the night is light underground

this is the subway at 3:30am.

everyone sleeps.

The night is light underground.

Underneath my feet, it is always bright. The day never falls into a dark night, and the light of morning never stops shining. Hundreds of bulbs illuminate a world of tunnels, rails and platforms, casting everything into eternal shadow and relief. There is no sense of time here, no shift from dusk into dawn, no sense of life's ceaseless forward marching pace. It is always day here underground. The night is one of light.

Millions of people congregate here. They come to catch subways that will take them to places of work, pleasure, sleep, dining, and worship. Women going off to work wear 'sensible' high heels, ones that don't turn them into human versions of the Leaning Towers of Pisa. The kids going to school haul backpacks with them, snapping gum and talking at full volume. Wall Street bankers look staid and bored in perfectly fitted suits.

They are always here, the people, even during the hours when only insomniacs and drunks are awake. Even then, during this phantom time of night, the people come to the false daytime of the subways. They bask in the lighting like revelers at Coney Island, the platforms their beaches.

It's during these strange hours when I love the subway the best. The 1am - 4am bracket of time seems the most mysterious, strange and charged time to ride the subway. Walking underground you lose the night sky and are immersed in a bath of cheap lighting, your nostrils confronted with the primitive odors of urine or unwashed hair.

Single men stand, casting furtive looks around them. There are always 1 or 2 females as well, looking worn out, tired and sometimes drunk. Couples paw at one another -- they always seem to be much more public in the evening -- and drunks more freely fall asleep on the benches and subway seats that dot the underground.

It's a good thing to do once in awhile. Hop on the subway late at night and observe humanity around you. You gain humility at seeing all the workers coming off their night shifts looking beaten down and ready to pass out in fatigue. You gain sympathy for the single girl riding by herself, looking around her every so often to make sure no one is going to bother or molest her. You laugh a little at the passed out drunks snoozing on the seats. (Not in a mean way, but in a comical one -- they sleep with their mouths open, expressions frozen in sleepy shock.)

The night is always light underground. If you haven't experienced it, you should. It's a strange world.

smelly subway

The folks at Gawker.com are working on a 'smells of the subway' map, and it looks like it's going to be pretty funny. I've already noted on this blog that Canal Street station is the fishiest smelling place in Manhattan (aside from Chinatown itself and fish markets), but Gawker is taking it to a whole new level. Rock on, I say!
Here is the link: http://www.gawker.com/news/maps/smell-something-say-something-193079.php

To New Yorkers: submit,submit, submit if you smell something!

bits and pieces

Today:

I saw ...
* a pair of butterflies floating around the roof of my apartment building.

* a middle aged couple sitting in a parked car, holding hands and looking at one another with smiles on their faces and eyes full of love.

I observed ...
* that Prime Dog Walking Time in Park Slope (not where I live, any would-be stalkers!) is between 5 - 6:30pm. More dogs on leashes than cars on the streets. Well, not really, but that's how I felt. Oh, and they're ALL CUTE.

Two days ago:

I got ...
* a free flower vase. It's painted blue and it was sitting out by someone's trash. Nothing was wrong with it except for one small chip in the paint at the bottom, so I took it. I stuffed it right into the bag I was carrying and marched my new vase home, where it has been sitting on a tabletop ever since. Happiness.

memories

february 11, '05 brooklyn

the man who wanted to collect my toes

I warn you now. This is a post about feet. Or, to be more precise, a post about toes. Toes and feet. Let me assure you that it isn't a subject I'd normally put much thought into, but, for once, I think I probably should. You see, my feet were recently the center of a very bizarre encounter I had in Manhattan, and it's one worth sharing with people, if only for the sake of a few laughs. (Or shudders, which ever.)

I can't go any further without mentioning a few facts about my feet. They are small, well arched and always pedicured. I don't like feet per se, but it's important to take care of them, since I'm always walking around in flip-flops. A lot of people seem to agree with me, too. I've had men (and yes, it's always guys) do everything from thank me for my 'pretty feet' to try to guess my shoe size. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's a little creepy, but most of the time I don't think anything at all of it.

