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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

New Playlist

Plan A was to get to work early. I'm four minutes late for Plan B, which is to get to work on time. Outside my apartment, the building reeks of paint, and I'm happy to get outside. The cold air causes my eyes to water, and I can barely make out a neighbor sitting inside a double parked car, engine idling. Across the street, one of the neighborhood Shatnez testers is walking towards down Bennett with a backpack strapped around his shoulders. Is he housecalling?

On 186th, I spot Marc R. in a dark trench coat. Inside the station, the same over-aggressive AM New York woman that was there yesterday is once again trying to pawn papers away on account of the free coupons inside.

I get to the turnstiles and down to the platform, walk to my spot and slip my headphones on. Last night I copied a whole slew of new songs onto the Blackberry. Pink Floyd's "Waiting for the Worms" is the first song to come on.

Yael B. walks by and waves. I see David M. nearby, but I'm not sure if he sees me. I lean back against the wall as Malka S. also passes and waves.

On the train, there are no seats but I get the spot at the end of the car, so I can lean on the door. "Mary's in India" is playing when I feel a knock behind me. Stepping aside, I watch the conductor exit the control booth and walk about eight feet into the car, then ask a teenage boy to give up his seat for an elderly woman. The woman thanks the conductor, but insists she is OK. The boy is relieved. By the time the entire exchange is over I'm on to another song, Pink's "Stupid Girls". The conductor returns to the booth and closes the door behind him.

Walking from Rockefeller to the office, I see someone wearing the same exact coat as Aliza and I think of her. She works afternoons and doesn’t normally get up this early, which makes me jealous. I text her. I’m not entirely evil; she asked me to give her a wakeup call, though technically that would not be for another five minutes.

Deeply Cold

It's early and it's cold. The streets are quiet, devoid of people save for myself and an Asian woman in a long blue overcoat. I start to wonder if getting to work on time will be healthy for my blog.

At the train station, the scene is mostly the same. A few scattered passengers here and there, waiting at the platform. Everyone is dressed for warmth. A slew of winter fabrics are on display - goose feather jackets, wool overcoats, and an array of gloves, boots, and hats. Further down I see David M. wearing a black Russian ushanka. He gets my vote for both warmth and fashion.

On the train I slip my headphones on, and slide my own gray wool hat over them. Hitting the shuffle button on my Blackberry starts streaming Styx's "Lady 95" into my ears. I am deeply weary, tired mentally and physically despite a full night's sleep and only one day back after a long weekend. I close my eyes and wait for the morning caffeine to get working.

I Hate Monday

There are few things more hated than Monday mornings. As I head out to the laundromat, I notice that there has been yet another increase in the amount of dog poo left on the sidewalks.

I pass Mt. Sinai and see people chatting outside, among them Marc R. Services must have just ended. On the way back, after dropping off the laundry, I see Adina L. and her husband Yaki R. on the corner, near Key Food. Heading towards the train station and passing my own building, I run into some of my neighbors who are schmoozing among themselves. I see Ezra F. across the street.

On Overlook, I see David H. go into the station ahead of me. A few seconds later I walk in to find the station smelling a strange mix of urine and lemon scented cleaning solution.

I am late to work and wondering if, as is usual at this hour, I'll run into Adina S. I turn around and, eerily, she is right behind me. "You're late" she admonishes. Yehuda B. passes us on the platform and waves hello. Adina and I take the train together, talking about the recent array of Chanukah parties in the neighborhood, and I tell her all about a very drunken Rock Band after-party at my place on Saturday night. She does not sound sorry to have missed it.

Kix and Drinks

The only thing I hate carrying more than a bag is an umbrella. Sure, it keeps its bearer dry, but it’s so awkward to carry around in crowded subway car. Even someone lucky enough to get a seat has nowhere comfortable to store it during the ride. On the few occasions, like today, where the rain is so fierce that I must take one, I usually end of leaving them at work for want of not carrying them back.

In fact, I have only one umbrella left at home – a medium size semi automatic with a hooked handle. Right outside my building, fidgeting to get it open, I see Judy R. walk by, pushing one child in a stroller and her eldest lagging a few feet behind. He is proudly holding up a colorful brolly of his very own.

The rain is really pouring down, making me grateful for the three scaffolds along the way: 115 Bennett, 110 Bennett, and finally the one right outside the train station. I stop underneath the last one to undo my umbrella and Emily T. is there, talking on her cell phone. “I love you,” she says, and heads inside.

