Showing posts with label The City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The City. Show all posts
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
So It's Thanksgiving...
Amazingly enough, no food coma. I exercised something resembling self-restraint, and didn't need to pick up my belly and carry it home with me. Of course, now it's 9:45pm and I'm peckish. But no matter -- we have leftovers. So if my hunger gets the better of me, I can help myself.
But I don't want to talk about the meal (good), the company (better than good), or any other traditional Thanksgiving details. The thing that left the biggest impression on me today was a near run-in with a homeless man on the ride out to my mother's Thanksgiving dinner.
Coincidentally, my husband (fine, since he's dispensed with pseudonyms on his website, I'll just call him by his name), Brent, blogged about an encounter with a few homeless men earlier this week. I don't intend for our blogs to serve as point/counterpoint or anything of the sort; I think my writing might suffer by comparison were that the case. It's just inevitable that I'll reference things he thinks about and says, as our lives intertwine pretty inextricably.
Anyway, Brent and I were headed out to Queens from our apartment in Midtown Manhattan. We rode an E train to get there. While en route to the subway station, we actually remarked to one another how dead -- how preternaturally empty -- the City seemed. The subway, however, was anything but.
Unlike the streets above, the subway car we entered -- at the front of the train where, even during weekday rush hours, you can usually find at least a few empty seats -- was packed. All sorts of folks were headed in the same direction we were, which meant that neither of us was able to get a seat of our own.
The ride to my mom's place isn't too long; at worst, it runs maybe 45 minutes. Tonight, we were only going to a stop by my grandmother's apartment, and then my mother was going to pick us up and give her a lift, killing multiple birds with one stone, so the ride was even shorter -- maybe 25-30 minutes. Even so, I wound up spending a very long ten-minute stretch on the subway.
Considering how packed the car was, I was startled when I noticed that, between stops, such that there'd be no incentive to give up one's seat, a slew of people (European tourists, if I had to guess; none of them speaking English) scurried out of their seats and crowded the corner of the car where Brent and I were standing. Because we were both carrying heavy containers of food, for about a half a second, I thought about taking one of the recently-vacated seats. Only half a second. I came to my senses pretty quickly.
While New Yorkers are surprisingly polite about some aspects of subway travel (e.g., giving directions to evidently-lost tourists, and waiting for folks to exit subway cars before entering the cars themselves), they are not so generous-of-heart as to relinquish perfectly good seats en masse for no good reason. So that large an exodus had to be motivated by something inappropriate and unseemly taking place near them. Upon reconsideration, I knew better than to try to grab a seat. I just didn't know what in particular I didn't want to be seated next to, even though I knew without a doubt that I was better off standing.
Brent saw him first; my view of the fellow was largely obstructed by a fellow traveler. There was a middle-aged, hard-living homeless man reclining on the subway seats. He had just dropped his trousers to half-mast (towards what end, I knew not, nor did I care to inquire). Folks were both recoiling in horror and staring at him, like the cliched train wreck off which you cannot pull your eyes. The tourists near me laughed nervously.
I couldn't see much of this man; just enough to see that he didn't seem to be threatening anything more disruptive than airing out his equipment. Eventually, he lit and smoked a half-used cigarette. The stench was overpowering. But he didn't make any fuss, didn't make any advances, and kept to himself, for all the commotion he was causing.
At the next stop, half-sickened by the stench of the cigarette, I convinced Brent to switch cars with me. We moved one car over, and that was that.
Except it wasn't. I can't help but pity the man. I imagine that anyone who has sunk so low as not to car (or not to realize) that he's disrobing on mass transit is in a very bad way indeed. I don't know where he came from, how long he's been like this, or what's going to happen to him. I know that I didn't have the power to help him -- not with Thanksgiving leftovers, and not with spare change. This guy needed Help with a capital "H."
New Yorkers talk about the "Homeless Problem" -- something that is called increasingly to our attention as the weather turns colder. It's that time of year when those who can't find shelter take to the buses and, more often, subways for warmth and a little protection from the elements. This guy we saw tonight? Sure, he's part of the problem. But he was -- he is -- human, too. And I'm totally flummoxed over what to do. I had the good sense not to point and giggle. But my pity won't change anything.
I don't write to propose any grand solutions. I don't have any. I just want to express how useless, how helpless I feel at observing this man tonight in this condition.
