My first stop this morning is the dry cleaners. Its starts to rain just as I exit the building and by the time I get there I am completely soaked. For a moment, I entertain the notion of just taking off my shirt and adding it to the pile I've dumped on the counter, but better judgment quickly settles in and I leave fully clothed.
I need to stop back at my building and find the super to let him know the fire department was over last night and that the stove, allegedly leaking carbon monoxide, needs to be replaced. I don't find him, but I do head back upstairs to grab an umbrella. An older gentleman, seeing me in the elevator asks - not ironically, sarcastically, or jokingly - if I happen to know whether it's still raining or not.
Back in my apartment I don't even bother to change out of my clothes, because I am rushing to get to a meeting on time. I head back downstairs, to the station, and on to the platform. It's hot and muggy as usual, and I do not think I will be dry by the time I get to the office.
Sitting on a bench waiting for the train is a young woman in a short gray dress, adorned with flower-patterned lace along the bottom. It makes me jealous that I must wear business clothes on such a hot day. There is a birthmark on her right ear.
On the train there are no seats and it's too tight and crowded to even take out my Sudoku book. Luckily, I have a spot next to the door, so at least I have something to lean on. I look out the glass windows as the train pulls away and then look down at my wet clothes, and I remember an email about the meeting I'm rushing to. It was postponed.
Friday, July 31
Wednesday, July 29
Quiet Time
After a traumatic experience with a palmetto earlier this morning, I am not particularly overjoyed at the thought of yet another morning commute. The mugginess in the air does not help. On the way to the station I walk behind a young Hispanic girl in denim jeans and Ked-like shoes. She's wearing a blue jersey with "Posadas" printed across the back, and I wonder if it's a tribute to the capital city of the Misiones Province in Argentina, or to the famous Trotskyist Juan Posadas.
Inside the station I see Esther B. and Jenny R. talking at the bottom of the steps and join them just as the train pulls in. Rabbi B. is also there and he nods to me when I wave hello. I sit next to Esther and Jenny, and Jenny points towards the other end of the car where Aviel T. is sitting, not far from another familiar neighborhood face. I don't know him, but Esther tells me his name is Ariel. When she says "Ariel," I think she's referring to "Aviel" and I correct her but she repeats "Ariel". His name is Aviel, I say. She says no, the one in the blue shirt is Ariel, but Aviel and Ariel are both wearing blue. Eventually we sort it out.
Jenny asks where I work but like most people has never heard of the company and can't pronounce the name, so I give her my business card. She works downtown on the East side and loves her job. I notice that she is wearing a red headband that nicely matches her red handbag, which is draped over her black jumper. Esther is wearing a black top and a green sweater but I can't see her skirt at all because she has laid several books across her lap. We are not allowed to talk anymore, she says, because she has to study, lest her professor call on her during class. I protest, but she seems exceedingly tense so I let it go and turn to my Sudoku book to pass the time.
I get off at 59th and say goodbye to Jenny and Esther, and wiz by Aviva P. on the platform as I walk towards my spot.
Inside the station I see Esther B. and Jenny R. talking at the bottom of the steps and join them just as the train pulls in. Rabbi B. is also there and he nods to me when I wave hello. I sit next to Esther and Jenny, and Jenny points towards the other end of the car where Aviel T. is sitting, not far from another familiar neighborhood face. I don't know him, but Esther tells me his name is Ariel. When she says "Ariel," I think she's referring to "Aviel" and I correct her but she repeats "Ariel". His name is Aviel, I say. She says no, the one in the blue shirt is Ariel, but Aviel and Ariel are both wearing blue. Eventually we sort it out.
Jenny asks where I work but like most people has never heard of the company and can't pronounce the name, so I give her my business card. She works downtown on the East side and loves her job. I notice that she is wearing a red headband that nicely matches her red handbag, which is draped over her black jumper. Esther is wearing a black top and a green sweater but I can't see her skirt at all because she has laid several books across her lap. We are not allowed to talk anymore, she says, because she has to study, lest her professor call on her during class. I protest, but she seems exceedingly tense so I let it go and turn to my Sudoku book to pass the time.
I get off at 59th and say goodbye to Jenny and Esther, and wiz by Aviva P. on the platform as I walk towards my spot.
Tuesday, July 28
Dry Roll
It's so late, I haven't got the time to put my lenses on, let alone make breakfast or stop to pick anything up. I grab a roll on my way out the door. It's not stale, but old enough to be dry on the palette and as I bite into it, on the elevator, I am infused with thirst. Unperturbed, I am done with the entire roll by the time I exit the building.
Under the scaffolding at 110 Bennett, I see one of my neighbors and he nods good morning. Behind me there is an Orthodox Jewish woman talking loudly into her phone, in Russian. Ruchama J. drives by in her sedan. She slows down to turn the corner, and waves when she sees me.
When I get onto the train a few minutes later I sit next to a pretty Latin girl in a black top with elbow length sleeves. She is wearing jeans, casual loafers, and hoop earrings, and her dark hair is pushed back into a pony tail. The roll I've devoured is just starting to digest and I can still smell the onion and garlic from the everything bagel she is eating. I am jealous of her coffee too, and debate, as I get closer to the office, if I'll risk the extra two minutes of tardiness it will take to get my own little latte.
Under the scaffolding at 110 Bennett, I see one of my neighbors and he nods good morning. Behind me there is an Orthodox Jewish woman talking loudly into her phone, in Russian. Ruchama J. drives by in her sedan. She slows down to turn the corner, and waves when she sees me.
