Small Format

I am terribly late this morning, mostly due to my late arrival back home last night. One of the old women who usually sit outside the building spots me in the lobby, accompanied by her caretaker. She is awfully sweet and when she wishes me a Happy (Jewish) New Year I feel guilty that I don’t even know her name. I reciprocate the wishes and head towards the subway station.

Across from me on the train is an unusually tall woman, wearing a black t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, and listening to her iPod. When an elderly lady with a cane boards and sits next to her, the tall woman scoots to the edge of her seat and makes more room for the lady so that she will be more comfortable. Forgoing New York attitude and a little bit of comfort for someone else, the tall woman has reminded me that some of the most important things we do in life can often come in small format.

Script

I head over to the Laundromat on the way to work today. At the corner of 187^th, Josh C. sees me from across Broadway and waves. I make the drop and the woman behind the counter reluctantly agrees to have it done by the time I get home, which should be earlier than usual since it’s Friday.

Lazily, and armed with an unlimited metrocard, I take the bus three blocks to 184^th. I get inside the station and onto the platform and see Josh T. who for some reason looks a bit nervous. I take a seat on one of the benches and spot a Latin woman with a short checkered skirt and a black tank top. Her boots are made up almost entirely of two thin leather straps that start at the sole and twist back and forth around her feet and ankles and halfway up to her knees. They are funky but she is not cut out for this kind of outfit. When I board the train, the girl she sits next to me.

Sitting on my other side is a tall guy accessorized with a golf hat and dark sunglasses. His sneakers are missing the laces. He has a Mac laptop and is writing the outline of a screenplay call “Snowmobile Thriller.” In its current state the plot does not seem like blockbuster material to me, but Hollywood has churned out its share of terrible films so it could theoretically happen. I start to wonder if he is also reading the things I type out on my Blackberry.

Ironically, the woman sitting across from me is reciting the lines of another script out loud. She is tall, thin, and pretty. There is fat girl in a pink sweater standing between us who keeps smiling at me. I smile back but avoid further eye contact, and continuing to read one script while listening to another.

Chainsaws and Tats

A loitering man, armed with chainsaw, provides under normal circumstances a reasonable cause for concern. But in lobby of a Bennett avenue building I can safely say good morning as the man holds the door open for me.

Ilanit H. is sitting outside playing with her baby and talking to some local women. I walk to the station and on to the platform, where I see Aviva W. and Josh C. sitting on a bench near the stairs. We wave.

On the train, a 30-something man is sitting next to me, reading "Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World." He is wearing checkered jeans and black felt shoes. His dark muscle shirt has a "worn out" look and has been meticulously stained with blobs of white paint. His skin is tan, and on his right arm, there's a tattoo of... He catches me eyeing his tattoo and fires a glare towards me.

On my other side is a women in flat shoes, black denim pants, and a beige, almost skin-toned sweater. She has fallen asleep with her head resting on a silver mug that is poking out of her large blue hand bag. One of her hoop earrings keeps clanging against the mug as the train rocks her head back and forth. We get to 125th street and the train screeches to a halt. The woman wakes up from the noise and then drapes over her head what are the largest headphones I've ever seen. They are painted with colorful designs (the cord attached to her iPod is yellow) and are branded “Skull Candy.”

The man's tattoo appears to be the cartoon of a penis.

Columbus Ave. Breakfast

I am surprised when I leave my building and find the air has actually become chilly. There is a man dressed in the full traditional Jewish garb of Tallis and Phylacteries walking casually down the street. Except in synagogue, its unusual outside of ultra religious neighborhoods to see people dressed this way.

I reach the subway platform and it’s more crowded than usual. I quickly spot Benny S. Also on the platform is a couple that lives in my neighborhood. I don’t know them at all except that I often see them together on the subway. A few nights ago they had been in a fight on the way home, and finally as they were getting off I overheard her apologizing. Today, he is wearing a light blue t-shirt with camouflage army shorts and is carrying two large bags, one from Kenneth Cole. She is wearing gray pants, a black hooded sweater, and her dirty blond hair is propped up with sunglasses. He is tall with a big nose, she is short and her nose is small and cute. Her big brown eyes always look sad.

