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.

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.

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.

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.

A Slew of Peeps

It's while waiting for the elevator that I notice the downpour of snow outside the hallway window. It looks beautiful, but the sky is menacing and I can feel the cold draft through the cracks in the window's frame. I get into the elevator and run into Mo H. twice. First, while throwing out the garbage - Willie the super is also down in the basement - and later in the lobby. Venturing outside and onto Bennett, I pass Shaindle S.

I stroll slowly to the station, and take in the fall of snowflakes. I even consider stopping to photograph them, but reluctantly I continue towards the train; I don't want to ruin this week's perfect streak of getting to work on time.

Ezra B. overtakes me on Overlook and I congratulate him on his recent engagement. He thanks me and mentions my blog, saying that he was thinking about the "Raise Plow" sign from yesterday's post. We chat some more before parting ways at the platform. While boarding the train I run into Doron S. He and his son are getting off and Doron waves and he bends down to take his son's hand.

At 59th, we pull into the local track. There is a another A train parked on the express track, numerous police offers strutting about. A stranger, who has also just gotten off the same train I was on, shoots me a look of wonder. Caroline M. walks by, and up the stairs to the exit. Both A trains pull out shortly afterward, a D arrives, and I continue on to another day of work. On time.