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.

Smelly Men

 I leave early and the walk to the station is uneventful. Once inside, however, I join a mad rush of runners who - having just exited from the Fort Washington elevator - try to catch the train, which can be heard rumbling onto the platform below.  One woman can't get her metrocard to work and dashes underneath the turnstile.  I swipe my card behind her, but the delay has landed me at the foot of the pack; I surprisingly still make it on.

The first car, populated with the horde of Fort Washington residents that has just boarded, is void of empty seats.  There is also a smelly homeless man wafting nearby, so at the next stop I switch into the adjacent car.  Several others join me and along with all the new passengers boarding, this car quickly fills up as well.  I find the last empty seat, next to a fidgety boy who leaves at the next station.

Near me a man, in jeans and a gray jacket, is carrying a Victoria Secret bag and eating fried chicken.  The food actually smells good, but at 7 A.M. does not entice most human digestive systems. The smell of chicken is soon overpowered by that of yet another odorous homeless man. There is nothing left to do but grin, bear it, and try to forget it.  Blackberry music always helps.

Almost Over

I am not just tired; I am downright wiped, and late. Glad that the week is finally coming to an end, I try to maintain some semblance of a positive outlook as I leave for work.  On 186th street I see Sara R. leaving her building, her hair up in a bun.

Turning onto Overlook, I see Jessica S.  Her hair is wet and she looks as though she is utterly freezing, as she hugs a garment bag close to her body and her lips slowly turn into a pale shade of blue.

Inside the station, I hear the train approaching and run for it, getting a seat in the first car.  Scott and Sam S. are sitting together, nearby.  Sam smiles and waves and I wave back to her.  At 59th, I get off to switch to the B/D and run into Aliza B. on the platform.  She also smiles and waves.

Leaving the subway, I walk to Milk and Honey for a bagel.  Micah G. is eating breakfast in what might be a business meeting.  I haven’t seen him in ages and actually thought he was still living in Israel.  When he gets up to ask for more milk in his coffee, he spots me and says hello, though I think I might have taken him a minute or two to figure out who I am.

Smelly Brew, Lacking

Lately, I’ve been making breakfast and eating at home or, in a pinch, wrapping it up and taking it to the office.  Today, however, I decide to be lazy and pick something up once I get to Midtown.  

On the way to the train station I see Rabbi B. rushing inside a building. Just inside the tunnel, the AM New York Lady is chastising a 17 year old boy.  “Didn’t I tell you yesterday how important this is?” she hollers.  “You need to know what’s going on.  Read the paper.  Here, take it.  You can read it on the subway.  Just take it!"

Sara C. is on the platform, wearing a turquoise hat with a little flower on it, a long black coat with a furry hood, and spicy black boots.   I am about to walk over and say hi but she is far, and the train is approaching.  I stay at my spot.

There are no seats on the train.  A girl standing near me is wearing a colorful scarf with an otherwise bland outfit, and her head is furnished with large Skullcandy headphones.  Also near me is a tall man with a tall cup of coffee and I can smell the brew.   Delaying breakfast was OK, but it’s clear now that delaying caffeine intake was a poor choice.  I struggle to keep my eyes open, even as new passengers boarding at the next station bump into me.

Me and My Harley

I get downstairs and find that a slim film of snow has covered the ground overnight. There is usually a path cleared from the front courtyard to the sidewalk; It's strange to be leaving the apartment before the super shovels it through.

On Overlook, I watch as Isaac D. sprints across 184th and into the station. The only thing I have time to notice are his 180's. Unlike my knock offs, he has the real deal.

I make it to the platform and run into David K. We say hello, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him outside of synagogue before. The train arrives shortly thereafter.

Too lazy to fish for my headphones, I let my eyes wander about the adverts along the top of the cabin walls. For $79 I can finally have affordable healthcare. A dark haired Lisa Shannon encourages me to attend the CUNY Online College, and if I'm ever in trouble with the law I can count on the attorneys at 1-800-INNOCENT. The best ad is for Harley Davidson. If I owned one, I wonder if I'd ride it to work every day. Would I blog about it?

Changing Everything

Although I might still make it to work on time, I haven’t left my apartment this late since my return from Israel. On Overlook, I run into Yael B. and wave, and further ahead I can see Yaakov L. entering the station.

The AM New York Lady is at the entrance, proclaiming that “they” are “changing everything.” She is howling about hospitals and the educational system. I seldom watch the news and rarely read the paper (if it’s important enough I will eventually hear about it) so I have no idea what she might be referring to. If I wanted to know, she tells me, I can read all about it in AM New York. I may not be able to stand this woman’s daily raves, but her perseverance is inspiring all the same.

While waiting for the train to arrive, Ari R. sits next to me on one of the benches. He is working towards and a degree in acupuncture and herbal medicine, and today is studying for a test in the configuration of the ear. This is his second advanced degree; I’m glad to be out of school, although work can be dauntingly overwhelming more often than not. This week is no exception, and I’m rushing to get to the office. The sooner I arrive, the sooner I can leave.

Solitude Standing

It's so early when I leave that the moon is still visible. The street crowd at this hour is entirely different. The yuppie middle class that largely characterizes the blog I write is still in bed, replaced now with a darker, unfamiliar scene.

Yitzi, a kosher caterer who does business in this neighborhood, can be seen further down on Bennett unloading his van. Several dog walkers are about, and some people are idling their cars, waiting for the engines to warm up from the overnight winter chill.

The train is sparsely populated, with plenty of empty seats available even after three or four stops. It’s a strange opportunity to enjoy a quiet, peaceful NYC subway ride.