Farewell and Goodbye

Aliza G. is meeting me downstairs. We‘re both running late, and she phones to tell me she can’t wait too long, but I get there before she leaves. The two of us walk and talk. On Overlook I spot Esther A. in the distance, then see Yosef M. as well.

In the tunnel, Aliza says hello to someone I don’t recognize. We reach the platform and Avi H. walks by, then Sara S. emerges from the top of the stairs. Aliza says hello to another passerby just as the train arrives. I run in and save a row of benches so that Aliza and Sara and I can all sit together. Aliza stays behind as Sara and I get off at Columbus Circle. We switch to the Orange line and take that to Rockefeller Center, where she enters her building through an underground tunnel and I walk out onto 48th street.

Sometimes, I do odd things. For the past 365 days I have kept a running blog of every single train I have ridden to work. I hope you have enjoyed reading this blog as much as I have enjoyed writing it, but now it’s time to move on to something else. Thank you to the dear friends who encouraged me and sent me bits of fan mail. To the rest you, you can stop running the other away when you see me in the morning.

Sticky and Sound

Someone dropped a rosemary stalk, in the elevator, and a straw too.  The floor's also pretty sticky, and when I get out my shoes feel glued to the ground for the next couple of steps.  Outside, one of the old ladies who live in my building is sitting in the courtyard on a lawn chair.  I wish her a good morning and she heartily responds with blessings for a good day.

Rachel L. swings past the intersection of Overlook and 186th, and I catch up to her right before the subway entrance.  Rabbi B. is also nearby and says hello. Rachel and I walk through the tunnel and down to the platform, then into Jenny R. who forgets that I exist while talking to Rachel about her recent engagement.  When the train arrives, I try to convince Rachel that since she works on 47th, she should be at the southern end of the platform, where she can get out right on 47th, instead of 50th, where she will get out if she is in the back.  She is set in her ways, however, and I walk alone to the other end.

Ominous Weekly

I'm super late once again. There seems to be no way around it; without jetlag assistance, I'm hopeless. Downstairs at the lobby, a neighbor holds the door open for someone else but not for me, and I can't help but wonder if it’s an ominous sign of the day approaching.

I text Aliza to see if she wants to take the subway together, since she usually leaves at this hour, but it turns out she’s running even later than me so I head over to the station alone. At the entrance, I see Josh C. pacing around, as if he is waiting for someone.

On the platform I walk past Yaffa J. She is saying the morning prayers and doesn’t see me. Neither does Karen L. when I walk by her. The train arrives quickly and I find a seat, don my headphones, and get ready to watch the next episode of "True Blood" on my phone.

Exhaustion

A few drinks too many last night, and I am suffering from exhaustion this morning as I leave for work.   It’s not that I drank too much, just that I was out too late and didn’t get enough sleep.  My legs are having trouble coordinating with each other, which is particularly stressful as the JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge is tonight.

For breakfast, I take a package of rice cakes with me and I eat half of it on the way to the subway, wrapping up the other half and throwing it into my backpack alongside sneakers and shorts.

On the platform, I see Malka S.  sporting a baby carriage (child inside).  As soon as the train arrives, I scout for the most comfortable seat and swiftly enter a deep sleep, all the way to Columbus Circle.

No Rush

Down at the lobby, I run into Menachem M. He moved into the building a relatively short time ago, but we know each other from a trip to Russia back in 2004.  He is dressed nicely, with a backwards baseball cap that can barely contain his lengthy hair.  We exchange morning pleasantries and I head outside, where I recognize a grown man to be a former Moshava camper. I was his bunk counselor and have no idea how he can look the same two decades later.

Badly in need of caffeine, I stop off at Dunkin' Donuts, leaving a voicemail for an x-girlfriend on the way.  At the counter, I ask the woman for no sugar, then change my mind and ask for a spoonful. This seems to aggravate the young lady.

Walking to the train, I realize how late I am but it’s OK.  It's going to be a very long day and I am in no rush to get it started.

Sticky Situation

The "True Blood" season 3 premiere is loaded on my phone and ready to go. I just need to avoid people at all costs; if I start watching as soon as I get on the subway, I should be able to finish the entire episode before I get to work.

Its unusual how the vampire culture has entranced the modern audience. This leaves me, a fan of vampires long before their Americanization (I own a copy of the original Bram Stroker film, starring Bela Lugosi, from 1931) with a bit of scorn and disdain. I remember a time when vampires were the evil, soulless creatures that haunted the night. Today's undead wimps couldn't beat My Little Pony in a wrestling match if their lives depended on it. At least they’ve managed to gain a great deal of sexiness in the transformation.

After saying goodbye to my cleaning woman I run into my next door neighbor, wish him a good morning, and head downstairs. In the lobby Mo H. bolts past me, holding his tefillin in one hand and his E.M.T. radio in the other. I can't tell if he's on an emergency call or just late to minyan, or both.

Walking down the steps to the platform, a woman stops abruptly. She is quite tall, and lanky, with light gray pants an elegant sleeveless top. She has stepped in gum, and in her struggle to dislodge it from the bottom of her sandal she has created a stringy mess that spans both feet, two stairs, and the banister. When she sees I've noticed she starts to crack up and we both have a good laugh to start the day.

Tremors

It's a dreary day out, and a bag full of heavy laundry doesn't help the scene. On the way to the laundromat, I see Will A. exiting from the synagogue, and Jeremy S. (presumably having just left synagogue as well) across the street. On the way back, I pass David H. and we both wave.

The next stop is Dunkin' Donuts but the line for coffee is too long so I walk out and head over to the train station. Along the way I run into Meyer B. and he offers a salute. I nod in response.

In the tunnel, a wide Hispanic woman in a green shirt and gray capris is sporting the world's loudest flip flops. The sound of each step she take radiates through the station like a minor earthquake. Past the turnstiles and all the way on the other side of the platform, I can still hear the clickety clack of her pacing.

The train is crowded, but I manage to get a seat; it’s a few more minutes of respite before the work week begins.

An Early Start

Even without Jetlag, I can sometimes leave the apartment early. I'm excited to get to work on time, not because I love work so much but because the sooner I get there the sooner I'll leave and the sooner my weekend will start.

On 186th I spot Sara K. going into her building. We wave and I continue on, seeing Ezra F. from across the street when I reach Overlook.

A bald cop holds the door open for me at the station. On the platform I run into Josh and Malka S. I'd normally stop and chat with Josh for a while (he is one of my favorite fellow techies and an old time friend) but I don't want to interrupt their conversation.

The train is crowded and I'm standing shoulder to shoulder with a few people, including a pregnant woman of about my height. She is wearing a gray maternity size t-shirt, black pants, and flat shoes. Her fingers are chunky. Some nearby offers their seat to the pregnant woman but she declines.

I switch trains at 59th and get off at Rockefeller. Exiting the station, on my way to get some breakfast, I unexpectedly run into Aliza B. She says hi and asks how I'm doing and we chat for a brief moment before she turns off onto 46th street and I continue on my way.

Part of the Club

It's always a bit strange to walk out into your hallway and be greeted by a giant, albeit old, washing machine. I'm not sure what it's doing there, but it's there. In the elevator I run into one of my neighbors and we briefly discuss BP stock prices, and right outside the building I see Mo H.

On the platform, a short woman in loose black pants is reading the New Yorker. I've been reading it religiously for over a decade, often while riding the subway, and I think it’s probably the best magazine this side of the Mississippi (and the other). The thing about the New Yorker is that when you subscribe, you don't just get a new magazine. You become part of the club. This can have a profound effect of arrogance, and when you see someone else reading it, there is wide slew of emotions that emanates.

On the one hand one enjoys being part of any group, especially one that feels so exclusive. On the other hand, we all like to believe we are the only ones with the intellectual prowess to belong to this club. So, who is this woman and why does she think she can read my magazine? I don't know, and I'll never find out, because the train arrives and I get on, forgetting about her black pants and shiny new issue.