With all this in mind, now try and picture me sitting in a park in downtown Manhattan a few weeks ago. It's sunny, warm, and the perfect weather for sandals -- which, of course, I'm wearing. I'm sitting on a bench studying notes for class, happily soaking up some sun and listening to the conversations of people walking by.

Now imagine a rotund little man shuffling up to me. He stops still in front of me and begins to stare pointedly at my toes. I'm looking a little put off and confused by this, and am startled when he tells me I have "nice feet." My first impulse is to ask something along the lines of 'What am I, a horse?' Instead, though, I just nod politely and say thanks.

The man takes this for an opening to talk to me, and informs me, yet again, that I have nice feet. He seems especially taken with my toes. "Cute toes!" he coos at me. At this point I want to tuck my feet up under me so he can't see them anymore, but I just lamely continue to sit in the same position I have been all afternoon.

"I collect toes," he goes on to say. "I have books and books of toes."

Now this, I think, is starting to get creepy. The man is staring at my feet like a lecherous pimp and smiling a strange, twisted little grin. He sits down next to me and starts his monologue all over again. "I like your toes. Pretty toes. Nice feet."

I've had enough at this point, so I tell him, point blank, "I'm really busy right now. I don't have time for this."

To my surprise he gets up. "Alright then, "he says, "I'll leave you alone now. But you keep taking care of those feet."

"Oh yeah. I will," I tell him.

And thus concludes my posting on feet.

updates

Updated the travel blog. Will update this one too, but I have an exam on Thursday. So, it'll be touch and go with the internet until my math test is over!

Wish me luck.

entry at 2:17am

Sometimes living in New York makes you feel like a great big nobody. Someone without a name, purpose or function.

Pointless.

my travel blog needs some comments, people

Check it:

http://flipworldwide.blogspot.com/

celebrity sightings

Francophiles have Paris. Alien abductees have Los Alamos. Gamblers have Monaco. And gossip hounds? We have New York City.

It's true that LA is the entertainment capitol of the world, but that's just for the film industry. New York is the cultural gem of America, which means we attract more big name movie stars, artists, musicians, authors, dancers and models than almost anywhere else on this little green planet of ours. Fitting, then, that almost everyone in this city has multiple stories to tell of various run-ins with celebrities. A prime example of this was the day when, after less than a full day's work on a brand new job, my former roommate came home and announced she had rung up Drew Barrymore's cash register that afternoon.

As all of my friends have had numerous celebrity sightings, I have been waiting for my first. Well, that's not true. I did have a chat with Joan Baez in an elevator a few years ago (culminating with her patting me on the head), and I've performed for several well known names (Madeline Albright, Kanye West, etc.) -- but still. It wasn't quite the same thing as running into a celebrity on the street.

Which, I can now add, I finally have. About a week ago I was leaving a late night class on my university campus, when who did I spy filming a movie on the street? Miss. Buffy herself, Sarah Michelle Gellar. Granted, it was evening time, drizzling, and the ultra-bright set lights everywhere made it hard to look directly in her face. However, it was definitely her, and the crowd of bystanders gawking at her made this quite evident. The camera crew were giving everyone non-industry related (i.e. me and all the other people staring) nasty looks, but that didn't stop anyone from pulling out camera phones and snapping photos of Gellar like she was some sort of exotic wild beast roaming the streets of Manhattan.

She looked underfed and very short, and her hair was dyed black. Very pretty though, which I suppose is a requirement for all Hollywood actresses. I don't remember much else about my celebrity moment except that she was filming a scene with another actress (no clue who), and had on a pretty hideous boots.