I learned recently that my brother's girlfriend has made a habit over the last few years of volunteering on Thanksgiving at the Bowery Mission. I don't know her all that well yet, but I was really favorably impressed to learn that about her. Even though it's important to focus on family during this holiday, she has made a policy of helping folks who need it. Again, given what I said above, I know that cooking or serving a warm meal for some homeless people won't solve the Homeless Problem, either. But it's a lot more admirable, a lot more meaningful, a lot more money-where-your-mouth-is than blogging about it.
I used to make a habit of volunteering with New York Cares. I think it's time to get started being involved again. My family nurtures me. Hell, this City takes good care of me. I ought to give something back.
But I don't want to talk about the meal (good), the company (better than good), or any other traditional Thanksgiving details. The thing that left the biggest impression on me today was a near run-in with a homeless man on the ride out to my mother's Thanksgiving dinner.
Coincidentally, my husband (fine, since he's dispensed with pseudonyms on his website, I'll just call him by his name), Brent, blogged about an encounter with a few homeless men earlier this week. I don't intend for our blogs to serve as point/counterpoint or anything of the sort; I think my writing might suffer by comparison were that the case. It's just inevitable that I'll reference things he thinks about and says, as our lives intertwine pretty inextricably.
Anyway, Brent and I were headed out to Queens from our apartment in Midtown Manhattan. We rode an E train to get there. While en route to the subway station, we actually remarked to one another how dead -- how preternaturally empty -- the City seemed. The subway, however, was anything but.
Unlike the streets above, the subway car we entered -- at the front of the train where, even during weekday rush hours, you can usually find at least a few empty seats -- was packed. All sorts of folks were headed in the same direction we were, which meant that neither of us was able to get a seat of our own.
The ride to my mom's place isn't too long; at worst, it runs maybe 45 minutes. Tonight, we were only going to a stop by my grandmother's apartment, and then my mother was going to pick us up and give her a lift, killing multiple birds with one stone, so the ride was even shorter -- maybe 25-30 minutes. Even so, I wound up spending a very long ten-minute stretch on the subway.
Considering how packed the car was, I was startled when I noticed that, between stops, such that there'd be no incentive to give up one's seat, a slew of people (European tourists, if I had to guess; none of them speaking English) scurried out of their seats and crowded the corner of the car where Brent and I were standing. Because we were both carrying heavy containers of food, for about a half a second, I thought about taking one of the recently-vacated seats. Only half a second. I came to my senses pretty quickly.
While New Yorkers are surprisingly polite about some aspects of subway travel (e.g., giving directions to evidently-lost tourists, and waiting for folks to exit subway cars before entering the cars themselves), they are not so generous-of-heart as to relinquish perfectly good seats en masse for no good reason. So that large an exodus had to be motivated by something inappropriate and unseemly taking place near them. Upon reconsideration, I knew better than to try to grab a seat. I just didn't know what in particular I didn't want to be seated next to, even though I knew without a doubt that I was better off standing.
Brent saw him first; my view of the fellow was largely obstructed by a fellow traveler. There was a middle-aged, hard-living homeless man reclining on the subway seats. He had just dropped his trousers to half-mast (towards what end, I knew not, nor did I care to inquire). Folks were both recoiling in horror and staring at him, like the cliched train wreck off which you cannot pull your eyes. The tourists near me laughed nervously.
I couldn't see much of this man; just enough to see that he didn't seem to be threatening anything more disruptive than airing out his equipment. Eventually, he lit and smoked a half-used cigarette. The stench was overpowering. But he didn't make any fuss, didn't make any advances, and kept to himself, for all the commotion he was causing.
At the next stop, half-sickened by the stench of the cigarette, I convinced Brent to switch cars with me. We moved one car over, and that was that.
Except it wasn't. I can't help but pity the man. I imagine that anyone who has sunk so low as not to car (or not to realize) that he's disrobing on mass transit is in a very bad way indeed. I don't know where he came from, how long he's been like this, or what's going to happen to him. I know that I didn't have the power to help him -- not with Thanksgiving leftovers, and not with spare change. This guy needed Help with a capital "H."