When I get onto the train a few minutes later I sit next to a pretty Latin girl in a black top with elbow length sleeves. She is wearing jeans, casual loafers, and hoop earrings, and her dark hair is pushed back into a pony tail. The roll I've devoured is just starting to digest and I can still smell the onion and garlic from the everything bagel she is eating. I am jealous of her coffee too, and debate, as I get closer to the office, if I'll risk the extra two minutes of tardiness it will take to get my own little latte.
Different
Today is different, as I'm off to the Jersey office. I still need to take the A, but I'm heading all the way downtown to the World Trade Center and from there onto the PATH to Jersey City.
I stroll into the A station and notice right away that the homeless guy, his girlfriend, his cart, and even his chair are all gone. It's probably no coincidence that there is a police officer stationed here today. I walk through the turnstile and down to the platform, and find a seat on one of the benches. There's aren't too many people here, which means I've just missed a train.
Nomi G. walks over to say hi and startles me as I'm typing emails on my blackberry. We chat for a moment but she needs to go say the morning prayers. Headphone Guy walks by just as she's leaving. He's really Eli D. but in my head I call him Headphone Guy because I see him on the subway all the time wearing cartoonishly large headphones. They are noise cancelling headphones, and undoubtedly good ones, but they are too big for anyone smaller than Andre the Giant. I'd like to suggest to him that he replace them with a good sound-blocking headset, which will work just as well and is far more attractive. It surprises me that today he is not wearing his headphones.
I board the train and find a seat. Next to there is a man with a button down shirt and brown pants. His eyebrows are extraneously thick for a man his age. He is holding a newspaper, which he does not read, and a thermos, which is open but from which he does not drink. Only when we reach 125th Street does he finally screw the lid back on, fold the paper, and exit the train.
The man with the thick eyebrows is replaced by an adorable little boy with dark skin and neatly cropped hair. He is wearing a tuxedo shirt, with black pants and shiny black shoes. His white sox, adorned with thin black stripes, would seem out of place on any adult in the same outfit but for the little boy it simple adds cuteness.
I am finally on the PATH train. I like the PATH, even though I often get confused finding the right track, because it is cleaner than the NYC subway and less crowded during my commute. The other thing I like about the PATH is that I've never run into anyone I know on the PATH and it provides 15 minutes of guaranteed solace. Or at least it used to. Headphone Guy, still sans headphones, is sitting just a few seats over.
I stroll into the A station and notice right away that the homeless guy, his girlfriend, his cart, and even his chair are all gone. It's probably no coincidence that there is a police officer stationed here today. I walk through the turnstile and down to the platform, and find a seat on one of the benches. There's aren't too many people here, which means I've just missed a train.
Nomi G. walks over to say hi and startles me as I'm typing emails on my blackberry. We chat for a moment but she needs to go say the morning prayers. Headphone Guy walks by just as she's leaving. He's really Eli D. but in my head I call him Headphone Guy because I see him on the subway all the time wearing cartoonishly large headphones. They are noise cancelling headphones, and undoubtedly good ones, but they are too big for anyone smaller than Andre the Giant. I'd like to suggest to him that he replace them with a good sound-blocking headset, which will work just as well and is far more attractive. It surprises me that today he is not wearing his headphones.
I board the train and find a seat. Next to there is a man with a button down shirt and brown pants. His eyebrows are extraneously thick for a man his age. He is holding a newspaper, which he does not read, and a thermos, which is open but from which he does not drink. Only when we reach 125th Street does he finally screw the lid back on, fold the paper, and exit the train.
The man with the thick eyebrows is replaced by an adorable little boy with dark skin and neatly cropped hair. He is wearing a tuxedo shirt, with black pants and shiny black shoes. His white sox, adorned with thin black stripes, would seem out of place on any adult in the same outfit but for the little boy it simple adds cuteness.
I am finally on the PATH train. I like the PATH, even though I often get confused finding the right track, because it is cleaner than the NYC subway and less crowded during my commute. The other thing I like about the PATH is that I've never run into anyone I know on the PATH and it provides 15 minutes of guaranteed solace. Or at least it used to. Headphone Guy, still sans headphones, is sitting just a few seats over.
Friday, July 24
Missing Breakfast
There's an early meeting at work and so I've made sure to be on time today. On my way out the building a neighbor waves and says good morning, and a few minutes later I see Ezra F. on Bennett Ave. I'm invited to dinner tonight, to some friends who live on Magaw Place, and I know he's invited as well, but not sure if he knows that I am or that I know that he is.
Up ahead at the corner I can see Adam E. walking with his child and a few seconds later I bump into Henry R. Henry was vice president of the local synagogue when I served on its board of trustees. I like him and have a lot respect for him, and I am also very friendly with some of his children. He waves and says good morning as I pass him by.
On the platform I run into Tova K. and for the second time this week, we ride together on the train. As we sit and start to chat, I notice Emily L. seated further up, at least 15 feet away. One stop later Emily sees me too. She shouts hellos and good mornings and what ups from across the subway car. I shout back and we try to converse this way but it quickly becomes apparent that this is painfully irritating to other passengers.
I return to my chat with Tova and we continue the discussion about relationships from the other day, particularly about lifelong decisions and lifelong regrets. We also talk about the recent crime wave in NJ and a girls camp upstate. She tells me she is visiting her brother this weekend, who lives in a 17th story pad, and then asks about my thumb ring. Is it the same idea as a pinky ring? I balk at the comparison. Thumb rings were essential to archery in ancient and middle times, protecting the archer's thumb from the rebound of the bow. She is surprised I am still wearing it after all this time.
When I get off at 59th, Emily and I find each other and we catch up a bit. She looks tired and tells me it's because her neighbors have been noisy and because the sun light creaks into her room early in the morning. I suggest light-blocking blinds and say goodbye when we reach my stop.