At 59th street I run into Shifra G. and Devora K. who are talking to a nice guy, introduced as Dave. Devora mentions that sometimes she follows my blog. They all live on the Upper West Side and when Miriam C. who lives near me in WaHi, joins us, we talk about how 59th street is a good rendezvous point for people from both neighborhoods. Shifra advocates meeting again tomorrow, and assigns each of us to bring coffee, orange juice, muffins and donuts.

The Fall, Almost

It may still be a while till the autumnal equinox, but for most New Yorkers this is this last week of summer. Maybe that’s why there are so many white pants about on my way to work today. There’s a well known rule that white pants are forbidden in the Northeast after Labor Day, and people are trying to squeeze as much summer as they possibly can into these final seven days. More beach, more outings, more summer flings. More white pants.

As I walk into the station I spot Scott S. about a block behind me. I can hear a train pulling into the station and there is a mad rush to through the turnstiles. I don’t understand, since the train is an uptown, but I get closer and I see there is also a downtown train and I run downstairs. I make the train, but only because it is being held at the station.

An Orthodox woman with a black top and flowery skirt runs into the train just as the doors start to close, and her red leather handbag gets caught in between. She grabs hold of the straps with both hands, leans back, and tries to pull it free, like a little girl playing tug of war. The woman is scolded by the conductor before the doors open just wide enough to free the bag.

Sitting across from me is heavy set Hispanic woman, wearing black pants and a black t-shirt with a blue sweater above it. The sweater does not match, and the metallic clasps on her sandals make me cringe when I notice them. The woman is eyeing me suspiciously. I eye back. She looks away momentarily then shuts her eyes for two minutes, and we repeat the process a few more times before she finally gets off.

At 59th I run into Sara S. and we talk about the weekend. She went parasailing with some friends and I went biking and visited my friend Rachel who has just moved into a new apartment. As far as end of summer activities are concerned, she definitely has me beat.

Rain Friday

It's raining but I am too lazy to carry an umbrella, and from the looks of it I can manage without. I see Aliza G. just outside my building. She is spending a few weeks out of town, at her parents, but came in for one night, to attend an interview.

On 186th I see Lisa K. and she waves from across the street. There is a woman in sporty clothes on the porch of 45 Overlook, presumably stretching before a run, but she actually seems to be engaged a full Pilates session. I keep walking and see the Station Homeless Guy in front of the entrance to the A. He asks for charity, and I wonder where his girlfriend is. Inside the station, I also begin to wonder if he is responsible for the putrid smell of urine that permeates the tunnel.

I go through the turnstiles and down to the platform, where Alisha K. is thoroughly engaged, like other Orthodox subway-riding women, in her morning payers. I walk down to my spot, praying the rain will have stopped by the time I get out.

Tounges and Hair

It's another day late to work. Although it's a drag just to get downstairs and out the building, I am excited my first full week back at work is now more than half over. Just outside I see Aliza B. but she is walking North on Bennett, away from the train station.

At the corner, I run into Mirele D. who greets me by sticking her tongue out. She is jolly as ever and the world would be so much better if we all could smile as much as Mirele does. I reach the next corner and the Con Ed crew from yesterday is still there.

To get a seat on the train, it's important to know exactly where on the platform to stand, but the real trick is to always know exactly where you are going to go once inside. That means quickly scouting out the car, even while it's still moving and before the doors open. The technique lands me a seat across from a young Asian women wearing striped pants and a pink short sleeve shirt.

The woman's hair is in a poof, an accidental spike of unwanted tresses and locks. She somehow realizes this and while glancing and me glancing at her, she pushes it down with her hand. The woman quickly checks her reflection in the window, then looks at me again and smiles.