... and I have to cut this entry short because of a duo of unruly cats trying to sit on my laptop.

when power tools attack

I take pride in New York City's subway system. I mean, it is one of the longest and most famous lines in the world. However, when things happen that involve innocent victims and power tools, I'm not so sure how I feel about riding around on the train anymore. I mean, seriously. Earlier this year a dead corpse was found riding around on a train, and now a weirdo trying to hack people in half? Luckily the guy was caught, but here's more detailed information for those who are interested:

http://gothamist.com/2006/07/06/man_attacks_sub.php

summertime

It's summer, and the weather is nice!

the umbrella man

I'm walking in the rain, getting soaked to the skin while chatting on my cell phone. As the rest of New York is huddled under umbrellas, I'm splashing around in puddles of water on the sidewalk. I have no umbrella and my hair is sticking to my face and getting into my mouth. My clothes are sticking to my skin and rain drops keep falling into the speaker of my cell. "This," I inform my friend on the other end of the phone line, "sucks. Royally."

New York has been under a deluge of wet weather, and I'm not enjoying any of it. There's something to be said for the cooling relief of rain during an urban summer, but, then again, there's something to be said for not having to walk around everywhere with rain boots and a jacket on.

There I am, walking along, step after step (with a regular SPLASH! of a puddle), when a plump young man falls into step beside me. He's looking at me curiously, and when I catch his eye he offers up a small smile. The handle to a big black umbrella is clutched in his right hand, and his balding head of hair looks neat and dry. I am, of course, jealous of this fact. (Not his balding head, but the fact he isn't suffering from damp clothing.)

"Want to keep dry?" The man extends his umbrella over my head. He looks harmless enough, and so when he asks where I'm headed to, I don't feel sketched out enough to blow him off. Instead I do the surprising thing of being truthful with a stranger for once. "Honestly," I tell him, "I'm not sure where I'm going." When he looks confused I try to explain again, all the while still attempting to continue the conversation already taking place on my cellie. "I'm lost," I mouth to the umbrella man, "but I think I'm headed in the right direction."

"Well, I'm headed in the same direction too. I'll walk you there," is his quick reply.

And so we trail along at a stately pace. I feel a little silly with an umbrella being held over my head by a man who is carefully trying to match his walking pace with my own. At the same time, however, it feels kind of nice, like being a modern day noble with a dutiful servant at my beck and call.

The man holding the umbrella politely lets me finish my conversation on the phone as we walk. When I tell the person on the other end "I love you," the man at my side cracks up and says "I love you too!" Once I've hung up, he wants to know if I was speaking with a boyfriend. I give an affirmative 'yup' and he puts on a dejected face and sighs, "Oh well, I was hoping it was a parent or family member."

Tough luck.

After double checking some cross streets, I realize I'm heading the right way to my destination. I admit to the umbrella man that the part of Manhattan we're in is strange to me. It's not my style, I tell him. Too many rich ladies in fur coats walking small, pissy dogs.

As promised the man escorts me to the door before heading off with a "Have a great day -- and don't get rained on!"

And that is the very short tale of the umbrella man who kept me dry during a rainy Manhattan week.

I'm baaaaaaaaaack

I'm back!

No, this blog is not dead. It was just hibernating until I got my life in order. New apartment, new semester of class, trying to find (yet another) job ...

Oh! The travel blog has begun. http://flipworldwide.blogspot.com Check it.

Photos on Webshots will be posted soon, as well. The link is http://community.webshots.com/user/indianepalflip. Plenty of photos there for anyone interested in seeing a bit of my trip to the East.

A New York City related post will be coming in the next day or so. For now I'll just give a single clue on what the post will be about: Umbrella Man!

Yay!!

I'm off to India & Nepal! Please send me positive thoughts for a safe trip there and back, and while in the far east. (Is that the proper title for this part of the world?) Oh, and the consensus is in -- yes, I will be creating a travel log upon my return. Yay!! Any suggestions for names?

Lots of love, and until my next entry ...

bon vonyage to myself.

your opinion needed

I played my concert with the 'Grammy winning artist.' I can't say who or where because of the contract I signed, but I can still write about the experience, which I will do when I have more time freed up.