Exiting the station at 47th, I go to Milk and Honey for a bagel with cream cheese and my morning coffee. There's a lot on mind today, and its earlier than usual, which may help explain why I've left the store and am already on 5th Avenue empty handed. I've paid for my breakfast but left it on the counter.
Up ahead at the corner I can see Adam E. walking with his child and a few seconds later I bump into Henry R. Henry was vice president of the local synagogue when I served on its board of trustees. I like him and have a lot respect for him, and I am also very friendly with some of his children. He waves and says good morning as I pass him by.
On the platform I run into Tova K. and for the second time this week, we ride together on the train. As we sit and start to chat, I notice Emily L. seated further up, at least 15 feet away. One stop later Emily sees me too. She shouts hellos and good mornings and what ups from across the subway car. I shout back and we try to converse this way but it quickly becomes apparent that this is painfully irritating to other passengers.
I return to my chat with Tova and we continue the discussion about relationships from the other day, particularly about lifelong decisions and lifelong regrets. We also talk about the recent crime wave in NJ and a girls camp upstate. She tells me she is visiting her brother this weekend, who lives in a 17th story pad, and then asks about my thumb ring. Is it the same idea as a pinky ring? I balk at the comparison. Thumb rings were essential to archery in ancient and middle times, protecting the archer's thumb from the rebound of the bow. She is surprised I am still wearing it after all this time.
When I get off at 59th, Emily and I find each other and we catch up a bit. She looks tired and tells me it's because her neighbors have been noisy and because the sun light creaks into her room early in the morning. I suggest light-blocking blinds and say goodbye when we reach my stop.
Exiting the station at 47th, I go to Milk and Honey for a bagel with cream cheese and my morning coffee. There's a lot on mind today, and its earlier than usual, which may help explain why I've left the store and am already on 5th Avenue empty handed. I've paid for my breakfast but left it on the counter.
Thursday, July 23
Lotus
I'm already late when I leave my apartment at 9:00 AM, mostly due to sleeplessness and tardiness. I drop off my laundry and carefully avoid a large pile of broken glass on the way to the train station. Today is another Sudoku day, I've brought with me the book Genna gave me a year and a half ago and I'm determined to finish it. The puzzles get progressively harder and even though I can average 3-4 per ride I'm still in the "easy" section.In the tunnel leading to the station I see Josh S. leaving the train. He doesn't wave or say hello and I continue on to the platform. I have numerous "usual spots" on the platform, depending on whether I'm getting breakfast, stopping at the gym, or going straight to work. I'm going straight today and at this usual spot I see an unidentified Jewish girl saying her morning prayers. Also here, ironically, is Moshe G. who until last week was the rabbinic intern at the local synagogue. I don't think he knows who I am and so I don't bother to say hello.
On the train there a white haired man is meditating. His hands are resting on his knees, palms up, his index fingers touching thumbs. His back is in perfect posture and his eyes are closed. When I sit next to him I try not to disrupt his lotus energy but he open his eyes ever so slightly and turns them towards me without moving his head. When he returns to his pose, I snap a few shots and wonder if he suspects that he is the subject at the other end of the shutter’s sound. He doesn't stir, and I give up and play Sudoku.
Wednesday, July 22
Homeless
Down the stairs I run into my pregnant neighbor. She and her husband moved into the other side of the building about two years ago and I'm sad to say I don't know their names. I walk towards the train station, and am happy to see that it's sunny out despite the forecast.
Jeremy S. is on the corner of 186th and Bennett, talking to someone I recognize but don't know. Turning onto Overlook, I see another person I recognize but don't actually know. She is a short, middle aged Russian woman who works in my building. Formerly, she took care of an elderly man who lived there, but he passed away a few years ago, and I wonder who she takes care of now.
The homeless guy who lives at the station is there today as usual. He has been there for a few years now, always panhandling when he is not sleeping. If a Jewish person walks by, he will ask for tzedaka, the Hebrew word for charity. Occasionally, he will disappear for a couple of days or even a week or two, but most of the time he is there on the way to work and on the way back as well.
He looks different today in that there is a girl on his lap. She is short and looks thin, and like him she is dirty and weathered. His arms are wrapped around her waist, their faces are close together, and they are singing, perhaps appropriately, "Lean on me."
Jeremy S. is on the corner of 186th and Bennett, talking to someone I recognize but don't know. Turning onto Overlook, I see another person I recognize but don't actually know. She is a short, middle aged Russian woman who works in my building. Formerly, she took care of an elderly man who lived there, but he passed away a few years ago, and I wonder who she takes care of now.
The homeless guy who lives at the station is there today as usual. He has been there for a few years now, always panhandling when he is not sleeping. If a Jewish person walks by, he will ask for tzedaka, the Hebrew word for charity. Occasionally, he will disappear for a couple of days or even a week or two, but most of the time he is there on the way to work and on the way back as well.
He looks different today in that there is a girl on his lap. She is short and looks thin, and like him she is dirty and weathered. His arms are wrapped around her waist, their faces are close together, and they are singing, perhaps appropriately, "Lean on me."
Tuesday, July 21
Umbrellas
I hate umbrellas. I rarely use them, but this morning the rain is so bad I have little choice. On 186th Street I see Harriet and she waves. I wave back and continue on to the station. Miriam B. is walking out as I'm walking in. She has taken the elevator down from Fort Wash and tells me she is on her way to see a client.
Swiping my card at the turnstile, I get the infamous "insufficient fare" message, and am surprised to learn that my monthly has expired yet again. I am getting a new card and just finishing the purchase when I hear the train approaching. I don't run for it, and I miss it, but once on the platform it's clear that was an uptown. There are still plenty of people waiting for the downtown. Adam E. is on the platform just ahead of me.