Lobbying for Time

Judy R. gets into the elevator on the second floor with her two children (double stroller). She tells them I'm very friendly with their uncle Ari and they should say hi, which they do. I say hi back and give a friendly wave just before getting out on the lobby floor.  I'm in the wrong lobby. It's 9:04 A.M. and I thought I'd be walking into my office building by now, but it appears I'm still at home.

On 186th, an Orthodox Jewish girl pulls her skirt down a bit lower. She keeps doing this till we reach the train station, or at least until I lose her at the turnstiles.

In an effort to avoid anyone I know and finish reading an article on the Borukhova case, I use the catwalks above the tracks to reach my spot. Looking down below I spot Suri G. and wonder what she's doing here, since she lives further downtown. Mental note: get the gossip.

On the train I grab a seat next to Ronnie S. who is so engrossed in his phone that he barely acknowledges me, even when I say hello. I'm not easily offended though, and by the time he puts his phone away and takes out a Sefer, I've already forgotten and opened my New Yorker.

Le Pensuer

When a shiny minivan pulls up next to me on 186th street, I think at first that the car is just parking. It is, but it turns out Gershon S. is the driver and, after spotting me through the windshield, starts honking like a madman. We chat for a while and he tells me about his new upstart business, Hudson Heights Restoration.

Zehava K. walks by and I join up with her. She wants to hear all about Matt's wedding in Israel, which I attended in May. I spot Lisa K. on Overlook while talking to Zehava, and we also pass Rabbi B. He waves. When we reach the platform, Uri M. walks by and says hello.

Zehava looks ponderous and I want her to assume the position of Le Penseur, to photograph for my blog, but she doesn't agree. On the train, she grabs a seat but I stand, preferring that to squeezing between two fairly large people on the bench across from her. At 59th, we both get off and wave goodbye.

Walking towards Park, I see my old girlfriend Debbie R. but by the time I recognize her, it's too late to say hello. As quickly as the fleeting summer nights so many, many years ago, she has disappeared into her office building.

Party Time

I've gotten used to leaving my apartment in the early hours so today, having overslept as much as I did, I'm surprised at how much light is out already. There's a fresh cool breeze though, which after yesterday's sweltering heat just about makes up for anything.

I head to the station, through the turnstiles, and down to the platform. Aviva P. is near the bottom of the stairs. As the train approaches, Ken H. walks by and we fist-five each other as he passes.

There are plenty of seats on the subway; I grab one and - finally off my video kick - start reading the New Yorker. I'm three months behind, but plenty of subway time to catch up.

At Rockefeller, as I get off the train, I spot Ilan K. in the distance. A guy who is very much defined by his curly hair, we have mutual friends and have met at various parties, including my some of my own birthday parties. And while the memory of those parties makes me want to head straight to any open bar, I follow the crowd up the stairs and to the office instead.

U Rock

I run into some neighbors in the elevator, then make my way to the garbage room where I dump a large bag of trash and some recycling. Heading out the back door, I mail some letters at the dropbox on 187th and Broadway and then to Dunkin' Donuts for a much needed cup of coffee. Being National Donut Day, I expected a longer line, and am surprised to find only two people ahead of me. The girl behind the counter pours milk into my coffee and asks if it's a good color. I tell her it’s great, and notice she's wearing a "U Rock" sticker on her left cheek. "Yea," she says, "I rock!"

Today is the first day, since I returned from Israel, that I woke up later than I wanted. I'll still make it to work on time, but I'll need to skip the gym and its unlikely I'll have time to go after work or during lunch.

At the station I run into Nomi G. and we ride a relatively uncrowded train together, discussing a large number of topics ranging from naked male yoga to California geology.

At 59th I get off and switch to the D train, but when the B arrives across the platform an announcement is made stating the B would be leaving first, so I hop across, making it inside just as the doors close.

Bump

I’m carrying a large shopping bag today, with an ergonomic Microsoft keyboard which I needed at the office but had accidentally shipped to my apartment instead. As I walk outside the building I run into Avi T. and we say good morning to each other. On the corner of 186th and Bennett, I also see Ezra F. We say hello. Near the entrance to the station I see Steven S. and wave to him too.

The station is scorching and everyone around me seems to have broken sweat, including the teenage girls with a miniscule denim skirt. Sitting next to me, her hair is in pigtails and she is working on a report about World War I. To my right several people are playing games or emailing on their phones. A girl with very large feet walks by.

On the train, I want to watch a movie I’ve downloaded to my Blackberry but the file is corrupt and it won't play, so I listen to music instead. At 59th The B is across the platform so I stride across. Some people run and one woman wallops into me. I can't hear what she says afterwards, because my music is on too loud, but at first I assume she has apologized, until I look at her expression. I think she might have been telling me I should watch out.

Travel Travails

My friend Rachel calls me while on my way to work to ask a few questions about Petra and Jordan, where she'll be visiting later this week. Standing outside the station, while still talking to her, a few familiar faces walk by but the only one I really know is Yehuda B. He waves and disappears inside.

On the platform, I find a seat on a bench near my spot. David H. walks by and waves. Uri H. and Avi H. also walk by, but don’t seem to notice me. Neither does Elisheva E. when she strolls past. I am left all alone to my thoughts, mostly consumed with Rachel’s trip as well as my friend Adina’s trip. She is also leaving today, for a month long cross country drive. I am jealous.

La Luna

I'm eating a Luna Bar. This is funny to me because the Luna Bar states that it's made specifically for women.  Don't men need calcium too? I wonder if the company's gain on the female demographic outweighs the loss on the male side.

Heading out of the building, I catch a glimpse of today's front page. Israel faces "international backlash" because Israeli commandos, while raiding a foreign vessel that broke through the Gaza blockade, were assaulted.  The commandos, initially armed with Paintball guns, were heavily outnumbered and were only given the OK to use their hand pistols when the men on board started attacking with knives, metal rods, and live ammunition.

On Overlook, Ben S. exits his building and rushes towards the station. My thoughts return to Luna’s marketing and leads me to think about how terrible most TV commercials have become. Madison Avenue has reached a new level of corn with some of its latest campaigns.

Hard to believe, but I am running late again. Not by much though and if the trains cooperate I will still make it to my morning yoga class.  I suppose all the recent travel has finally caught up with me (I fell asleep at 8:30 last night) and started to wear me out.

The train arrives shortly after I get to the station. The conductor's heavy Austrian accent makes me feel as though I might be riding in the next Bruno movie.  "One chundred and etee feerst strit. Stand chlear of the chlosing doors pleace."

Quiet Morning

The morning air is crisp. With sunrise so early these days, it's quite light outside even at 6:00 A.M. but hardly anyone is on the street. The few that are seem to be Orthodox Jews on their way to synagogue.

An obese man, bald with a goatee, is standing outside the station, leaning on a large umbrella and enjoying the air. Inside, it smells like urine. I walk through the tunnel and down to the platform, and take a seat on the first bench. A few minutes pass and Avi C. walks onto the platform. If I keep up this earliness he might replace Benny as the "guy I see almost every day." The train enters the platform and I get on, relaxing into one of the many available seats. The long weekend has almost begun.

Taxi, Please

I flossed too hard and now my tooth hurts.  That's what I'm thinking about as I pass Ezra F. on 186th Street, on the way to the A train.   There is a bit of commotion in the station and before I get to the platform I smell smoke.  At the top of the stairs, I can see it's coming from the tracks.  Fellow passengers are debating if the train is still running, and one laughably states that they won't risk trappage on a smoking train. A girl standing next to me looks vaguely familiar so I smile and say hi.

The announcement that train service has been suspended comes a moment later.  I head out and see Ezra B. and ask if he'd like to split a cab.  He knows the girl that had been standing next to me - Rach M. - and asks her if she also wants to take a cab.  It turns out that Rach is roommates with Zippy K. and we head out to meet up with her so that she can join us too.

We walk towards Zippy on Broadway, but she passes us on a different street, so we hail a gypsy cab and go pick her up.  I find the car comfortable and roomy, despite being in the middle of the back seat.  Zippy and Rach are both sipping coffee, Zippy from the same Dixie "Grab N' Go" cups I use, except she has crushed the bottom of hers. I wish I hadn't finished mine so quickly.

