pigeons

photo of pigeons i took in kathmandu, nepal '06

i found this in some (old) notes of mine and thought ...

pigeons get no love.

so, to all the birds, here's a post for you.

and no, this is not meant to be taken seriously!

Ode to the Pigeons

You are so cute
although you always poop.

well, there ya have it.

my pigeon poetry.

(i think finals are really starting to make me go mildly insane. apologies for the weird post.)

(but i still think pigeons are cute.)

random things ... heard on the subway/subway & sidewalk sightings

Seen In The Past Few Weeks At The Bryant Park Subway Station:

* A little boy, who was merrily peeing against a wall inside of the station while his parents held his pants down around his ankles.

* An old Chinese woman, performing Christmas carols on traditional Chinese instruments ... which were still tuned in a non-Western scale. 'Silent Night' never sounded so unsettling.

* The old man who's always performing classical violin on the downtown platform. I never give him any money (I never have any), but I always wonder if he actually ever gets any students from his homemade sign that states 'I TEACH VIOLIN LESSONS!'

* A wheelchair bound beggar who became increasingly belligerent when no one gave him any spare change. I almost stuck around to see if he was going to start running people over.

* That guy always shilling his group's rap CD ("We do NOT degrade women!) and promotional materials for 1 dollar on the F train. "Best deal in the ci-tay. 8 songs for 1 dollar." Seriously. He's there almost everyday, and I've literally seen about 3 people purchase a CD from him.

* A pigeon flying around the uptown platform. Hello? You're a bird. Go back outside.

Seen In The Past Few Weeks On Various Sidewalks Around My Neighborhood:

* An old refrigerator

* A king sized mattress

* Baby pacifier (That struck me as sad, for some reason.)

* Books -- thanks to whoever provided me with a copy of the MLA Guide to Research Papers. Woohoo.

* Shoes

* A lamp and lampshade

Heard On The Subway:

* Conversation between a little girl and her father:
Little Girl: (looking at the drag queens standing near her) "Daddy, why are those boys dressed up like girls?"
Father: "Well, honey, sometimes men like to dress up like women ... "

* Street preacher to everyone in the same subway car:
"Men must stop lusting after women's butts. Jesus does not want men to look at women's butts. MEN MUST STOP WANTING WOMEN'S BUTTS." (etc etc ... I almost asked him if 'behind' or 'rear' would have been a better word choice than butts for a holy man, but whatever.)

sugar overdose

Have you ever had that 'I Ate Too Much Sugar And Now Want To Die' feeling?
Because I have. Right now, in fact.
It ain't pretty.

(Symptoms of sugar excess for anyone not in the know: being tired, cranky & overfed.)

During a walk today I came across 'Two Little Red Hens Bakery' on eighth avenue in Brooklyn. (http://www.twolittleredhens.com/) I was with a friend who owed me $5, so we oh-so brilliantly decided that the best way to even up the financial situation was to buy me cupcakes and/or sweets.

The interior of the shop was very nice -- think Park Slope Yuppie meets downhome country -- and full of the typical whitebread couples who seem to frequent such places. The bakery itself was small, but packed full of shelves lined with tarts, pies, cakes and cupcakes. Heeeeeeeaven! (Cue in Belinda's Carlisle 'Heaven on Earth' if you're reading this to music.) Everything looked incredible, in that picture perfect Martha Stewart Living kind of way. All the cakes and cupcakes were deocrated with a heavy coating of icing and artful/edible flowers. They looked like every cake I had ever wanted at my birthday parties as a little kid.

Naturally, being such a nice place, everything cost an exorbitant amount. Cupcakes were more expensive than the ones over at Magnolia's, and cakes were as high as $40. My friend and I just stood there for awhile in stunned silence, switching back and forth between coveting the food and loathing the cost of it. Perky salesgirls kept popping up from behind the shelves asking us if we needed help. I felt like we were surrounded by a magical breed of overly helpful cupcake baking elves or something.

I ended up spotting a cake that was on sale for $5. At 4" around, it was the only item of that size that was under $12. My friend got it for me, and we took it to my apartment, reverently sliced it in half, and chowed down...

... which explains why I feel so sick right now. Death by sugar. (Or else maybe there was some dark, twisted reason it was on sale for $5 ... poisoned, maybe?)

Not that anyone much cares, but here is a hideously lit picture of the cake:

Oh, and I forgot to mention that it was a pretty delicious cake. Homemade frosting, good texture, the whole bit. Yummy. It did, however, eradicate any desire I have had to consume sugar. Right now I feel like avoiding the stuff for the next week.

"if you have to sleep on a subway, the E train is the best place to do it."