[edit: Now I can say, since it's been long enough! It was Kanye West. Whee. :)]

In the meanwhile, I am getting ready to set off for India and Nepal for a 3 week adventure. I'm going to keep a journal over the course of my trip, and turn them into blog entries when I return. I'm also planning on taking lots of photos to post online and share with everyone.

I am thinking about starting up a travel blog on the side. I've done enough interesting trips at this point to have a lot of material to write about, and my most recent ones (Belize and Puerto Rico) are still fresh in my mind. My question is this -- what do you guys think about my idea? Would you be interested in a travel blog?

Give me your opinions before Monday!!

music, central park zoo, cupcakes and more.

So much has been happening lately, I don't even know where to begin.

I suppose the first order of business is to mention a gig I have coming up this weekend with a Grammy Award winning rapper who's very, very famous and was recently in Dave Chappelle's Block Party documentary. It's unexpected and pretty sudden, and I'm not going to lie, I'm a little nervous about it. Sight reading is required -- not my strongest point -- but thus far the music that has been sent to me does not look difficult.

Other news -- I played Bernstein's Chichester Psalms last night. The concert (chamber version) went very well, especially considering I had VERY short notice to learn the piece, which is notoriously difficult for my instrument. I never had a chance to have a complete rehearsal with the full ensemble and almost zero time to tune (not to mention no time to warm up beforehand). The conditions were less than ideal, but my instrument (and me) held through it, and did just fine. The chorus was very nice and friendly, which always makes performing easier. All in all I was surprised and pleased with how kind everyone was. I got a few compliments from the performers as well, which is always nice.

A couple days ago I had a very New York day and visited a couple city institutions. First on the list was the Central Park Zoo. In general I hate zoos, because they are pretty much prisons for animals. It wasn't surprising, then, when I found out one of the polar bears at the CPZ had to be put on antidepression medication. The zoo itself was lovely. Small, but beautifully landscaped and full of informed, friendly guides. The habitats were cramped, especially for some of the monkeys, and the sea lion tank made me feel sad -- the animals had no where to go except to splash around in a circle all day, which they did over and over, making me dizzy. The penguins looked happy, as did the puffins, but the monkeys looked depressed, as did the polar bears. (Even the one on medication.) The animals were well taken care of, however, and I didn't feel as guilty about visiting as I normally would with a zoo. Especially touching (I'm a total softie when it comes to animals) were the senior citizen animals who had special tanks and were obviously well loved.

Highlights:

*The rainforest room -- amazing birds! There were so many different kinds, and they were all colorful. A few were making nests, which was adorable.
*Baby colobus monkey -- cutest animal ever.
*Red panda
*Snow monkeys, although their exhibit was small and weirdly surrounded by water.

Next on the list was a visit to the store Condomania in the West Village. I think the name is pretty self-explanatory. I went with a classmate as a joke, and it was as entertaining as could be imagined. We did not spend very much time in there, however, as the store was limited to pretty much what it's named for. Apparently it's famous though, and has a loyal following.

Then it was cupcakes at the overrated Magnolia's. The place is famous for their baked sweet stuff, but the staff were catty, self absorbed and generally the type of people I try to avoid. It was self serve for cupcakes, which were tasty. $3.50 for 2 cupcakes, however, is overpriced. Not worth it. It was fun to try, though, and there was no line, which is unusual.

Afterwards I ate my cupcakes in the park, and was hit with a storm of pigeons. One was gimp with a messed up foot so he got a few pieces of the cake. I'm a sucker, what can I say?

improper use of toilets

So, I have a question. Why do women have a hard time aiming straight while sitting on a toilet?