New Yorkers talk about the "Homeless Problem" -- something that is called increasingly to our attention as the weather turns colder. It's that time of year when those who can't find shelter take to the buses and, more often, subways for warmth and a little protection from the elements. This guy we saw tonight? Sure, he's part of the problem. But he was -- he is -- human, too. And I'm totally flummoxed over what to do. I had the good sense not to point and giggle. But my pity won't change anything.
I don't write to propose any grand solutions. I don't have any. I just want to express how useless, how helpless I feel at observing this man tonight in this condition.
I learned recently that my brother's girlfriend has made a habit over the last few years of volunteering on Thanksgiving at the Bowery Mission. I don't know her all that well yet, but I was really favorably impressed to learn that about her. Even though it's important to focus on family during this holiday, she has made a policy of helping folks who need it. Again, given what I said above, I know that cooking or serving a warm meal for some homeless people won't solve the Homeless Problem, either. But it's a lot more admirable, a lot more meaningful, a lot more money-where-your-mouth-is than blogging about it.
I used to make a habit of volunteering with New York Cares. I think it's time to get started being involved again. My family nurtures me. Hell, this City takes good care of me. I ought to give something back.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Halloween Highlights
Below are some of the better pictures we captured during and after the Halloween Parade. I learned two lessons at it: (1) you can't spend enough on a high-quality flash for your camera, and (2) line up early.
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Each of these skeletons was operated by numerous puppeteers.
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More high-fying puppets (the parade's theme was "Wings") -- which struck me as Burtonesque in nature.
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I have not the words.
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This woman was either a washing machine or a robot, but either way, I think it was the best costume I saw all night.
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Each of these skeletons was operated by numerous puppeteers..jpg)
More high-fying puppets (the parade's theme was "Wings") -- which struck me as Burtonesque in nature..jpg)
I have not the words.
.jpg)
This woman was either a washing machine or a robot, but either way, I think it was the best costume I saw all night.
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If you can't do this when you're young and ripped, when can you get away with such a costume? (At least, I think it was a costume. This being NYC, one can never be 100% sure....)
Off and Running
Erring on the side of caution, I figured I'd better post *something* before the day gets away from me. For the next thirty days, NaBloPoMo is the boss of me.
That said, after last night -- where I made good on my plan to visit the Village Halloween Parade -- I'm thinking this could be fun, as long as I answer when opportunity knocks.
Walking the City with the Mister, I felt alive for the first time in ages. As much as we love one another, we have gotten into something of a rut. Between both of us being somewhat overworked, and what with him studying for the GMAT exam, we don't have the energy to give the best of ourselves to each other at night. It's wake up, rush to work, come home, rush to the gym, and then get back at 11 p.m. to inhale some dinner, chat, try to decompress and fall into bed. Meals are consumed on the sofa, in front of the DVD player more often than not.
While there's nothing inherently wrong with that routine, and it was borne of necessity in large part, we have to -- we want to -- change it. Last night's affirmative choice *not* to go home and do nothing (well, if not nothing, to settle back into our routine), we shook off some dust, checked out the parade, walked around the City for a few hours, caught some dinner out at a restaurant we hadn't been to in ages, and had a great old time. I fell in love with him and with my City (not that I'd fallen out of love, just that it's nice to be reminded) all over again.
I needed that. And I'm going to make a point of doing that more often.
That said, after last night -- where I made good on my plan to visit the Village Halloween Parade -- I'm thinking this could be fun, as long as I answer when opportunity knocks.
Walking the City with the Mister, I felt alive for the first time in ages. As much as we love one another, we have gotten into something of a rut. Between both of us being somewhat overworked, and what with him studying for the GMAT exam, we don't have the energy to give the best of ourselves to each other at night. It's wake up, rush to work, come home, rush to the gym, and then get back at 11 p.m. to inhale some dinner, chat, try to decompress and fall into bed. Meals are consumed on the sofa, in front of the DVD player more often than not.
While there's nothing inherently wrong with that routine, and it was borne of necessity in large part, we have to -- we want to -- change it. Last night's affirmative choice *not* to go home and do nothing (well, if not nothing, to settle back into our routine), we shook off some dust, checked out the parade, walked around the City for a few hours, caught some dinner out at a restaurant we hadn't been to in ages, and had a great old time. I fell in love with him and with my City (not that I'd fallen out of love, just that it's nice to be reminded) all over again.