I'm in the midst of working on a research paper on homeless people living in the subway tunnels of New York City. Known as 'mole people,' they have entire communities underground. Several books have been written on the topic, and there's a good documentary out on it as well, Marc Singer's 'Dark Days.'

While doing my research this afternoon, I came across some interesting things. One is a quote I read in an article from the February 12, 2002 edition of the New York Times about the homeless sleeping on subway cars. According to the report, "if you have to sleep on a subway, the E train is far and away the best place to do it. Or perhaps a more accurate way to phrase it would be that the E is indisputably the least undesirable place to spend the night on a moving subway train."

Hmm. So, if you want to spend the entire night riding around in a subway car, apparently the E train is the best place to do it. Interesting, interesting. I always knew something was up with that train!

I never ride the E (preferring the A or C trains), but I can vouch for the fact that homeless people do sleep in subway cars. Just the other day I stepped onto an F train and was assaulted by the worst smell of urine I have ever encountered in my life. I looked over and a homeless man was sprawled along three seats, passed out to the world. A long stream of pee had soaked through the bottom of his pants. This being New York, everyone else in the car took it in stride. However, at the next stop, a young man got on the train, sat down near the homeless guy, and then started sniffing at the air. He turned to me and asked, "Does it smell like piss in here?" I started laughing -- I couldn't help it -- and gave an affirmitive answer. Yup, it smells like urine in here!!

Anyway, enough about homeless men peeing on themselves. Getting back on to the topic of interesting things I've discovered during my research, I have a website for anyone interested in abandoned subway tunnels. http://www.columbia.edu/~brennan/abandoned/ <-- right there, folks.
It has a large list (with photos) of old subway stations, tunnels and platforms in the city. Being the geek that I am, I find this very interesting. Equally dorky is this website about NYC's first subways: http://wt.mit.edu/Subway/Archives/Project.html <--right there.

Last, but not least, two websites that have photographs of mole people and/or aboveground homeless:
http://www.fragiledwelling.org/
and
http://www.artcoup.com/movie.html

gobble gobble.

Oh, and woops ...

Happy Belated Thanksgiving.

Thank you genetically modified turkeys everywhere, for the precious gift of your tasty bird flesh.

Gobble gobble.

bond. james bond.

Okay, so I have a confesion to make. Well, two actually.

1) I probably overreacted to the anonymous comment made two posts ago. I'm still standing by what I wrote, but I (quite possibly) (maybe sorta) was a little over the top in my defense of chimps. As Erykah Badu says, "I'm an artist and I'm sensitive about my shit." So yeah. I jumped the gun in getting snippy on that one.

2) I have a crush on the new James Bond.

Pictorial evidence as to why:

I just saw the new James Bond 'Casino Royale' the other night and highly recommend it. I normally loathe the whole spies with big guns genre, but this time I actually enjoyed it. Lots of car chases, exploding objects, good looking ladies and the like. Did I mention the car chases?

Actually, I'm not going to lie. I'm crushing on James Bond's car far more than him.

The proof is in the pudding:

Foxy, foxy.

I heard a lot of rumors that the new Bond flick would be terrible. Multiple websites and magazines stated that Daniel Craig (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0185819/) was shaping up to be a sketchy (at best) Bond. However, I have to say, Big D is rockin' the whole English Spy thing. As for the movie -- well, it lags towards the end, but it's still pretty damn enjoyable.

In other news, me thinks that I'm going to be updating the travel blog sometime this century (!!) ... possibly even tonight. Check it at some point this week.

Oh yeah -- and go save some chimps!

a response to a comment posted ...

Someone made a comment about my last post, asking why I wasn't advocating helping people. (Well, in their words, 'peoples.') I understand the sentiment, but it's a little inaccurate. I am all for helping folks out, and I certainly do believe that there are many women, men and children out there who need our time, energy and love. By posting up a charity for chimps, I am in no way taking away from helping people out.

I strongly feel that the charity I posted is a beautiful cause, which is why I posted it. I was deeply moved by what I watched about it, and I could see in the faces of the rescued chimps the horrors and abuses that had been inflicted on them. They were treated worst than prisoners in solitary confinement. These creatures were, in essence, victims of torture. There is no excuse for a human being to treat another living creature this way, and that is my point in making the previous post. Some people make the argument that an animal is worth less than a human, which I don't buy. Because a creature is a chimp does not make him (or her) less valuable as a living, breathing, thinking being.

If you want to help out your peers, I suggest calling up homeless shelters, rape crisis centers, Boys & Girls clubs, and other such organizations. See what you can do to help out. These are well known parts of society, and I assume that if you are so intent on helping out people, you'd already know where and how to do so.