Walking towards my usual spot I run into Tova K. We sit together on the train and discuss her upcoming travel plans. Two nights ago, we spent an hour on the phone - I was giving her tips on what to see in various European cities - and so the subject switches quickly. We move into a discussion about relationships. This seems to be the new hot topic in the neighborhood, with lots of scandalous chitchat to fuel it. I'm glad to say, however, that our conversation is able to stay away from the shallow, even as we discuss people that have long ago fallen off the deep end.
Swiping my card at the turnstile, I get the infamous "insufficient fare" message, and am surprised to learn that my monthly has expired yet again. I am getting a new card and just finishing the purchase when I hear the train approaching. I don't run for it, and I miss it, but once on the platform it's clear that was an uptown. There are still plenty of people waiting for the downtown. Adam E. is on the platform just ahead of me.
Walking towards my usual spot I run into Tova K. We sit together on the train and discuss her upcoming travel plans. Two nights ago, we spent an hour on the phone - I was giving her tips on what to see in various European cities - and so the subject switches quickly. We move into a discussion about relationships. This seems to be the new hot topic in the neighborhood, with lots of scandalous chitchat to fuel it. I'm glad to say, however, that our conversation is able to stay away from the shallow, even as we discuss people that have long ago fallen off the deep end.
Friday, July 17
Hiding Out
As I leave for work, the elderly women, who during the summer spend much of the day on rocking chairs in front of the building, are already out. A dog scares a flock of birds lounging between two cars and they nearly attack me as they take flight.
In the tunnel that leads to the train station, there is another elderly woman walking slowly and just as I pass her on the left, she twists diagonally into the path of my direction. I am able to escape collision, albeit narrowly, and curses me out. The train itself, when I board, is hot and steamy. Someone is clipping their nails. It is disgusting and though I cannot see who it is, I can hear the undeniable, tell-tale clipper click.
I love the new sunglasses I'm wearing, and I leave them on the entire ride. They are a cloaking device, a protective sanctuary. I can look at anyone now. I can gawk and glare, and type away about people on my Blackberry and they will never know the better. So safeguarded and insulated, even Jon will no longer be able to joke about the troubles I'll get from the tidbits I blog. On the bench across from me, an Asian woman with a wide head and a big jaw is wearing her own pair of sunglasses. I stare at her not because she is attractive or interesting in any way, but because I can, and she will never know. She stares back at me, though, and does not ebb even when I shift my eyes elsewhere.
Next to me another woman is wearing sunglasses. She has tight curls that have been bleached blonde and is wearing jeans, a black tank top, and black sandals to match. I look around to see several others wearing their shades inside as well - a bald man with a checkered brown shirt and a shoulder bag, an older woman with flowers on her dress, and others. When I get off the train, the wide headed sunglass woman walks behind me, her glare still unrelenting at the back of my head.
In the tunnel that leads to the train station, there is another elderly woman walking slowly and just as I pass her on the left, she twists diagonally into the path of my direction. I am able to escape collision, albeit narrowly, and curses me out. The train itself, when I board, is hot and steamy. Someone is clipping their nails. It is disgusting and though I cannot see who it is, I can hear the undeniable, tell-tale clipper click.
I love the new sunglasses I'm wearing, and I leave them on the entire ride. They are a cloaking device, a protective sanctuary. I can look at anyone now. I can gawk and glare, and type away about people on my Blackberry and they will never know the better. So safeguarded and insulated, even Jon will no longer be able to joke about the troubles I'll get from the tidbits I blog. On the bench across from me, an Asian woman with a wide head and a big jaw is wearing her own pair of sunglasses. I stare at her not because she is attractive or interesting in any way, but because I can, and she will never know. She stares back at me, though, and does not ebb even when I shift my eyes elsewhere.
Next to me another woman is wearing sunglasses. She has tight curls that have been bleached blonde and is wearing jeans, a black tank top, and black sandals to match. I look around to see several others wearing their shades inside as well - a bald man with a checkered brown shirt and a shoulder bag, an older woman with flowers on her dress, and others. When I get off the train, the wide headed sunglass woman walks behind me, her glare still unrelenting at the back of my head.
Thursday, July 16
New Shades
I'm wearing new sunglasses today. They are actually not new - I bought them in Israel last time I was there - but this is essentially the first time I wear them.On the way to the A, I notice the hood ornament on a Mercedes Benz. I haven't seen one of those since the early 80's, when there was a black market for these types of things. There is a woman walking nearby with her child. She says, "Mommy is going to peepee again and we're going to peepee all day."
I get into the station and onto the platform, and decide a picture of the new shades might be a good idea. I start taking pictures of myself from all sorts of weird angles, sometimes with flash, sometimes without. People look at strangely at me as they walk by, but one man in particular parks himself behind me and just stares. I can tell he thinks I am a terrorist. He thinks I'm only posing as a Jew, and only pretending to take my own picture on the subway. Really, I must be gathering intelligence for some evil plot. Four more pictures and the man is still there, his overzealous glare strong as ever. He is going to call the police; I move on.
On the train there is a homeless man. He is tired and weathered and looks older than he really is, and his head is bopping up and down as he dozes off. Without a supermarket cart or any other baggage, he is the sort of homeless that can't always be differentiated from a settled, residential person that just happens to be a bit scruffy, soiled, and stenchy. It's his afro that gives him away in the end; no one with access to a shower would let their hair get so dusty.