The three of us talk about all manners of things, including but not limited to Toronto weddings, Central Park North, and the Israeli Day Parade.  One by one the cab drops each of us off near our respective workplaces.  Was it not for the whopping $40 price tag (a complete rip off despite Ezra's subtle complaint that he's previously paid only $25 for the same distance) I'd suggest we do this every day.

A Very Frustrating Morn

Going to sleep early, and waking up early, doesn't actually give you more time to do things. That's why I'm still frustrated at getting locked out of my apartment building for 45 minutes earlier this morning, an event that has dominoed into my morning commute. I am now 45 minutes late despite the fact that I was up before 3:00 A.M.

I rush to the train station thinking of nothing but the fact that my new watch is too thick to fit underneath any of my shirt sleeves.  In the tunnel at the station, I pass Michael Z. and his daughter, and on the platform I pass Tzivia H. talking to her husband. Rachel L. is also here. She is quietly reciting her morning prayers, so I walk right by without saying hello.

Sarah M. is standing near my spot. I stop and wave, and when she waves back I see she is also busy platform praying. The train arrives and we both get on the same car. I find a seat, but she heads in the other direction and ends up standing.

Bagela

I walk out onto Bennett and see Ilan R. up ahead. It feels great to be out of the house before 6 - the streets are quieter, the air is fresher, and even the people are friendlier. A random stranger on 186th wishes me a good morning.

My tooth still hurts from yesterday's dental work but it doesn't stop me from eating a bagel on the way. I say the "Grace After Meals" while walking on Overlook. I know you're really supposed to be seated when saying it, but then again, you aren't really supposed to be eating in the street, according to Jewish Law. The garden vegetable cream cheese does wonders for my breath.

On the platform, I run into Avi C. He is wearing a red and white striped polo, which is odd because nearby a balding, Hispanic man is also wearing one. Also near Avi is a quasi-attractive blonde who I notice is eyeing me as I walk down the platform.

The train arrives after about ten minutes - one of the pitfalls of early morning commute being a sparser subway schedule - and the car smells like industrial cleanser. I don't mind though, I've got the entire South wing to myself.

The Nook

I love jetlag. I’ve been up since 2:30 AM but I’m finally leaving for work on time. On the way to drop off some laundry I see Eric B. as he exits from synagogue. On the way back, I pass David H. and he says hello as I walk by. Simone G. is in the distance too, but she is too far to see me.

I stop at Dunkin’ Donuts for a medium coffee with lots of milk, then make my way through a sudden misty drizzle to the train station. On Overlook I see Jon E. and then run into him again on the platform. He says hello and I ask what paper he’s reading. It’s AM New York. He uses it as a metric for train speed; if he is done with it by 59th street he knows the train has been moving slow.

Taking a seat on a bench, I notice the woman next to me is using a Nook. Even in New York City, striking up a conversation with a stranger can take a bit of balls, but I do it anyway and ask about the device. She tells me she loves it, that it is the best purchase she has ever made. Her father bought the Kindle and hates it, though the Kindle comes with more freebies and promos.

The screen, when I glance down at it, seems incredibly sharp. She says it’s easy on the eyes, and that new downloads take only a few seconds. I ask her about the “feel” of a book and she tells me that is one thing she does miss. Interestingly, she will still buy the print edition of a book, just to keep on her shelf, even after she has read it on the Nook. I mention that I do the same for music and movies that I have downloaded. The train arrives and I thank her just before boarding and finding a seat.

Drill Bit

For most people, there is nothing ordinary about a morning that includes a trip to the dentist but for me it's just a quick stop on the way to work. A little injection here, a little prodding there - no biggie.

The train arrives just as I reach the platform.  Ezra B. is standing right behind me, and says hello when I see him.  Also in the car is Jenny R. She smiles, and waves from the distance.  Down to the left I notice Rebecca W.  She introduced herself to me at a party this weekend (little of which I can still recall) but has yet to accept my Facebook friend request (there can be no greater insult).

I get out at 59th and notice Ezra behind me again, this time talking with a blond neighborhood girl.  They walk towards Columbus Circle and I duck into Central Park, where I can watch Srugim on my phone and kill 15 minutes till my appointment.

Self Centered

The elevator doors slide open at the lobby and three women, one pushing a baby carriage, walk in. Not for a moment does it occur to them that the lone passenger already on the elevator - in this case me - might want to get out first. The ensuing result is a 25 second delay replete with backtracking, bumping, and odd maneuvering.

It's damn cold outside. This May may be the coldest month of May in my Manhattan life. I am greeted outside the train station by the AM New York Guy, who's paper I politely decline. Opera Chick is on the platform and though her sounds are strikingly beautiful at first, her singing becomes quite the frustration after just a few minutes.

On the A, I sit across from three chatty Hispanic women, all drinking cheap coffee from the same deli. The youngest is sitting on the left, sporting a slim figure, a tiny button nose, and curly hair. All the way on the right is the oldest, with dark hair that is gray at the roots. She is reading a card, and starts to suddenly laugh out loud. From the left, Youngest leans over Middle and says to Oldest that she wanted to buy one of those big giant cards but couldn't find one. "Oh yea!" pipes in Middle. "I got one of those once and I loved it. I kept it, still have it." Two stops Youngest, gets up to leave and is instructed by Oldest, who can easily be her mother to "text me all the details!". The two remaining women talk about babies the rest of the ride.

Aaayyyyyy

A few minutes before I leave my apartment, I get a text from Aliza G. reminding me that we planned to take the subway together this morning, since she has an interview downtown. We meet up at Dunkin’ Donuts and I get a cup of coffee to help me get started with the day.

At the station, we spot Sarah M. all the way at the other end of the car. I’ve been helping Aliza get started with her new blog and we discuss it for much of the ride, along with random other gossip and talk. Aliza doesn’t notice that the women sitting next to her is smiling at me and laughing at all my jokes.

At 59th Street, Aliza and I split up. I take the next train to Rockefeller, and get off at my usual exit on 48th. Halfway down the block, I see Henry Winkler. He is sharply dressed and clean cut, though obviously looks much older than I remember him. He seems such a sweet man, taking pictures with all who ask and chatting with them at length. Sadly, he is practically inside his car by the time I get my own camera out.

Brown and Out

We all have those days, when we leave home feeling slightly substandard. Usually it's about the way we look, or at least, that's how it emanates. I have a friend (male) who can go through 15-20 (no exaggeration) different outfits before settling on what to wear.  I can relate - I've done the same at times - but before work that's never an option. On weekday mornings I give myself half a minute, a full one at most, to choose my clothes.  And today my very brown choice feels crappy.

In the station, walking through the tunnel, I see Michael Z. and his daughter.  I do not believe - though it's just a hunch - that he is still a practicing Orthodox Jew, yet his daughter is dressed so incredibly yeshivish.

On the platform, I wait patiently for the next train.  I'm over the clothing bit, and one thought permeates my mind: if you're wearing dark sunglasses but staring, do people know you're looking at them?

At 59th, I run into Eido J. He says hello and shakes my hand as he hurries by.  After a short ride on the B train I exit at 48th, where I am greeted by a band of Cinco de Mayo applauders in traditional charro suits and sombreros.  I notice an unusually strong police presence too, and one officer sends me across the street, past two mounties and slew of other cops.  It turns out that Barbara Bush is in NBC studios.

Just before crossing Park Avenue, I hear someone calling my name from behind.  It's Lovey E. in jogging clothes, sneakers, and her trademark giant backpack.  She walks to work and dresses sporty for the occasion, changing into something more business-appropriate when she gets to the office.  We chat and catch up for a bit, and agree to meet up for lunch sometime soon.

Treats

Eliana, my cleaning lady, rings my buzzer at 8:02 AM and by the time I leave the apartment at 8:10 she is well into the bathroom agenda. Nechama B. walks past my building just as I get outside and says hello. It's a rare treat since I hardly ever see her. At about the same time, Mo H. walks into the lobby.

