfortable shoes, I'm basically a Dansko/Aerosoles (especially now that they have cute styles) wearing freak, yet even for the most comfortable shoes standing for the entirety of my 45 minute commute is something of a challenge.

Being the creative problem solver that I am, I've found that the best way to find a seat is to engage in the much-maligned practice of racial profiling. I don't feel good about it, yet, my feet thank me daily for doing it.

This profiling begins when I transfer to the D at Atlantic/Pacific Street in Brooklyn. As I board the train, I glance purposefully at those seated... and if I'm lucky, I find a unassuming Asian man or women, usually frumpy - not hip, to stand in front of. One subway stop later, if I've guessed correctly, these targeted riders abandon their seats disembarking at Grand Street in Chinatown.

Over the past four months since I began this commute, I've become better at recognizing who gets off at Grand Street than those who disembark! One morning I tagged a small Asian man as a likely Grand Street disembarker and was surprised when he failed to get off there. However, one stop later at Broadway/Lafayette he looked up, confused, and got off the train. Perhaps I should just start nudging the riders I think should get off... they'll probably thank me, or just give me the evil subway eye*.

*The "evil subway eye" refers to that look given by one subway rider to another that says, "die mother***er." The ESE is commonly given for stealing a seat in which another rider intended to sit, for talking loudly, for playing an iPod loudly, or for just being a tourist.