In all honesty, if you are the type of person who doesn't value animals and thinks that helping them out is a waste of time, please stop reading my blog. I don't want you reading my stuff.

Simple as that.

Peace.

save the chimps foundation

I've been having wrist issues (minor tendinitis) lately, so I have been avoiding typing much. However, I just signed up for physical therapy and my condition seems to be improving with much needed rest and relaxation.

That said, I'm going to make this entry pretty short. I had to post about it though, because this topic made such an impression on me that I felt it was important to share it with others. I encourage you to seriously check out the website linked below, and to make donations (or adopt an animal!) if you can afford to do so.

The other night, on Channel 13 PBS, I watched a show on the US Government's horrible abuses of chimpanzees in the Air Force. They'd use these poor animals for all kinds of testing, including crash tests and launching them into space. Many died or suffered horrible injuries. When the Air Force stopped using chimps for testing, they were sold off to medical labs where they endured further mistreatment, including being infected with HIV and other diseases. The chimps -- which are very similar to humans and very social creatures -- were kept locked in tiny cages and basically kept in solitary confinement for years. These labs also bought former pets from families and circuses who had been stupid enough to purchase wild chimps as babies. Many were torn from their families and stuck in cold steel cages, never to be really touched by a human (or another chimp) again. Many died while under the 'care' of these labs, including several who were heated to death when a heater malfunctioned, literally cooking them until they were killed. It is important to point out that these chimps have no access to natural sunlight, windows or fresh air.

There is an organization working to rescue these very human creatures. The organization is called Save The Chimps, and they have a website at http://www.savethechimps.org/. They are doing incredible things to try and help these poor creatures out. Many of the animals psychologically damaged, and some have never been outdoors in their life! This foundation is working to give them all a beautiful new home in Florida, where they can live out their last years in sunshine, warmth and a habitat that is fitting for such creatures.

At the website you can adopt a chimp, donate supplies (they have a wish list, including basics like honey and blankets), or donate money. You can also work as a volunteer if you live in New Mexico or Florida.

I will be donating my own money to this cause. I think the holidays are a great time to give to others, and why not our closest relatives in the animal world? Seriously, please consider checking out the website. I promise you it's worth it, and it's a wonderful cause. Do something you can feel good about!

lic & the marathon.

... just a few things.

go see the new borat movie.

long island city is kind of nice, in a vaguely dirty kind of way. it has a nice run-down feeling that parts of nyc seem to be losing quickly ... me likey the grunge factor.

the marathon is happening this sunday, november the 5th. if you're going, i suggest catching a view of the runners somewhere (most anywhere) along 4th ave in brooklyn, starting in sunset park. last year they had music playing near 25th st and 4th ave by the dunkin donuts. it's right off the 25th st stop on the 'r' train. just a heads up if you're going to be in the area.

this ends my post.

oh, and P.S.:

classical musicians really are geeks. but i love us anyway.

a falcon in prospect park

Autumn is here. She’s been creeping in slowly, one step at a time, and has finally arrived in her full glory. The air is cool and crisp, the kind you drink in like water and let burn deep in your lungs and belly. Red and gold leaves cover the sidewalks, but the trees still blaze forth in technicolor blasts. During the day, the sun has that special October way of gilding everything with a soft light, and in the evening, the skies are clear and lit up with stars.

In the neighborhood people have been decorating for Halloween. One brownstone has been draped in orange lights, complete with smiling plastic jack o’ lanterns that are lit up from the inside. They glow and glower with delighted ferocity from the windows, stopping people in their tracks as they look up and stare at them. Stores are selling pumpkins by the dozen, and I’ve seen more than one woman walking around with one cradled in her arms, looking like a lumpy, orange baby. Ah, and the candy! It’s everywhere. Store shelves are dripping with the stuff, layer after layer of all things tasty. Snickers, Mars Bars, Paydays, Nerds, Kandy Korn, Twizzlers, Gummy Bears, SweeTarts, Gobstoppers, lollipops, Hershey Kisses, edible buttons, M&Ms and Skittles galore. (Marshmallows. Taffy. Red dye and sugar. Heaven.)

I love this time of year. There’s the obvious reasons -- my birthday is during this season, the pleasure of eating pumpkin seeds, colorful trees -- and the less obvious ones, like the quality of sunlight and that expectant, almost anxious feeling in the air. I thrive on it. I love pulling out my old sweaters and putting them on, and I love chasing through piles of leaves. Seeing the squirrels rummage around for acorns in the park, watching kids get excited over Halloween costumes -- it’s all so autumn. So exhilarating.