On 186th, I run into Michelle Z. - another rare treat. She's moving out of the hood, and I'm sad to see her go even if I know she'll be happier downtown. We chat for ten minutes, about apartment hunting, packing, and selling things on Craigslist. I recommend she post on Maalot.

Ezra F. walks by while Michelle and I are talking. She offers me a ride to work but after some debate I stick to the subway and we hurry off in separate directions. On Overlook, Esther D. pushes a baby carriage across the street. I see Dr. T. heading towards the subway, probably to take the shuttle van servicing nearby Yeshiva University.

On the platform I pass Zippy K. and say hello. She smiles and waves. I love smiles - they make people happy - and I think people should smile all the time.

My Umbrella

Today is not the day to realize that all of my umbrellas are in the desk drawer at work. The rain is coming down hard, the really is no choice; I don the most waterproof jacket I own and pray.

Shaindle S. comes out of her apartment while I'm waiting for the elevator. "Don't forget your umbrella!" she says. I tell her my plight and she apologizes for not having an extra one to loan me. She also tells me how her children try to use the rain (unsuccessfully) as an excuse for skipping school.

I go to drop some clothes at the cleaners and by the time I get there I am drenched. Pretty soon it will seep to my undies, so I stop at BP for an umbrella. Tova P. is at the Dunkin' Donuts counter inside but she doesn't see me. Not spotting any umbrellas, I ask the clerk behind the counter if they have any. He pulls one out from underneath a nearby shelf and rings it up. $4.98.

I walk the rest of the way to the train station and run into Evan R. in the tunnel. We wave and I head through the turnstiles and down to the platform. Nechama W. is sitting on one of the benches and says hello. I haven't seen her in a while and it takes a moment to recognize her with a hat on.

On the train, I grab one of the last seats, in a drab, dark corner of the car. Everything is fine till 145th, where the conductor announces that the train ahead has deployed it's emergency brakes and is blocking the track. The one day I might have made it to work before 9:00 and I am plagued with delays. I guess that's karma.

Oil Spill

I head down to the basement with a gallon of canola oil but no clue how to dispose of it. I can’t throw it out, it’s in a plastic jug which needs to be recycled, and I can’t dump the contents into the sink or risk an oily slick forever lining the plumbing. Luckily, Willie is downstairs and tells me just to leave it on the floor, he’ll take care of it.

I leave the basement through the courtyard out back, taking Broadway instead of Bennett. Just outside, I bump into one of my neighbors, who wishes me a good morning. In front of Key Food, I see Anat C. who also wishes me a good morning.

Dunkin’ Donuts makes terrible coffee, and today the line is so long I really wonder why I didn’t just wait to get to midtown for some java. I suppose that after such a long week and such a short night I just need it now.

On 186th Street, at the corner of Bennett, Malka S. is crouching next to one of her children, while two other kids linger behind. The security guard, who works at the nearby elementary school, says to the child, "Ima [Hebrew for mother] will get mad if you go off the sidewalk.”

Aliza texts me about being late for an interview. Do I recommend waiting for the bus or hopping into a cab. I reach the station and run into Sarah F. “Twice in one week,” I say. She smiles and we both board the train.

Quiet Morning

I drop off my laundry and walk along Broadway, all the way to 184th Street and make a right towards the train station.  It’s not the quickest route from the laundromat to the subway, but it’s a bit different than the norm and the weather has finally started to warm up a bit.  Sarah F. walks inside just ahead of me.

One of the three turnstiles is broken and a second one is occupied by a buffoon that can’t swipe his card correctly.  The resulting jam builds up several feet of traffic before I am finally through to the other side.  I see Sarah again at the bottom of the steps, and this time she sees me too.  She waves and says hello.  I can’t actually hear her because of my headphones, but I wave back and smile.  Benny S. is also on the platform, still bearded, and also waves as I pass him.

Tonka

It must be fun to drive a tractor. At least, that's what I'd be thinking if it were me on the corner of 186th and Bennett, sitting at the helm of a great iron behemoth. But it's not me.  It's a chubby, middle aged man with a severely receded hairline who has probably been working construction scenes for the past decade or two - and guys like that probably don't think about trucks they way I do.

Walking to the station, the scene reminds me about this one time, about 12 years ago, that I rented a moving van from U-Haul (or was it Ryder?).  Upon arriving at the rental agency I was told they were fresh out of vans but would happily rent me a 15' mammoth truck, at the same price, in its stead.  The State of New Jersey does not require a special license to drive anything less than 18' long so I drove it into Manhattan  for a bit of cruising.  Once you get the hang of driving blindly behind you and on both sides, and once you become confident in the knowledge that you are likely to survive unscathed should you collide with anything, it can be quite fun.

I reach the subway station and as I file down the stairs to the platform it occurs to me.  You know what's bigger than a 15' truck and even bigger than a tractor trailer?  The A train.  And I want to drive it.

Paying Attention

There are wet, wilted flowers in the courtyard this morning. I'm not sure what kind they are, but they're white, and small, and they grow every Spring but are gone by the end of April.

186th Street is plagued with a putrid smell of sewage, probably owing to the red septic truck parked around the back of 110 Bennett. On Overlook, an elderly man seems to be having trouble walking and starts leaning against a nearby wall, as if to catch his breath more easily. I ask if he's OK and he says he's fine and thanks me. I'm not the only good Samaritan in town, a moment later I hear someone behind me ask the same question.

Inside the tunnel a tall, lanky man, in his early twenties, drops his newspaper, trips over it and starts shouting four letter expletives at it. He keeps walking but leaves the paper behind.

I can hear the train pulling into the station just as I reach the turnstile, but I don't run for it. Down the stairs, only one person is left on the platform once the train leaves, and we both sit at the same bench. She is young, with dirty blond hair that has been thoughtfully dyed and neatly straightened. She is wearing a skirted suit, high heels, and pearl earrings. From the way she is sitting - with her hands folded on her lap - and the way she is twirling a rubber band between her fingers, I'd guess she is anxious, on the way to an interview or an important meeting. The next train arrives and we both stand up and walk towards it; she looks at me and cracks a small smile.

Monday, Monday

Throwing out the garbage is always a decent way to commence the week (although one must ask: why wasn’t it already thrown out the night before?).  Downstairs in the basement I run into Willie and we chat about Mondays. No one likes going back to work on a Monday, and no matter how much rest one has gotten on Saturday and Sunday, the start of the week is always tiresome.

Outside, dozens of children are on their way to school.  I walk to the A station and pass Ezra B. at the bottom of the steps.  He is engrossed in the New York Times.

I am still walking towards my spot when Sara C. sneaks up behind me.  As with Willie, we also talk about Mondays and I ask her if she went rafting yesterday with a bunch of our friends.  She doesn’t like rafting anymore, and reminds me of our rafting trip last summer (or was it two summers ago), when I almost tore my rotator cuff and had to spend a few weeks in physical therapy.  We also talk about fantasy novels, which she enjoys reading, though she thinks Lord of the Rings is a bit childish and the poetry far too long for her patience.  I solemnly admit to skipping some of the poetry myself, but remain steadfast that it is my favorite trilogy both in book and in movie form.

As I’m talking to Sara, I notice Moshe L. on the platform, in the distance.  Sara and I board the train together, but we find seats apart and I don’t speak to her again until we get off at 59th.  I transfer promptly to the B train, where one stop later I run into Yaffa Z. just as she gets off.

Mistaken Identity

I’m late for work again. I hate carrying bags, but today I have no choice, although at least the bag is empty. It’s a laptop bag, and I need it to bring home my laptop from the office. How the bag ended up at here, I’m not entirely sure.

I see my friend Tamar’s brother – I’ve met him a few times but his name escapes me - and his wife walking slowly and holding hands. Inside the station is a girl who hair looks like my friend Sara’s from behind, but her behind is much too large for it to actually be Sara.