On the platform I see Emily again, as well as David M. who passes me and wishes me a good morning. Next to me on the bench is an Orthodox Jewish woman with a light blue bandana covering her hair. She is eating what looks like Kix and milk, out of a plastic cup. The train doesn’t come for a long time, and the platform starts to crowd. An announcement about the next train being out of service turns out to be incorrect, however, and I board alongside a cute girl who’s name I don’t know but that’s been written about in my blog before.

At 175th, an elderly woman with dyed hair and thick glasses get on the train. She stands next to me and, being the quintessential “grumpy old woman”, starts muttering and cursing when the train doesn’t immediately move. The conductor announces for someone at the font to stop holding the doors open, and the woman increases her rants. Although comic and somewhat enjoyable, I put my headphones on to ignore. That is when she smiles at me, the sweetest old-woman smile possible. In an instant she has become the angelic grandmother, and I am sad to see her get off just one stop later.

A scruffy middle aged man takes her spot next to me. He is well dressed, business casual, but his eyes are terribly bloodshot and his breath wreaks so powerfully of alcohol that one might imagine he’s come straight from the bar without ever stopping at home last night. He is reading Metro NY while strangely licking his lips, and once or twice he coughs violently enough that I think he might throw up on me. I turn up the volume on my music and push my body into the wall behind me – as far away from the drunkard as it can go.

Laryngitis

I’m officially sick this morning. I feel OK, even the bit of cold from yesterday seems to have subsided, but there is no voice to be heard of. I can feel the swelling in my larynx and when I try to speak, nothing comes out at all. It’s an experience I haven’t felt since grade school but since I feel fine I cough it up to talking too much at dinner last night. I make tea and take it with me on the way out, in a Dixie Grab N’ Go cup. It’s a tip I picked up a few years ago from Caryn, who makes her own coffee for the subway ride.

On Overlook, near the corner of 186th, I see Aviva P. heading towards the station. I get into the station and down to the platform, and pass her as I walk to my usual spot. I walk by David S. too. He smiles and waves. David M. is also here, and he nods when I walk by him a moment later.

There is a saxophone player on the platform today. He is wearing white button down shirt with a New York sweatshirt over it, and dark blue jeans. A gray felt hat matches the sweatshirt. The sax case, open on the floor in front of him, is draped with an American flag and has a few dollars in it.

On the train, there is no chance of a seat. A young woman is standing next to me, reading FT Wealth with a copy of today’s Financial Times folded behind it. She has straight brown hair, brushed to her right, with giant ears poking out each side. Her lip is terribly bitten, and she continues to chomp on them as she reads. I bite my own lip for a second, and am surprised to find it rather soothing, the way I imagine smoking cigarettes must feel to addicts. I bite the other side, then, amidst momentary relaxation, remind myself I already have enough bad habits already.

One Big Happy Family

Walking towards the train station, I see Mrs. H. talking to Gilit H. at the corner, near the Breuer’s elementary school. Walking behind me is the guy who works in my office building who’s name I don’t know. Aliza B. is also somewhere behind me.

I enter the station, and the smell of urine is a bit stronger than usual. The guy from my office passes me in the tunnel, and then I pass him back on the stairs, heading down to the platform.

The platform is replete with familiar faces. David M. is standing close to the edge, looking out for the next train, and Caryn L. is sitting on one of the benches. Benny S. is talking to a girl; I can’t quite make out who she is. When the train arrives they board the same car as I do, as does Lisa K. I disappear to the corner and watch TV on my phone.

My Fare Lady

I'm a bit late and rushing as I go downstairs and run into the building superintendant. I've left the keys with him so he can install a new stove in my kitchen while I'm at work, and as I walk by he slaps me a high 5 and says we are all set to go.

At the station there is a small buildup of traffic at the turnstiles. A women in front of me is trying to get through but the message reads "Insufficient Fare." She tries again. Again. And again. Behind me, a man makes a clicking noise with his tongue against his front teeth, and follows it with a sigh. The fare on the card is still insufficient when she tries a fourth time. Finally, she doubles back to go get a new card and I see she is somewhat attractive. In her late 30's and rather tall, she is wearing uncreased navy pants and a white short sleeve shirt with an orange pattern. Her short, cropped hair is dyed blonde with red highlights.