Seriously. You can't go to the bathroom anywhere in this city without having to check out the floor, toilet seat and that little flushing handle first. Then, of course, there's always the lack of paper, which is strange, since god knows enough trees are being cut down each day to allow us Americans to wipe our precious arses with. I think people steal the rolls of toilet paper from bathrooms. Even I'm guilty as charged, but only the rolls from my school -- I figure I pay enough tuition that saving a few dollars each month by hoarding TP from them is no big deal.

Due to the gross factor involved with trying to take a piss in New York, I've decided to put together a few helpful hints on how to Pee In Public Restrooms. This is not to be mixed up with How To Pee In Public, which I've also kind of mastered, but that's a whole other story. My advice, for women anyway, is:

* Don't go to the bathroom at Barnes and Noble bookstores. Maybe I'll get sued for typing this, but they always have dirty bathrooms, long lines and lots of peed on toilet seats. Also, frantic shoppers checking their windblown hair in the greasy mirrors is never a plus. They have sharp elbows and take up a lot of room.

* Don't bother using a toilet at any university or college campus. Apparently educated girls can't pee any straighter than their less intellectual counterparts. Also, toilet paper theft seems to be an issue at these places -- see above in the first paragraph if you have any doubts.

* Bryant Park has a nice bathroom. There's an attendant and everything. Also, the toilets are all self cleaning -- technology at its finest.

* The Port Authority has surprisingly okay bathrooms. I've been there a lot, and I've never been grossed out to the point of wishing I'd never stepped foot into a stall. The cleaning ladies there all speak in Creole or in beautiful languages from Africa, and they all stand around like royal guards armed to the teeth with ammonia sprays and rolls of paper towels.

* Starbucks, like Barnes and Noble, have restrooms open to the public. Alas, they are equally skank, if not more so. Avoid the one by the West 4 Street stop on 6th Ave. I felt dirty just breathing the same air there. Same goes for the one on Astor Place. Mega ew.

Anyway, that's my post. I'm avoiding doing work, can't you tell?

annoyed

Well, I just lost everything I spent half an hour typing, so now I'm pissy and don't feel like going back and recreating the post I planned on publishing. It was all philosophical and focused on India and Nepal, and how excited I was.
But I suppose that's pretty obvious, and blabbing on about it on here doesn't matter. (Man, I am IRRITATED I lost that damn post!)

Anyway, blah blah blah. IndiaNepalIndiablahblah.



Um, yeah. So screw this post. It's a lost cause at this point. Maybe I'll try it again later.

In other news, I'm stressed out as hell. I have a huge performance coming up that I was only informed about last week -- I get 1 rehearsal on the same day as the concert, and it's difficult, hard to count, and a very exposed part. I barely know the piece at all. Joy of joys. I have several papers due soon, an ecology project for one of my classes, and final exams to prepare for. Can anyone say 'being a student sucks?' Thanks, mom and dad, for paying for an education that is going to make me mentally unstable and strung out for the rest of my days.

Oh, and in case you're wondering about the airplane picture -- it was the only thing that remained from my previous post, weirdly enough. It was supposed to go along with the whole 'traveling' theme. Whatever. Peace.

open letter to the people upstairs

Dear People Who Live Upstairs,

Please stop moving furniture and stomping around at 2 in the morning. I understand that you may have been raised by a herd of elephants, but you live in the city now and not in an African game reserve. This means, simply put, that I'd love it if you would take the time to shut the f!!k* up after 11pm.

In other words:

Thanks,

Your Neighbor Who Banged A Broomstick Against The Ceiling Last Night To Say BE QUIET .

(I was unsuccessful in my attempt at creating peace and civil order.)

* Expletive not put in completion in respect for my mother, who does read this thing from time to time.

random things

Random Things:

the girl riding the skateboard down Waverly Place the other day in a designer jacket and jeans.

no one cleans up after the pit bull who goes to the bathroom on my street.

the trash that accumulates around the police station. no one ever bothers to pick it up.

me, giving a lost tourist directions to st. mark's.

schoolkids flirting on the subway.

i feed stray cats when they look hungry.