On the train, I sit near a religious Jew who is studying the Talmud and drinking Vitamin Water (“Focus”). I'm addicted to Vitamin Water and can’t help but notice the flavors people drink. I’m also addicted to The Mentalist, and spend the rest of the ride watching the next episode on my phone.

Sidewalk Skirmish

Sometimes when I leave the apartment I feel like I just don't know what's wrong with me. Why am I consistently leaving for work later than I would like to?

On 186th street, I walk on the right side of the sidewalk, hugging the building next to me. A woman streams past me on the right, squeezing between me and the building and almost knocking into me. I ask why she couldn't pass me on the other side, where there is plenty of room, and she responds that she “always walks on the right.” For a moment I consider informing her that only cars need drive on the right side of the road and that even if she were, in fact, a car, passing is done on the left, but I decide to let it go. She doesn’t, and after a few more steps she turns around and asks “what, are you always going to tell me what to?” No, I’m not your spectacularly insane boss, your abusive boyfriend, or any other reckless person in your life. “Just don’t run me over,” I say in as calm a voice as I can muster.

Zev S. walks by and, having witnessed the prior exchange of some words, asks what was going on. I recount the story and Zev asks if I realize that the woman is but ten feet ahead, staring unkindly upon us.

At the tunnel in the train stations, I see Estie K. for the second time this week. The train is heard screeching onto the platform and everyone makes a run for the turnstiles. I make it on board and squeeze into a middle seat.

At 59th, I run into Sara S. and tell her that last night I went to Café K. and, since Sara and I frequent there so often together, the waitress was shocked to see me with someone else. We laugh.

Collector’s Items

I’m pretty late to work again. In the elevator with me is my neighbor’s son, a high school junior on his way to class. Last night we also rode together, and he had been out of breath after a long jog.

A man, wearing khaki pants, rides up to the station in a fold up bicycle, which he collapses just as he reaches the entrance. I head through the turnstiles and onto the platform, which is particularly crowded today. The train arrives and there is a mad rush for the seats. I find one near a man who might very well be homeless, based on his appearance. He has on board with him: a hand-truck with two dirty boxes, a crate full of old items, an IKEA shopping bag, a chain, and large padlock. He doesn't smell though, so the seat is fine.

People and Opera

Just out front of my building, I spot Meyer B. walking across the street, probably on his way home from synagogue, which seems to have let out a few moments ago. Ken H. walks by too, and into the lobby (he and his wife live one floor below me), as does Mo H. Just as I start to walk down Bennett I run into Shuli B. I haven’t seen her in weeks and we both greet each other warmly. She gets annoyed that I am speaking to her through my sunglasses, so I remove them and, as an aside, comment that I like her rimless specs. She says she wishes she could wear contacts like I do, and we talk about dry eyes for the next couple of minutes.

Further on towards the subway station, I run into David M. who is curiously clad in a dark suit. He tells me that he occasionally meet with clients for whom he must dress up. I let him know he looks sharp, and head into the station. At the far end of the platform, where I can later exit one block closer to the bagel store, I chance upon a freelancing opera singer. Not much of an opera fan myself, I can still appreciate how well her voice projects, and consider an illicit cell phone recording for later post onto my blog. The train arrives too quickly.

Fun and New

It's never fun going back to work after the weekend, but every new Monday can usher in a week full of new opportunity.

I drop off my laundry and take a different route to the train station, walking down Broadway instead of turning on 187th and then onto Bennett.  Miriam L. pops out of key food just as I pass the entrance, wearing a dark hoodie and blue sweat pants underneath her skirt.  A naturally born spiffy dresser and a usual early bird, she seems out of place. "Aren't you a bit late for work?" I ask.  She is working from home today, and has already been to the gym and completed some paperwork. For a moment I contemplate turning around and doing same (the working from home part), but once I'm dressed and out of the apartment there's little purpose to it.   We chat for a few more minutes and I continue on my merry way, ready for adventure.

Perspective

I head to the basement to throw out the garbage and I run into Antonio, who is talking to a woman. He sees that I’m carrying quite a bit and kindle helps me carry it the rest of the way and sort out the recycling.

I was up cooking late last night, which has been a recipe for exhaustion today. It makes me consider a stop at Dunkin’ Donuts, though I’ve managed to be entirely caffeine free for almost three weeks.

On platform I see Estie K. When the train arrives it’s half empty, and I realize that trains are the opposite of cups. Half empty is the optimistic viewpoint.

Funk 54

Sometimes I get funny ideas, like wondering if it would be feasible to commute on a hot air balloon (perhaps it would make for a more interesting blog). Turning from Bennett onto 186th, I hear someone calling my name. Its Gershon S. Known to most people simply as "Stats," Gershon is a star guitar player that once played with a very popular garage band based out of Washington Heights.

Up ahead I see Benny S. and walking behind me is Ezra F. When I reach the platform, I see Lisa K. who waves to me and eventually I pass Benny, who also waves.

I take a seat on a bench near my spot, and a young man sitting next to me gets up to say hi to a woman in a stingy straw fedora. I notice he has a blue, "Spark" flavored Vitamin Water, one that I've never seen before.  Adina, whose last name I can’t quite remember, says hello just as I'm boarding the train. We get on the same car, along with Benny, but I sit alone and finish reading my New Yorker.

Hunger Strikes

Last night, on the way home from work, I stopped off at Bagels and Co, on 79th street.  I bought a garlic bagel to have for breakfast, but then I got hungry and ate it, which this morning has left me scrounging the kitchen for food.  I find the last roll in a package that was purchased on Friday, smear on a bit of cream cheese, and devour it.

Heading downstairs a neighbor joins me in the elevator, on the fourth floor, and on the second floor the doors open again but no one gets in.

Walking on Overlook, I see my reflection in a car window and realize I need a haircut.  A bright yellow SUV drives by.

On the platform, I see David M. and we both wave hello.  Shella, whose last name I don't know, is also here but she either doesn't see me or pretends not to.  Irrelevant - she never says hello anyways.  Chani E. is on the train when I board, all the way on the other side of the car.

The roll wasn't enough; I'm still hungry with no time to purchase a proper breakfast. Is it sad to be thinking about lunch before even getting to work?

Burp

It's another day in the neighborhood: cloudy skies, mild temperatures, and I'm late for work again.  Avi N. is getting into the elevator of my building just as I'm getting out, and wishes me a hearty good morning.

Outside, I accidentally let out a tiny burp and look around to see if anyone might have noticed.  A heavy set lady in a checkered coat is the only person within earshot, but I don't think she heard.

Sara C.  waves to me from the corner of 186th and Overlook.  I mail some letters out and walk to the station, two young men trailing behind me.  One of them, unapologetically, lets out a belch.

Neighbors

It feels good to be back, especially on a warm spring day. Overseas, I stayed awake till roughly 4 A.M. every night, and slept till noon. That didn't leave much room for jetlag, but I'm still off pretty early today.

Downstairs, at the entrance to the building, one of my neighbors - a tall, young girl of high school age - holds the door open for me. It quickly becomes obvious, however, that with her backpack and two shopping bags in hand, I should be the one holding the door for her.

On the corner of Bennett I run into my next door neighbor, Avraham S. and, when I arrive at the platform, I see yet another neighbor from the building. He is a single guy who's name I can't remember. Avi S. walks by and we say hello. He's not a neighbor, but his cousin (through marriage) used to be.

Is it Done?

Having taken care of a few random items, I am super late by the time I leave for work. On Overlook, I hear loud footsteps. Turning around, I’m surprised to see it’s Sara S. and even more surprised that I can hear her from a full block away. I wait for her to catch up and she tells me that she was up late watching skating championships.

Sara and I walk into the station together, passing Marc R. at the foot of stairs which lead down to the platform. Yaffa J. comes over and we all talk about lateness. When the train arrives, Yaffa walks towards her spot, while Sara and I ride together. We talk about various work projects, and I tell her how it has become common at my office to ask whether a project is done or “done d'done d'done done," meaning all the loose ends have been tied. It takes some effort, but I try not to think of all my loose ends, just days before heading out on vacation.