Wednesday, July 15
A Rabbi and a Priest
I am tired and in a bit of a haze when I recognize Rabbi B. of the not so local synagogue I've been frequenting lately. He is at the foot of the stairs when I get down to the subway platform. This is funny to me, because just last Saturday, at synagogue, my friend Koby was speaking with the rabbi and they were talking about how they always run into each other on the subway.
Also on the platform is Dani U. who I seem to have spent more time with this week than ever before in my life. He lives across the street and the other night he and Sara came over for a few hours of Wii. The three of us also had lunch together that same day, and there's a party I'll see him at this coming up this weekend, so I hope I don't overdose.
We discuss the Wii videos we took the other night and as the train pulls into the station I am too lazy to walk to my usual spot. We sit together and chat some more. A lawyer, Dani is early for work, and I, of course, am late. A man across from us is reading on a Kindle or similar device, and we discuss the technology a bit, as well as some random neighborhood politics. There are also sorts of topics for us to chat about, in fact, but it's also quite clear that the two of us are still somewhat asleep. We get off at 59th and head in separate ways, as I debate the worth of untangling my headphones for just two more stops on the next train.
Also on the platform is Dani U. who I seem to have spent more time with this week than ever before in my life. He lives across the street and the other night he and Sara came over for a few hours of Wii. The three of us also had lunch together that same day, and there's a party I'll see him at this coming up this weekend, so I hope I don't overdose.
We discuss the Wii videos we took the other night and as the train pulls into the station I am too lazy to walk to my usual spot. We sit together and chat some more. A lawyer, Dani is early for work, and I, of course, am late. A man across from us is reading on a Kindle or similar device, and we discuss the technology a bit, as well as some random neighborhood politics. There are also sorts of topics for us to chat about, in fact, but it's also quite clear that the two of us are still somewhat asleep. We get off at 59th and head in separate ways, as I debate the worth of untangling my headphones for just two more stops on the next train.
Tuesday, July 14
Wrinkles and Gym
I'm on the train already and the only person I've seen so far is Lisa K. I'm not even completely certain it was her, since she was way ahead of me on Overlook. Next to me on the left is a plump woman in a purple and white striped shirt with a black jacket over it. She is wearing black pants and black shoes, and is reading a book by Joseph Finder. On the other side a bleach-blond woman is reading the paper. She has beige sandals that cover her two smallest toes on either foot and forces two others to curl in an odd direction. The wrinkles above her lips say she is the reason is smells like smoke.
The plump woman gets off at 168th and I slide into her seat so that I can lean on the wall. A man in a plaid shirt squeezes into the middle seat, between me and the smoker. He is large, rugged, and scruffy, with a white towel in his hands that I would swear was missing from the inventory of a local gym. He settles in with no menacing gestures.
Across from us a picture perfect American couple is talking to a man named Bill. Bill gets off at 59th, as do I, but they are staying on till 14th street. I wait on the platform for the next train and after about 10 minutes both the B and D arrive simultaneously. They both ride on the same route from this station and when this happens, commuters are never sure which will be the first to exit the station. On rare occasions I can see the stop lights towards the front of the platform, or an announcement is made. Today, however, I must rely on guesswork. The B or the D? The B or the D? I can't decide. The B or the D? Finally, I hop onto the D and it turns out I'm lucky, but it just goes to show that decisions are the hardest choicest we ever have to make.
The plump woman gets off at 168th and I slide into her seat so that I can lean on the wall. A man in a plaid shirt squeezes into the middle seat, between me and the smoker. He is large, rugged, and scruffy, with a white towel in his hands that I would swear was missing from the inventory of a local gym. He settles in with no menacing gestures.
Across from us a picture perfect American couple is talking to a man named Bill. Bill gets off at 59th, as do I, but they are staying on till 14th street. I wait on the platform for the next train and after about 10 minutes both the B and D arrive simultaneously. They both ride on the same route from this station and when this happens, commuters are never sure which will be the first to exit the station. On rare occasions I can see the stop lights towards the front of the platform, or an announcement is made. Today, however, I must rely on guesswork. The B or the D? The B or the D? I can't decide. The B or the D? Finally, I hop onto the D and it turns out I'm lucky, but it just goes to show that decisions are the hardest choicest we ever have to make.
Monday, July 13
Sara, Sara
I'm just out the door and there is Esther T. across the street. I would wave but she does not see me, so I keep going. Just ahead of me, still on Bennett, is Aliza B. I'm emailing on my Blackberry as I walk, so she is much faster than me and before long I lose sight of her.
At the station I can hear the train approaching and I make a run for it. It's rare for me to run for a train but I'm insanely late this morning and feel encouragingly fit after yesterday's 10 mile bike ride. As I get down the stairs I see Aviva W. and Josh C. but I zoom past them, trying to get towards my spot on the train. They are always together.
I switch trains at 59th and when I finally get off at Rockefeller, I run into Sara S. Seeing her on the train means I am even later than I originally thought. She is wearing a pretty blue top, black skirt, and sandals with a flower design. Sometimes she wears her hair up in a pouf and I make fun of her but no such luck today, it's straight down. We chat for a bit as we exit the station and talk about the weekend. We both spent yesterday afternoon at the beach, although different beaches and with different friends. Before I know it, I'm lost in the labyrinth underneath Rockefeller center and she has to show me out towards 48th street before entering the elevator bank that leads to her office.
Every week, Sara is my Wednesday lunch date, but we also meet up today, along with Dani U. At Cafe K, the three of us chat some more about our respective weekends and upcoming vacation plans. I try, unsuccessfully, to convince them to come to Egypt with me in August. We all order the penne with vodka sauce, which Sara has every time she eats here. A lengthy discussion ensues with waiter about the recent decline in quality of their pasta. He urges us to return the food if it is not to our liking, and we all do. As we wait for another round, the topic shifts from summer plans to personal commiserations and various other topics. The pasta is only slightly better the second time around. We make plans to meet at my place tonight to play Wii.