I needed that. And I'm going to make a point of doing that more often.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Amateur Shutterbug
Lacking any formal training in photography, I've always been of the school of thought that if I document an event with a hundred photos, and two of them are good, I can up my percentage going forward by looking over the photographs and seeing what worked and what didn't. Rather than invest the time or money (both of which are somewhat scarce) in a course, I've just taken thousands of photos, and compared them to what I saw, and to the look I was trying to achieve.
While I doubt any amount of autodidactic effort will put me on par with any of my regularly frequented photobloggers -- all of whom clearly know what they're doing -- I figure that even mere improvement is cause for celebration. Taking a less crappy photograph is still better than taking an unabashedly crappy snapshot.
Until recently, the obvious occasions for photography have been at Big Events: weddings, holidays, and other family gatherings. I also have made a point of documenting my vacations with scores of photographs, mostly of vistas, as my friends are generally far more interested in seeing pictures of places they might someday visit than of people they will never meet.
What I haven't done is make a point of photographing my hometown. It seems a shame. I'm always peoplewatching -- on the sidewalk, out the window of my apartment, on the subway, and yet I'm shy about actually documenting the faces and phenomena I see in this town. Truth be told, something amazing is always happening in New York City.
I always assume I'll stay here forever. I've already lived here for most of my life. I'm out of school, my family is settled in and around the five boroughs, and -- as pricey as I find it to be -- I love it here. But I don't know for sure that one day I won't look around, consider the fact that my monthly rent for a 675-sq. ft. apartment is more than double one friend's mortgage (mortgage!) for a townhouse more than twice that size in Atlanta, or that it's nearly ten times another friend's mortgage on a home he's renovating in Charleston, SC. The cost of a down payment on any home I might hope to buy is more than double the cost of an entire single-family home in countless cities in America.
So -- on the off chance that one day I might say "fuck it all" and forsake my hometown for the heartland -- I ought to make a point of playing photojournalist. I should document all that is precious and all that is extraordinary about the city in which I live.
Tomorrow is Halloween. I think it's about time I stop bragging about how phenomenal the City's Halloween Parade is and start capturing it firsthand. Same with the lighting of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. And so on and so forth. If anything, maybe making a point of bringing my camera with me will force me to get off my ass and to take more advantage of the City's offerings. That wouldn't be a bad thing at all.
If I post Halloween pics on this site sometime soon, you'll know I made good on my plan.
While I doubt any amount of autodidactic effort will put me on par with any of my regularly frequented photobloggers -- all of whom clearly know what they're doing -- I figure that even mere improvement is cause for celebration. Taking a less crappy photograph is still better than taking an unabashedly crappy snapshot.
Until recently, the obvious occasions for photography have been at Big Events: weddings, holidays, and other family gatherings. I also have made a point of documenting my vacations with scores of photographs, mostly of vistas, as my friends are generally far more interested in seeing pictures of places they might someday visit than of people they will never meet.
What I haven't done is make a point of photographing my hometown. It seems a shame. I'm always peoplewatching -- on the sidewalk, out the window of my apartment, on the subway, and yet I'm shy about actually documenting the faces and phenomena I see in this town. Truth be told, something amazing is always happening in New York City.
I always assume I'll stay here forever. I've already lived here for most of my life. I'm out of school, my family is settled in and around the five boroughs, and -- as pricey as I find it to be -- I love it here. But I don't know for sure that one day I won't look around, consider the fact that my monthly rent for a 675-sq. ft. apartment is more than double one friend's mortgage (mortgage!) for a townhouse more than twice that size in Atlanta, or that it's nearly ten times another friend's mortgage on a home he's renovating in Charleston, SC. The cost of a down payment on any home I might hope to buy is more than double the cost of an entire single-family home in countless cities in America.
So -- on the off chance that one day I might say "fuck it all" and forsake my hometown for the heartland -- I ought to make a point of playing photojournalist. I should document all that is precious and all that is extraordinary about the city in which I live.
Tomorrow is Halloween. I think it's about time I stop bragging about how phenomenal the City's Halloween Parade is and start capturing it firsthand. Same with the lighting of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. And so on and so forth. If anything, maybe making a point of bringing my camera with me will force me to get off my ass and to take more advantage of the City's offerings. That wouldn't be a bad thing at all.
If I post Halloween pics on this site sometime soon, you'll know I made good on my plan.
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