Back On

I can tell from the lights on the elevator panel that it’s headed in the opposite direction, so in an unusual maneuver I take the stairs to the lobby. I just don't have the time to wait.

Outside it's chillier than I thought it would be and not nearly as bright as I expected. I flip my sunglasses to the top of my head; it's the first time since the onset of spring that I wear them.

Michael Z. is walking, holding one of his children's hands, outside the A station. I first met him sixteen years ago but haven't spoken to him since, despite living in the same neighborhood for much of that time.

On the platform, a girl with a flowery white skirt is walking in front of me. She is wearing unseasonably dark fishnet stockings that simply do not belong with her solid flats.

I see Benny S. further up on the platform, the second day in a row. "We're back on," I say, referring to a recent conversation we had about how we always used to see each other on the train but then hadn't for a long time. "Yup," he responds, "we're back!"

Coincidence?

Downstairs on Bennett Ave, I see a bumper sticker on a 4x4 that reads "Silly boys, trucks are for girls." Walking to the train station, I pass Gilit H. on Overlook, as she tries to teach her daughter how to pronounce her own name.

I have a cup of hot peppermint tea in my hands, which I made before leaving for work, to try and soothe my stomach. The AM New York Guy says good morning as I walk into the station.

Benny S. is on the platform and waves. Just the other day, we had been talking about how we rarely see each other on the subway anymore. We get into different cars when the train arrives. My car is filled with the putrid smell of homeless man and at the next stop I switch, to the car where Benny is. He double takes, and I respond by waving my hand in front of my nose in a smelly gesture, and point to the other car. We laugh.

Flossaholic

Is it OK to floss in public? Because I roasted potatoes this morning, tasted one just before I left, and now there is rosemary wedged between two teeth.
I see Tzivia H. on 186th, and on Overlook a tall Israeli man asks, in Hebrew and into his cellphone, "are you dieting?" I can hear the leash on his poodle dangling as he pauses to let the dog poop and I pass him.

In the station, I can hear the train approach but I am too tired to run for it, and I am the first one onto the platform after the train pulls out. Walking really slowly towards my spot, I am passed by Estie H. and Yehuda B. Neither of them notice me.

I get a seat on the train even though it's crowded, and watch "Up In the Air," on my Blackberry, for most of the ride. At 59th, I bump into Daniel S. We both wave hello and I go back to my movie, starving for some coffee.

Phony Love

The lobby smells like toast, which doesn't make life better for those who have left home without breakfast. I hold the front door open for a neighbor who takes too long to reach it, then step out into gorgeous fresh air. Judy R. is walking her child down Bennett Avenue, which is drenched in a sunlight that hasn't been seen since September.

There is a cute girl outside the station, talking on her cellphone. I've seen her on the train many times before, often with her boyfriend and often arguing with him. "I don't need to make a lot of money," she says, "but it should be about work and effort."

Yonatan K. is sitting on the benches just behind the turnstiles. He doesn't notice me as I walk by and stroll down the stairs to the subway platform.

On the train, I sit next to a couple. The man, in gray suit and lavender tie, is glued to his iPhone. He has an oblong head and a short reddish beard, and his wife, who appears the older of the two, reminds me a of my first college girlfriend. I double-take to make sure it isn't actually her, and the man takes notice. She doesn't; she closes her eyes just as his return to his precious phone.

Red Mutter

Third floor resident Avi N. walks into elevator, just as I step out. Outside the building, another neighbor waves hello from across the street, while walking her baby up and down the block. She is an attractive young woman who’s name I still don’t know despite her moving in over two years ago.

At the station, the train arrives just as I walk down the stairs onto the platform. Despite the crowd, it’s easy to notice a young redheaded boy muttering all too loudly to himself. He is complaining about the sticky floor. A few middle seats are left but I choose to stand instead, leaning against the door and settling in for the ride.

No Vitamins Today

I let the cleaning lady into the apartment this morning and, after a short chat, I leave for work. Downstairs, I run into Willie, the super, and then into David M. across Bennett Ave.

Sara K. leaves her building on 186th, and on Overlook I see Rabbi H. looking into the engine of his station wagon. Once inside the train station, Newspaper Guy says hello as I walk past him. Doron S. is also there, running after his son, and doesn't notice me or the fact that he’s wearing same coat as me.

A short woman with curly hair and a leather jacket smiles at me at bottom of stairs. Margie C. is also on the platform, and we ride the train together, discussing random topics. Of particular interest is the source of the strange smell in the car.

At 59th, I see Doron again, sans child, but still don’t get a chance to say hello. I transfer to the B, and get off near the bagel store, where I run into Will Y. To my deep dismay, they are out of vitamin water.

Delayed

Through no fault of my own, I am utterly late to work. Having been delayed upon entry to JFK last night, I arrived home at 4:00 A.M this morning, about seven hours later than I'd intended to.

At 10:20, when I leave my apartment, there is no time to make coffee and no energy to wait till Midtown. I skirt around the corner to Dunkin' Donuts even though I despise their coffee.

The train is full, but at this hour it’s a completely different set of riders. These are the start-up yuppies, the artists, and the students. One girl, wearing dark jeans and a gray down coat, is all too friendly. She asks an elderly Asian woman if it would be ok to sit next to her before taking the seat, and then compliments the scarf of another girl nearby. The scarf, when I look, turns out to really be quite pretty, made of a golden colored twill with black swirls and studded beads. Maybe there’s something to learn from the this crowd after all.

Memory Lane

With a significant amount of garbage to get rid of, I head down to the basement and see Antonio when I get there. I make the drop and as I get back into the elevator in run into Judy R.  She tries, almost unsuccessfully, to squeeze a double wide stroller out through its doors.

On 186th street, I see the wife of a local Rabbi who has randomly friended me on Facebook. We don’t say hello as I pass her.

I drop my tax return in the mail at the corner and make it the rest of the way to the platform and on to the next train. It’s pretty late and the subway is hardly crowded. A blonde woman next to me is working on a crossword puzzle clipped from the paper, leaning on a textbook about corporate finance. On the opposite side a father is reading his daughter a book "face to face with cheetahs" and they discuss the amazing eyes of the cheetah. This thought - a discussion of feline eyes - brings back memories of someone I used to know a long time ago.

Rushing and Running

I’m late for work so I rush downstairs. I can hear many children playing at the playground on 186th and Bennett. On Bennett, Rebbitzen H. is running up the street. She lives in my building and in all my years here I’ve never seen her run.

I walk to the train station, head through the turnstiles and see Aviva P. at the bottom of the stairs leading to the platform. At my usual spot I realize I still need to get breakfast so I walk to my "other" spot, the one that lets out closer to the bagel store. Tired and sleepy, I drift off as soon as I get on the train.

Selling Point

One of my neighbors, riding down with me in elevator, asks if I know any Java programmers but it’s unclear if he is asking about an open position that is available or someone who can fill an open position. Either way I don’t.

I get out on the basement level and Willie, the building super, gets in. I quickly mention that the faucet in my tub is still leaking a bit. In the courtyard I bump in Antonio, and then walk to the laundromat. On my way in, I notice Rabbi S. at the nearby bus stop. On my way out, after dropping off the laundry, I see that he is gone. Another bus is arriving though, and I take it to 184th street.

Josh S. leaves his building on 184th and I follow behind as he walks towards the subway. The A.M. New York Lady is no longer at the station, replaced by a more mild-mannered distributor (can you call them salespeople if the paper is free?).

I am still behind Josh when I reach the stairs. He tosses something into the garbage, and then I lose him on the platform. David M. is also here on the platform.

Nearby I spot a young woman in a gray wool coat, a black skirt, and attractive boots. Her hair is auburn and contrasts with fantastically bright green eyes. She is an Orthodox Jew, saying her morning prayers and swaying gently back and forth as she recites the words.

An announcement is made about the next train just as a drop of water from the leaky ceiling lands on my pinky. I get on the train when it arrives and at 175th a former coworker of mine, from years ago, boards the same car as me. I pretend not to recognize him, as he is probably doing the same and too far away to speak to in any case. At 59th I switch to the B train, and see Scott S.

