This morning I grabbed my book and wandered down the street to my local Jewish Deli. I grabbed a booth as far away from the whimpering child and one table away from a man who looked a lot like a young Bill Cosby. The waiter poured me a cup of strong, hot coffee in one of those off-white ceramic mugs whose handles always seem to crowd my fingers and scorch my knuckles. I ordered the eggs and onions with a side of hash browns and an onion bagel with cream cheese.
The only difference in my routine? I did all this in Berkeley, California not Brooklyn, New York.
I've been casting about for how best to transition Flygal76 from a blog about life in New York City to one about life in the Bay Area of California... and this morning I realized that some things, like brunch at your local Jewish Deli, just transition themselves!
I mean, it's not like I'm moving to a farm in Nebraska (thank God), Berkeley's a lot like Park Slope, Brooklyn: lots of kids and parents; lots of places to eat good food; plenty of community-oriented people; and did I mention the good food?
Life in Berkeley differs from Brooklyn in some important respects though: my commute is 20 minutes walking instead of 45 minutes on the subway so no more evil subway eye (yea!); no more encounters with tragic hipsters in Union Square subway station, the people I encounter on my commute now are Cal students and those Berkeley residents who make their home on Shattuck Ave (though 7:45 AM is a bit early for both).
Overall, life is pretty good so far. I can walk to the Cheeseboard (a worker owned cooperative that sells cheese (natch) and fancy-pants pizza); the original Peet's Coffee; Love at First Bite, a cupcake shop with all the flavor and none of the celebrity of Magnolia; and three grocery stores that sell, natural, organic free-range, free-love goodies at a fraction of the price of "Gross-tedes" and "Food Extortion" in New York.
I have a garden, as the Brits would say, so I'm planting native California plants in the hopes that the hummingbirds and butterflies I've seen buzzing around others' gardens will find their way into mine and entertain me and my cat. Gone are the fire escape gardens with under watered plants turned to ashtrays.
I even have a dishwasher, washer and dryer. It's like moving into the Barbie Dream House of my Youth... I even have a Ken arriving in 5 days!
Despite my initial euphoria, I'm sure that the Bay Area with its smug environmentalism, and liberalism will get on this jaded east coaster's nerves. So if my first Pollyanna-ish post disappoints you, stay tuned, I'm sure I'll return to the snarky posts of yore.
Showing posts with label evil subway eye. Show all posts
Showing posts with label evil subway eye. Show all posts
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Thursday, May 10, 2007
City Slalom
Monday's I Can't Believe It's Science discussed a few recent "science-ish" articles including one by Richard Wiseman, a University of Hertfordshire psychologist, that found world-wide walking speeds have increased since the last such study in 1997.
I have no trouble believing that in our increasingly 24/7 society, where we're multitasking and trying to be in 3 places at once ,we've picked up the pace and are getting there faster than we did just 10 years ago. After all, 10 years ago, cell phones were big clunky things, blackberries were fruit that you ate and email was only good for sending around unix-based lewd jokes, or that 's what it was used for at my college at least... I feel so old.
The part of the article that surprised me was that New York City was only the 6th fastest city in the world. Working in midtown I think that we're fairly fast walkers, especially in the Rockefeller Concourse... if you're not careful you'll get flattened by some snooty-looking ad executive wearing 4 inch heels and through some miracle of biomechanics power walking to get to where ever ad executives have to go.
So although I was first surprised that Singapore (really? Singapore? Maybe they really are an Asian Tiger force to be reckoned with like The Economist says... those fast walking Singhs) had garnered first place, I soon recalled that not all those who walk in New York are (a) New Yorkers and (b) fast walkers.
To address these annoyingly slow walkers, Time Out New York, the obsessive guide to compulsive entertainment, took matters into their own hands. Dressing up like oversexed meter maids, they handed out tickets to individuals guilty of the following infractions:
I have no trouble believing that in our increasingly 24/7 society, where we're multitasking and trying to be in 3 places at once ,we've picked up the pace and are getting there faster than we did just 10 years ago. After all, 10 years ago, cell phones were big clunky things, blackberries were fruit that you ate and email was only good for sending around unix-based lewd jokes, or that 's what it was used for at my college at least... I feel so old.
The part of the article that surprised me was that New York City was only the 6th fastest city in the world. Working in midtown I think that we're fairly fast walkers, especially in the Rockefeller Concourse... if you're not careful you'll get flattened by some snooty-looking ad executive wearing 4 inch heels and through some miracle of biomechanics power walking to get to where ever ad executives have to go.
So although I was first surprised that Singapore (really? Singapore? Maybe they really are an Asian Tiger force to be reckoned with like The Economist says... those fast walking Singhs) had garnered first place, I soon recalled that not all those who walk in New York are (a) New Yorkers and (b) fast walkers.
To address these annoyingly slow walkers, Time Out New York, the obsessive guide to compulsive entertainment, took matters into their own hands. Dressing up like oversexed meter maids, they handed out tickets to individuals guilty of the following infractions:- Walking too slowly in a crowded area
- Stopping in an inconvenient place
- Blocking pedestrian traffic by walking side by side in a group of three or more
- Irritating use of cell phone
- Stopping at the top of the stairs in a subway station (Great quote from the article: "Where is Wooster? Hint: not at the top of the stairs")
- Other (I think this category could be extended to the tourists who sling their H&M bags willy-nilly and who are generally recipients of the evil sidewalk eye*)
It seems clear to me that in order to be contenders for 2017's award for fastest walking city, New Yorkers are going to have to get serious about enforcement of the afore mentioned moving (or failure to move) violations. You can download your own spiffy citations like the one pictured at the link above. So get out there and show those annoying foot draggers that we won't stand for their leisurely strolls down 5th Avenue, or any other avenue!
*see evil subway eye
Monday, December 04, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
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.
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.
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