At the station I can hear the train approaching and I make a run for it. It's rare for me to run for a train but I'm insanely late this morning and feel encouragingly fit after yesterday's 10 mile bike ride. As I get down the stairs I see Aviva W. and Josh C. but I zoom past them, trying to get towards my spot on the train. They are always together.
I switch trains at 59th and when I finally get off at Rockefeller, I run into Sara S. Seeing her on the train means I am even later than I originally thought. She is wearing a pretty blue top, black skirt, and sandals with a flower design. Sometimes she wears her hair up in a pouf and I make fun of her but no such luck today, it's straight down. We chat for a bit as we exit the station and talk about the weekend. We both spent yesterday afternoon at the beach, although different beaches and with different friends. Before I know it, I'm lost in the labyrinth underneath Rockefeller center and she has to show me out towards 48th street before entering the elevator bank that leads to her office.
Every week, Sara is my Wednesday lunch date, but we also meet up today, along with Dani U. At Cafe K, the three of us chat some more about our respective weekends and upcoming vacation plans. I try, unsuccessfully, to convince them to come to Egypt with me in August. We all order the penne with vodka sauce, which Sara has every time she eats here. A lengthy discussion ensues with waiter about the recent decline in quality of their pasta. He urges us to return the food if it is not to our liking, and we all do. As we wait for another round, the topic shifts from summer plans to personal commiserations and various other topics. The pasta is only slightly better the second time around. We make plans to meet at my place tonight to play Wii.
Friday, July 10
182 Bennett
I've got to make a stop before work this morning, at an apartment in the famed 182 Bennett. Its famous because the building is so heavily populated by young Orthodox singles and newlywed couples. On the way there I pass the local synagogue and the superintendent is out front hosing the sidewalk. I also see Ezra F. and David H. finishing up conversation near the side entrance. David happens to live in 182 Bennett and I am just a few feet ahead of him when he starts walking home.
In the elevator I run into Adina L. She has a bag full of groceries and says she's going to get some cooking done before heading for work. I ask if she'll be biking to work today and she says she wasn't planning on it but if I was, she'd ride with me. Maybe Monday, I say.
David has caught up and is also in the elevator with us. I don't know him too well, though we met through a mutual friend many years ago. He has an older brother Carl I'd met way back in high school, but that story is too long and too old to even think about.
I make the drop and head back downstairs and towards the train station. On the way I bump into Adina's husband Yaakov R. He says good morning and sounds surprised when I tell him I've just seen his wife in the elevator. He doesn't understand why she isn't at work. I wonder if he realizes I was away in Chicago last weekend with his twin brother, who's now married to my former neighbor and has an adorable 3 month baby.
Further towards the station I see Ari R. and we chat for a few seconds. We're both late to work, but he works in the neighborhood and has a five minute commute. I think about all the money I'd save if I could just go home for lunch every day instead of going out.
On the platform, I spot Kenny H. who lives in my building. He doesn't see me. It's so late the train is hardly crowded when I get on. To my left a woman in a red skirt is reading about Obama shaking hands with Khadafy, and on the other side a man is reading an article about vacationing titled "Ditch the City." I annoyingly read tidbits over his shoulder most of the ride, until an embarrassingly powerful sneeze sends my yamika careening across the car.
In the elevator I run into Adina L. She has a bag full of groceries and says she's going to get some cooking done before heading for work. I ask if she'll be biking to work today and she says she wasn't planning on it but if I was, she'd ride with me. Maybe Monday, I say.
David has caught up and is also in the elevator with us. I don't know him too well, though we met through a mutual friend many years ago. He has an older brother Carl I'd met way back in high school, but that story is too long and too old to even think about.
I make the drop and head back downstairs and towards the train station. On the way I bump into Adina's husband Yaakov R. He says good morning and sounds surprised when I tell him I've just seen his wife in the elevator. He doesn't understand why she isn't at work. I wonder if he realizes I was away in Chicago last weekend with his twin brother, who's now married to my former neighbor and has an adorable 3 month baby.
Further towards the station I see Ari R. and we chat for a few seconds. We're both late to work, but he works in the neighborhood and has a five minute commute. I think about all the money I'd save if I could just go home for lunch every day instead of going out.
On the platform, I spot Kenny H. who lives in my building. He doesn't see me. It's so late the train is hardly crowded when I get on. To my left a woman in a red skirt is reading about Obama shaking hands with Khadafy, and on the other side a man is reading an article about vacationing titled "Ditch the City." I annoyingly read tidbits over his shoulder most of the ride, until an embarrassingly powerful sneeze sends my yamika careening across the car.
Thursday, July 9
Loincloth and Laundry
I'm hoping for another quiet day in the neighborhood as I leave for work. Up late last night and having slept so little, I'm extremely tired and the 20 lbs. of dirty laundry slung over my shoulder isn't helping. I've been sending out my laundry ever since the price of quarters went up, and the only difference today is that I'm late for work and shouldn't have bothered. Unfortunately, I only have one set of sheets left and I'm running low on undies too, so a delay just wouldn't be wise.
On the way to the train station I spot David S. in the distance, too far to even wave. Further on, at 186th street, I run into Esther B. She's on the way to class and complains about the fact that law school runs through the summer. Her hair is set in two small braids, pinned to the sides of her head. I tell her I think her sunglasses look masculine, and she responds that they are Ray-Ban aviators. In this case, neither the brand name nor the style increase femininity, but she insists and we leave the matter alone.