Tirade

One of the neighbors on my floor, an elderly man, gets into the elevator with me. We talk mostly about the weather and when I get outside it is super sunny and warm. Up ahead I spot Shlomo D. and as I turn the corner onto 186th I run into Shuli S. She says hello. I reach Overlook and run into Avi H. as well, and we both wave as we pass each other.

I see Shlomo again, entering 37 Overlook just as I am about to catch up to him. On the platform, I see a redheaded girl whom I recognize but can't quite place. She eyes me surreptitiously as I get ready to board, on my way to a meeting at Microsoft’s New York headquarters.

Last Day of the Week

I head downstairs and on Bennett Avenue I see Shifra A. getting out of her black SUV. She is wearing a gray overcoat and stomping across the street in high decibel heels. She asks “what's up?” as I wave. Up ahead at the corner I see Sarah F.

At the station, I can hear the train approaching but continue my calm pace as others run towards it. I don’t reach it in time, but none of them do either. At the bottom of steps I see Doron S. with his little boy.

Isaac D. is also on the platform, fishing through his knapsack. He doesn't see me as I walk by towards my spot. When I get there, I find Yael B. right next to me and she says hello.

There is a soft saxophone playing at the far end of the platform. It is pleasant, but muffles an announcement about an approaching downtown train which was already difficult to hear.

Constitutional

The clock keeps ticking as I wait for Willie to come upstairs and get my key, so he can fix my leaky faucet later in the day.  At 8:15, I call him and it turns out he had an emergency to deal with.  He apologizes and sends Antonio to fetch the key.

While walking to the subway, I send emails to a few friends who are coming with me to a taping of the Daily Show later tonight. I won four VIP tickets at a Mount Sinai Panoply and want to arrange where we’ll be meeting.

Inside the station, Newspaper Guy says hello.  Marc R. is at the foot of the stairs and also says hi.  He asks if he’ll be mentioned in my blog and we briefly discuss the new draft of the Mount Sinai constitution.  Marc led a campaign against the first draft, which failed to be voted in by the synagogue membership.  He tells me that not all his issues have been addressed in the latest revision, but the most important ones were and feels comfortable with it.

I start walking towards my spot and pass Zippy K. sitting on bench while listening to music and sipping coffee from a Dixie cup.  She waves hello.  Sara R. is also nearby and says hi. Today, her hair is wavy. I wonder what is she doing in the middle of the platform; she is always near the stairs. 

David M. waves as I pass him and the train arrives just as I get to my spot.

Flying Solo

As I exit my apartment building, hurrying for work, Anat C. walks in and says hello.  She works in my building, in an office on the first floor, so I occasionally run into her there.  Outside, the weather has turned sour again.

I'm pretty late already, and the subway platform is practically empty. On board the train, a tan man in blue jeans and a brown coat has fallen asleep while standing. There are a few other people in the car, including one woman I recognize from synagogue, but the person that grabs my attention most is a tall African American man.   He is dressed entirely in black leather, save for a gray overcoat and knitted gloves.  Even his fedora is leather.  Walking aimlessly about and muttering to himself, the man is still able to hold the command of presence that is all too typical in New York City.  He notices me and, through darkened sunglasses, shoots a dirty look in my direction.

Screwdriver

It’s still early when I head down to the basement, where I can exit through the building’s back door and head to the laundromat.  Downstairs I run into Willie, the building superintendent, and we have a lengthy conversation about my leaky faucet and the exterminator schedule.  Antonio, who is working on a project to install a supporting bracket for every air conditioner in the building, is also in the basement.  He recently finished my air conditioners and I let him know that he left his screwdriver at my place, and Willie jokes that every apartment has a remnant of Antonio’s toolbox.

At the laundromat, I ask if they will press pants without cleaning them.  The woman tells me they will do it for $3.00 instead of the usual $4.50 though sadly, they won’t wash-without-press for $1.50.

On my way to the station I realize I am wearing brown shoes and a very decisively brown outfit, and ponder the thought of people color coordinating Yamikas as well, in a Jewish metro-sexual kind of way.  On the platform, I say hi to Yoni S. and slap him five.  He is wearing sunglasses (although they might be transition lenses) and, still being winter outside, I sneer at them.  When the train arrives, I get a seat and settle in, and think about the updates I will need to give at my 9:30 meeting.

Myriad of People, Myriad of Thoughts

The problem with a loose shoelace is that once you untie and re-tie, you must do it again to the other shoe even if the other show was perfectly fine to begin with. The urge is simply uncontrollable, and it's exactly what I do, propping my foot up on a stoop at the corner of 186th and Overlook.

I run into Yael B. in the tunnel that leads to the station and say hello. She waves briefly as she passes me. I also see Harriet T. near the metrocard machines. "Don't you go writing about me in your blog!" she hollers after me, smiling, as I enter the turnstiles.

The platform is crowded and I pass a myriad of faces belonging to people that are familiar (mostly from synagogue) but whom I don't actually know. I let one of them, a pale skinned girl with dark hair and features, get ahead of me into the train.

At 59th, the D Train arrives quickly, giving me plenty of time to pick up breakfast before work; I even get a seat. As I sit down for the short ride, I start to look forward to what will hopefully be a great new week.

Bogs

I can't believe it's still snowing. I take only two steps outside before I slip, and only three more before the snow slips inside my shoes.

On the platform, I notice Luba K. in the distance. She smiles, I wave, the train approaches, and we meet up in the middle of the subway car.

Luba asks me to send her a reminder to email Zehava about her new boots. They are Bogs, and they have handy-dandy handles. She tells me about their double insulation and I decide then and there I should invest in snow boots. It will mean fewer wet socks while at the office, and - perhaps more importantly - no more longcuts searching for a path that has been stamped out in the snow.

Luba still needs to say her morning prayers so we decide to catch up at after we transfer at 59th. On my Blackberry, I watch the end of a children's film I started yesterday. When we get off, we realize that we are transferring to different train, and she goes up the stairs to the 1, while I skirt across the platform onto a B. A scruffy yuppie sees me waving goodbye to Luba, then looks me square in the eye and says "score."

Brownie

My neighbor's daughter is in the elevator when I get in.  She is wearing a colorful argyle baseball cap and I tell her I like it. Outside the sky is still cloudy and yesterday's rain has turned to snow, forming a thin layer of slush on the ground.   On Overlook, Sam L. and Scott S. leave their apartment building and cross the street towards the station.  Sam is looking very brown, with a dark brown coat, a light brown skirt, and plaid brown boots.  Scott is wearing his hood up, like me.  I wave hello while they get a newspaper and then head inside.

On the train, I sit next to a small woman who after a few minutes starts sniffing rigorously.  When a little bit of snot starts to peek out her nose, I take it as a queue that it’s time to switch seats.

At 59th I run into Sarah S.  She is in a rush and runs past me.  It's then that I realize I'm already 7 minutes late to work, the second part of my trip still ahead of me.

Rain Rain Go Away

It's still raining.  That makes 48 hours, maybe more.  Like a North Poler in the early winter months, I've lost sight of sunlight.  I hate when it rains not because I mind getting wet, but because New Yorkers don't know how to walk with a damn umbrella.  It's like playing dodge ball with your face and a plethora of metal spikes.   Meyer B. passes me with panda-patterned umbrella.  He doesn't see me, but he's tall and easily manages to steer clear of me; that's more than I can say for the woman with circular umbrella.

In the station, I notice Rabbi G. texting on the catwalk.  On the train, I sit next to a woman reading a Vogue article about some other woman who left the city to live in rural Maine on a smaller budget.   The idea is enticing for a moment, but there really isn't much to do there.  This woman must have had some other motive the article has omitted - romantic love met on a connecting flight, or some strange line of business that can only thrive in the northernmost parts of the Continental U.S.  No, I'll be staying in New York for now, even with its idiotic rainy-day pedestrians.