David M. is on the platform and we wave good morning to each other as I pass him and head towards my usual spot. I also see Michael, whose last name I can never recall, sitting on a bench. He is blond and I remember him from an overseas summer study program we both attended. It was the summer between my Sophomore and Junior years at college, and although we ended up living in the same neighborhood, I don't think I have spoken to him since.

Down towards my spot there is a gentleman playing guitar and singing beautifully in Spanish . The guitar is old but the tone is crisp as the man picks at the strings, and his voice is both soothing and relaxing, a surprise in the New York City subway.

The train arrives, and I sit near a window. The lady with the insufficient fare sits next to me and it is now that I notice her brown leather flats, which have a gator skin pattern. She is of East European decent, or perhaps Russian, it is difficult to tell exactly. Like me, she spends most of the ride focused diligently on her blackberry.

Later, outside the bagel store, I see Chaim H. He is an old friend from college that I started running into when Cafe K stopped opening for breakfast, and I started going to Milk and Honey instead. As I head towards my office I think of the guitar player on the station and wish I had thought to drop some money in his case.

182 Bennett

I've got to make a stop before work this morning, at an apartment in the famed 182 Bennett. Its famous because the building is so heavily populated by young Orthodox singles and newlywed couples. On the way there I pass the local synagogue and the superintendent is out front hosing the sidewalk. I also see Ezra F. and David H. finishing up conversation near the side entrance. David happens to live in 182 Bennett and I am just a few feet ahead of him when he starts walking home.

In the elevator I run into Adina L. She has a bag full of groceries and says she's going to get some cooking done before heading for work. I ask if she'll be biking to work today and she says she wasn't planning on it but if I was, she'd ride with me. Maybe Monday, I say.

David has caught up and is also in the elevator with us. I don't know him too well, though we met through a mutual friend many years ago. He has an older brother Carl I'd met way back in high school, but that story is too long and too old to even think about.

I make the drop and head back downstairs and towards the train station. On the way I bump into Adina's husband Yaakov R. He says good morning and sounds surprised when I tell him I've just seen his wife in the elevator. He doesn't understand why she isn't at work. I wonder if he realizes I was away in Chicago last weekend with his twin brother, who's now married to my former neighbor and has an adorable 3 month baby.

Further towards the station I see Ari R. and we chat for a few seconds. We're both late to work, but he works in the neighborhood and has a five minute commute. I think about all the money I'd save if I could just go home for lunch every day instead of going out.

On the platform, I spot Kenny H. who lives in my building. He doesn't see me. It's so late the train is hardly crowded when I get on. To my left a woman in a red skirt is reading about Obama shaking hands with Khadafy, and on the other side a man is reading an article about vacationing titled "Ditch the City." I annoyingly read tidbits over his shoulder most of the ride, until an embarrassingly powerful sneeze sends my yamika careening across the car.

Loincloth and Laundry

I'm hoping for another quiet day in the neighborhood as I leave for work. Up late last night and having slept so little, I'm extremely tired and the 20 lbs. of dirty laundry slung over my shoulder isn't helping. I've been sending out my laundry ever since the price of quarters went up, and the only difference today is that I'm late for work and shouldn't have bothered. Unfortunately, I only have one set of sheets left and I'm running low on undies too, so a delay just wouldn't be wise.

On the way to the train station I spot David S. in the distance, too far to even wave. Further on, at 186th street, I run into Esther B. She's on the way to class and complains about the fact that law school runs through the summer. Her hair is set in two small braids, pinned to the sides of her head. I tell her I think her sunglasses look masculine, and she responds that they are Ray-Ban aviators. In this case, neither the brand name nor the style increase femininity, but she insists and we leave the matter alone.

In front of the station, we run into Scott S. When he says hi, Esther points out that we all grew up in Miami, although I'm significantly older than both of them and had already moved to New York when they were still children. The three of us walk to the turnstiles together and Esther and I pass through but Scott experiences a metrocard malfunction. The train is coming so there is no waiting around, we go on without him.

Down the stairs I say goodbye to Esther and quickly head towards my usual spot further on the platform. The train pulls in and just as I board I catch a glimpse of the opera lady through the glass in the doors. I smile but she does not smile back, though it does not matter. Finally alone, I sit back on the nearest bench to enjoy the sweet tunes of Kate Nash playing in my very own earphones, and I think about her and all the things her music reminds me of.