In front of the station, we run into Scott S. When he says hi, Esther points out that we all grew up in Miami, although I'm significantly older than both of them and had already moved to New York when they were still children. The three of us walk to the turnstiles together and Esther and I pass through but Scott experiences a metrocard malfunction. The train is coming so there is no waiting around, we go on without him.
Down the stairs I say goodbye to Esther and quickly head towards my usual spot further on the platform. The train pulls in and just as I board I catch a glimpse of the opera lady through the glass in the doors. I smile but she does not smile back, though it does not matter. Finally alone, I sit back on the nearest bench to enjoy the sweet tunes of Kate Nash playing in my very own earphones, and I think about her and all the things her music reminds me of.
On the way to the train station I spot David S. in the distance, too far to even wave. Further on, at 186th street, I run into Esther B. She's on the way to class and complains about the fact that law school runs through the summer. Her hair is set in two small braids, pinned to the sides of her head. I tell her I think her sunglasses look masculine, and she responds that they are Ray-Ban aviators. In this case, neither the brand name nor the style increase femininity, but she insists and we leave the matter alone.
In front of the station, we run into Scott S. When he says hi, Esther points out that we all grew up in Miami, although I'm significantly older than both of them and had already moved to New York when they were still children. The three of us walk to the turnstiles together and Esther and I pass through but Scott experiences a metrocard malfunction. The train is coming so there is no waiting around, we go on without him.
Down the stairs I say goodbye to Esther and quickly head towards my usual spot further on the platform. The train pulls in and just as I board I catch a glimpse of the opera lady through the glass in the doors. I smile but she does not smile back, though it does not matter. Finally alone, I sit back on the nearest bench to enjoy the sweet tunes of Kate Nash playing in my very own earphones, and I think about her and all the things her music reminds me of.
Wednesday, July 8
Bagels and Blogs
Heading out the door and down the block I see Julian H. He lives in the neighborhood and a few years ago we served together on the board of trustees at the local synagogue. Other than that, I don't really know much about him. I get to the station and swipe through the turnstile, then start fiddling for my headphones, which are all tangled up inside my front pocket. I'm excited to listen to my new Kate Nash CD, which I've ripped to my Blackberry.
I see Aviva P. on the platform and would normally say hello but she seems to be very wrapped up in whatever it is she is reading, so I just move on along the platform. I can't believe that same tall girl is here again, as is that guy I saw two weeks ago whom I've met, but who's name I can never remember. I whiz by him before he can see me and pass Benny S. Benny waves and says good morning; I wave back and finally get the earphones untangled and into my ears.
Just as I'm sifting through the music to find Kate, I see Rebecca. She's wearing an open white top with a black t-shirt underneath, a jean skirt, and flip flops. She smiles and says she can't talk to me, as anything she says "can and will be used against" her. "Do people feel more apprehensive about talking to me in the morning" she wants to know. I tell her not really, and we start trading blog tips almost until we reach 59th. We also discuss the Maalot website and a local volunteering event she is helping to organize.
She stays on the A train and I switch to the orange line. Next to me are two Italian girls. At first I can't figure out what language they are speaking but an elongated "mama mia!" gives them away. One of them is tall, thin and very classy, although she has noticeably small teeth. The other one has an overbite.
I'm off at 47th and, going up the stairs, I notice one of the neighbors from my building not far behind. I don't know her name, but I do know her husband is shorter than she is, and I think she has three or four children. She's often on the same A train as me but I don't usually see her beyond the transfer. Feeling hungry, I detour two blocks to the closest Kosher bagel store, and before my cappuccino is ready she walks in. I suppose that's what being Orthodox in the city is all about. Everyone you know is always there, and so is everyone you don't know.
I see Aviva P. on the platform and would normally say hello but she seems to be very wrapped up in whatever it is she is reading, so I just move on along the platform. I can't believe that same tall girl is here again, as is that guy I saw two weeks ago whom I've met, but who's name I can never remember. I whiz by him before he can see me and pass Benny S. Benny waves and says good morning; I wave back and finally get the earphones untangled and into my ears.
Just as I'm sifting through the music to find Kate, I see Rebecca. She's wearing an open white top with a black t-shirt underneath, a jean skirt, and flip flops. She smiles and says she can't talk to me, as anything she says "can and will be used against" her. "Do people feel more apprehensive about talking to me in the morning" she wants to know. I tell her not really, and we start trading blog tips almost until we reach 59th. We also discuss the Maalot website and a local volunteering event she is helping to organize.
She stays on the A train and I switch to the orange line. Next to me are two Italian girls. At first I can't figure out what language they are speaking but an elongated "mama mia!" gives them away. One of them is tall, thin and very classy, although she has noticeably small teeth. The other one has an overbite.
I'm off at 47th and, going up the stairs, I notice one of the neighbors from my building not far behind. I don't know her name, but I do know her husband is shorter than she is, and I think she has three or four children. She's often on the same A train as me but I don't usually see her beyond the transfer. Feeling hungry, I detour two blocks to the closest Kosher bagel store, and before my cappuccino is ready she walks in. I suppose that's what being Orthodox in the city is all about. Everyone you know is always there, and so is everyone you don't know.
Tuesday, July 7
An Early Ride
A doctor's appointment before work has put me back on the early track this morning. I'm aiming for the 7:20 train when I leave the building and see a world class Pontiac Catalina parked outside. It reminds me of the 1979 Monte Carlo I used to drive around in high school. Its range didn't include anything much further than the local grocery, but I loved it, mostly for being nicknamed "The Tank" by my friends.It's rare that I've made it all the way to the platform and haven't seen anyone I know. With no one to talk to and no one to avoid I cure the boredom through observation of other. Most of the women, Asians aside, have their hair in curls today, and I think it's related to the humid weather. I pass one curly woman with a pink tank-top and a violin case strapped to her back.