Riding with Rachel

I seem to be back on schedule and should make it to work on time, though I skipped breakfast just in case. It’s hot in the elevator and so, despite the rain, I enjoy the cool air when I leave my building. Just outside Will A. is walking down Bennett Avenue with his wife.

At the station, I spot Sara R. near the bottom of the platform steps. Her hair is down and wavy. The train arrives right away and just as I get in I see Doron S. and his son walking out from a different door.

I am sitting in the train when Rachel W. comes over and says hello. Her rain boots are ultra-funky, full of psychedelic colors. She tells me her mom bought them for her, then takes my book to read the back. Rachel is with a friend and introduces me, and then she and I spend the rest of the ride discussing Broadway, weekend plans, and random parties. The ride feels short and I even have enough time to pick up a bagel before I go in to the office.

Latin Speed

Heading downstairs, I am all bundled up in my navy down jacket, the scarf my friend Rivki gave me, and the hat I bought in Montreal (I once drove to Canada in sub zero temperatures and forgot to bring one).  I'm also carrying a backpack, a rare occurrence for me.

It's while crossing 186th Street that a Dominican girl with a very small nose, driving a white Hyundai, drives far enough into the intersection to make any pedestrian feel uncomfortable.  She barely seems to notice as I awkwardly twist away from the Sonata.

I arrive at the platform just having missed a train, but another appears just one minute later.  It is not crowded, and I choose a window seat next to a thin woman reading "The Tipping Point".  I always sit next to women when I can, not because I am a subway pervert, but because they tend to be smaller than men and don't usually spread their legs when they sit.

I started reading "The Tipping Point" a few years ago.  Although I liked it conceptually and would still recommend it, I only made it half way through.  The woman turns the page beginning Chapter Three as I take Robert Ludlum's "The Apocalypse Watch" out of my bag.  I am on Chapter Six.

Same Old Song and Dance

Late again, though not as bad, it seems like this week has been much of a wash. Downstairs, some old Russian babushkas are chatting just inside the entrance to my building. They are blocking the door so I just stand there till one of them notices. “It’s OK” she says and motions for me to walk past. I shoot a look of wonder at her, and she realizes her cart is obstructing the door. “Sorry,” she says and moves it.

On the platform I see Jon E. and Yoni S. Neither of them notice me as I walk past them to my spot. On the train, a short man with a gray sweatshirt, black nylon pants, and a leather vest is sporting a spiky Mohawk and chatting with a friend a few seats down. I suppose the 80’s really are back, and I tune my Blackberry playlist to a set of 20 year old dance mixes.

Wolvesbayne

It’s been another rough morning and despite my best efforts I am so behind on schedule that I’ve had to email everyone at the office and let them know I’ll be late.  Even with caffeine, everything is a blur.  I rush to the station and notice simply that the snow has started to melt, small chunks occasionally falling down from tree branches and fire escapes above.

On Overlook, I look upwards (in an attempt to avoid aforementioned falling snow chunks) and notice that one of the retaining walls in the schoolyard at the top of the hill has a large crack in it.  Does the school know about the crack?  Is it dangerous?  Should I be reporting this to someone?

Walking into the station and heading down the tunnel I hear the train approaching.  I run to the turnstiles but by the time I swipe my metrocard, I realize it’s an uptown train and slow my pace all the way to my usual spot.  The downtown arrives a few minutes later.

At this hour, there are few people on the train and getting a seat is easy.  In an attempt to stave the monotony and boredom, I reach for my Blackberry and watch forty minutes worth of the movie “Wolvesbayne.”  As far as vampire movies are concerned, it’s not much of a winner and watching it during the ride makes me jealous of the woman next to me.  She also has a Blackberry, but it is silently perched on her lap as she nods away.

Wishful Thinking

It was wishful thinking to assume that the long weekend would help me get back to getting to work on time.  Quite the contrary, I've slept in the past three nights and getting up today was quite the chore.  It's not that I don't wake up on time, but more that I move so slowly in morning, and tend to get caught up Facebooking and emailing.

Outside, there is a slow, streaming fall of chunky snow.  Shlomo D. is walking on Overlook, and he waves hello while steadily propelling his child in a baby carriage.

I arrive at the station and decide to check through the plethora of metrocards in my possession:  one monthly unlimited, expires 2/23;  another unlimited, never used; and one standard metrocard with some oddly uneven amount of change on it.

Back into the wallet they go, and down to the platform I go.  The train arrives and I get the seat at the end of the car, and spend the next two stop trying to figure out why the girl sitting across from me, in a New York sweatshirt, is staring me down.   My shirt is buttoned and my fly is zipped, so maybe she just likes me.  She gets off at 168th and I slip my headphones on for the rest of the ride.

One More Day

Things don’t look particularly good today, in terms of getting to work on time. I’m confident and hopeful, as I leave my apartment, that the long weekend will set me back straight. Just outside my building a woman is contemplating how she is going to dig her car out from under the snow. A thin Asian girl in skinny jeans, tucked into her boots, runs by.

Ruchama J. is inside her parked car, across from the train station and in the same spot as yesterday; I wonder if she ever made it out. She rolls down her window. “Did you hear about Matt?” Yes, of course I’ve heard, he’s one of my best friends and now he's gone and gotten himself engaged to be married.

At the entrance to the station, the AM New York Lady is singing a made up jingle about AM New York, and just inside a short woman is wearing a coat identical to the one Aliza’s mom bought her last year. I snap a picture for the blog before joining the hustle and bustle down below on the platform.

Old Habits Die Hard

I'm late. Yesterday was the first time since the New Year began that I was significantly late to work, and also the first time I missed a regularly scheduled workout.  As I rush to the train I wonder if, after only five and a half weeks, I am already slipping back to my old habits. In my defense, it's been as stressful a week as any, not to mention that I am feeling sleep deprived, a bit dehydrated, and my right contact lens is itchy.

On the way to the station I call Aliza and wake her up, as she had asked me to, and wish her a happy birthday.  When I turn onto Overlook, I see Ruchama J. brushing the roof of her car, which has been snowed in and plow trapped.  A short woman whom I don't recognize is shoveling the snow around Ruchama's car.  Finding the question on my face, Ruchama shouts "this is a very nice woman" and shrugs.

On the platform, Adam F. whizzes right by me.   A few seconds later, I hear a pitched "hi Ely" and look up to find Marissa E.   I'm really glad she has moved back into the hood, even as I contemplate moving out.  The train comes; I get a seat and settle in.  Next stop: more coffee.

Captain Jack

The only thing worse than needing a shot of whiskey to get your day going, is needing a shot of whiskey to get your day going and not having any.

Outside, snow is falling heavily and it isn't long before a chunk of it has slipped inside my dress shoes. A flake hits me in the eye, and my coat is completely surrounded. I am under attack. Luckily I am from Miami and know how to deal with snow.

At the entrance to the train station, I run into Aliza A. She is waiting for the Yeshiva University (her employer) shuttle van to pick her up. I talk to Aliza for a bit, mostly about the material makeup of my hood, which she has asked about. As we part, she smiles and warns me to stay warm. "You too" I holler behind me as I go in. Sometimes, a short moment with a friend can make all the difference in starting your day.

Too Much Coffee

The cleaning lady is over and we are schmoozing for a while when I realize I am about 10 minutes later than I want to be. I head downstairs, lugging a giant bag of laundry with me, and drop it off at the Laundromat on Broadway. For a brief moment I am tempted to take the bus four blocks to 184th but I relent and walk to the train station as usual. Along the way, right in front of Mount Sinai Jewish Center, I run into Henry R. He says good morning as he turns into the synagogue entrance.
At the station, there is a woman on the platform with a cat hat. Everything about the hat is as ordinary as the next one, except for two furry, triangular ears that extend above the top. I also see Avi S. on the platform.

At Rockefeller, I get off the train and start walking the rest of the way to the office. Stopping at Starbucks and seeing that the line is too long, I decide to get coffee at the corner stand, which usually has no line at all. Lucky for me, the person just in front of me orders a bottle of water, 2 rolls with butter, and 32 medium coffees.