Further on the platform a different woman is fiddling with her own musical instruments. It takes a while but I recognize her as the occasional A-station opera singer. She has a wonderful rendition of the Phantom reprise; her voice is beautiful. It's also incredibly loud and this can sometimes bother people, to the point where some have yelled for her to shut up. Once, a cop spotted her from the catwalk above the staircase and started to make his way towards her. I warned the singer, but she just thanked me and told me she was licensed to operate in the subway.
The train arrives before she starts singing and I find a seat across from two chatty Latinas in summer clothes. One of them is wearing large heavy earrings, which she constantly plays with, and her lobes seem to stretch forever downward. On my right someone is reading an article about Vicodin in New York magazine, and on my left a middle aged woman is staring blankly in front. She gets off at 168th Street and a fat man flounders into her seat.
The fat man's legs are spread too far for comfort, and he has trouble fitting into the spot because of this. He looks at me, as if to say "scoot over and make room." I don't. Unsuccessful with the glance, he turns away and starts to wiggles his body around, eventually squeezing himself together enough to settle in.
At 59th, I switch to the D train. A thirty-something man carries a large messenger bag over his shoulder. The bag sports huge silver buckles and, coupled with dark sunglasses, a slick black button down, and very spiky hair, the man is clearly under-loved and overcompensating. I finally reach my stop and think about all the people I've seen, but mostly about the woman behind me. She would be much prettier without the overbearing wart on her nose.
Thursday, July 2
Slimdown
My pants don't fit. I'm already running late and struggling to buckle them so I decide to leave them as is. I strap on a belt and problem solved - the buckle covers the open button - and I head downstairs. In the elevator a neighbor is telling his son about the largest cucumber known to man, which has been grown by a farmer in Israel.
Halfway to the A train I see Sara Ch. about a half-block behind me. I also see that the top of my pants are sticking out above the belt buckle, and I have to suck myself inwards to snap them shut. Does she see me? A few minutes later I turn around and she waves.
Just as I pass through the turnstile, Sara catches up and swipes her card. Insufficient fare! She turns back for a new metro card. We've just missed the downtown so I wait up and when she finally gets in we walk down the platform together. We talk about the wedding in Chicago everyone is going to this weekend. The only time she's been to the Midwest was a September trip to Milwaukee, and she was very cold.
I get to my usual spot and Sara keeps going. Karen L. is here and I take a seat next to her on the bench. We chat about the Chicago trip as well. She can't go because she and her husband need to be in Boston. Karen is reading "Nicholas Nickleby" by Charles Dickens, a giant of a book which she's almost finished. She thinks it's a terrible book for the subway, because it's too heavy to carry.
Karen and I are still chatting when Zehava K. walks by. She says saw me earlier, from her window, walking to the subway. To other people this might feel creepy but to know Zehava is to know the great joy she gets from watching the pedestrian traffic from her Bennett Avenue abode. She will also be at the wedding and as the three of us chat I notice Zehava has lost weight. Last Sunday, the two of us went bicycle riding over the George Washington Bridge and into NJ. I had trouble keeping up and although I'd like to blame my knees or my less sporty bike, I am just not up to snuff yet.
We hear the train approaching in the distance and Zehava leaves to get closer to the front. Lisa K. shows up and says hello but quickly disappears as Karen and I wait to board. The same tall girl from last week is here too. Further on the platform I can see Shosh P. but she is too far away for me to get her attention, and it's too bad, especially since she knows about my blog. I can't help but wonder if, when it comes to seeing her own name in print, she would prefer a day of anticipation or a surprise at night.
Halfway to the A train I see Sara Ch. about a half-block behind me. I also see that the top of my pants are sticking out above the belt buckle, and I have to suck myself inwards to snap them shut. Does she see me? A few minutes later I turn around and she waves.
Just as I pass through the turnstile, Sara catches up and swipes her card. Insufficient fare! She turns back for a new metro card. We've just missed the downtown so I wait up and when she finally gets in we walk down the platform together. We talk about the wedding in Chicago everyone is going to this weekend. The only time she's been to the Midwest was a September trip to Milwaukee, and she was very cold.
I get to my usual spot and Sara keeps going. Karen L. is here and I take a seat next to her on the bench. We chat about the Chicago trip as well. She can't go because she and her husband need to be in Boston. Karen is reading "Nicholas Nickleby" by Charles Dickens, a giant of a book which she's almost finished. She thinks it's a terrible book for the subway, because it's too heavy to carry.
Karen and I are still chatting when Zehava K. walks by. She says saw me earlier, from her window, walking to the subway. To other people this might feel creepy but to know Zehava is to know the great joy she gets from watching the pedestrian traffic from her Bennett Avenue abode. She will also be at the wedding and as the three of us chat I notice Zehava has lost weight. Last Sunday, the two of us went bicycle riding over the George Washington Bridge and into NJ. I had trouble keeping up and although I'd like to blame my knees or my less sporty bike, I am just not up to snuff yet.
We hear the train approaching in the distance and Zehava leaves to get closer to the front. Lisa K. shows up and says hello but quickly disappears as Karen and I wait to board. The same tall girl from last week is here too. Further on the platform I can see Shosh P. but she is too far away for me to get her attention, and it's too bad, especially since she knows about my blog. I can't help but wonder if, when it comes to seeing her own name in print, she would prefer a day of anticipation or a surprise at night.
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