Today, as a token of thanks for my gratitude, the season gave me a special gift. I was walking through Prospect Park, enjoying the sights and sounds of late October. The park was crowded, full of people on bikes, horses (!) and on foot in sensible foot wear. Both the yuppies and hood rats were out, and everyone was getting along fine.

As I was taking in this scene, I was thinking how close to nature you can get in the city. It was a thought that was still being formulated in my mind when, from the top of a tall tree, a huge falcon swooped down. He flung himself over to a neighboring branch, chasing after a squirrel. It was all very Discovery Channel, and not a single other soul was witnessing it.

The bird flew directly over and in front of me. I could see every detail of the creature, from the coloring of the wings to the sharp pointed beak and talons. The sight was incredibly touching and strange at the same time. A falcon? In Brooklyn?

I followed the bird for a short while, watching him swoop from tree to tree in search of dinner. The entire time no one else saw him. I tried to take a picture but my phone memory was full, and by the time I looked up from my phone, he was gone.

Those who are close with me know that hawks are very special and important to me. Although this wasn’t a hawk I saw, the falcon was equally meaningful. The bird was a beautiful gift, and one that apparently was just for me.

If I see the bird again, I’ll be sure to post about it. Hopefully I will!

photos: brooklyn rooftop, part II

That's all the cell phone pictures for now.

photos: brooklyn rooftop, part I

I've been writing papers all week (and will be doing more this weekend), so I don't feel like writing much here today. Instead of my usual prose entry, I decided to post up some photos I took on my cell phone camera of a Brooklyn rooftop. They aren't great, and the quality isn't too hot (hello, cell phone camera!) but I think they represent Brooklyn pretty well, in terms of all the random and interesting things there are to look at here. Hope you like, or at least gain a little flavor of Brooklyn from them.

RSS Feed Problem

Please note, that reading from RSS Feed may cause errors in the blog, and an entry might not load. Please come directly to this site, via the webpage!

Sorry, I'm not sure what is causing the problem. Honestly, I have no clue what an RSS Feed is, but my friend kindly pointed out the problem to me, so I'm doing my duty by passing it on.

Let me know if there are any further technical difficulties.

Also, don't forget to check (and comment) on my travel blog. Updated recently, with an entry and new photo. Enjoy!

More postings will be put up soon, here and at the travel blog.

updates

travel blog updated!

go here to access it:
http://www.flipworldwide.blogspot.com/

subway reviews part II: the funny and the ugly

Another smattering of HopStop (http://www.hopstop.com) reviews of subway lines. I posted some a few months ago, and have found some more funny (but true) ratings.

G Train:

* Everytime I am with a friend on the G platform I always go: "Hey, did you hear that?" When they say "Hear what?" I say "Nothing. You hear nothing because nothing is coming. There will never be a train. We will be here for the rest of our natural born lives." Then we usually cry and remain inconsolable for a significant period of time.

* the G train is like your one lame son that never made it in life...you know its worthless but you still love it to death!!!

* Pray! The G train revelation happens as often as the insemination of virgin Mary by the Holy Ghost.

* THE G stands for "Ghost Train" because it is only there in spirit. It is a memory. It barely ever comes!

* The G is sort of the red-headed step child of NYC transit ... It's a crap train, but at least its reliably crappy.

* You wait so long that you get to a point where you feel like it could be coming any minute or maybe you just blacked out and missed it.

* During the transit strike earlier this year, the G ran as if nothing had changed. . .which is to say that there was a few days between trains.

* There is a saying that the G train in fact does not even exist. It is Just an MTA PR.

* It is the short bus of subways.

* This is the train that time forgot.

* Waiting for this train is like waiting for water to boil 20 times over

* if i had to take the G train every day, i would probably shoot myself in the goddamned face.

* I think the point of this train is to make all the others look timely and clean.

-- My Review: Personally, I have to agree with many of these comments. The G train is slow, shorter than the rest, and has some sketchy riders. However, I always want to root for it, because it's like the beloved underdog everyone wants to succeed in life but probably never will.

L Train:

* Lot of hot hipsters on this train. running joke..."I simply can/t get on the L today I don't have anything to wear!"

-- L train = Williamsburg, Brooklyn = Really Annoying Hipster Kids

J Train:

* A scenic overhead flight through Brooklyn, the J is like taking the monorail at Disneyland in 1964. That is, if the monorail went through Brooklyn, Mickey was babbling to himself next to you in a pile of his own mouse filth, and Cinderella was making out with some guy who is not her baby's daddy next to you. This train ride is worth at least $2.50

* I could teach morse code to everyone at the station before that train comes!!

* don't feel safe at all on this train at night, but at least my street cred goes up every time I take it after 2 am.

* THE CANAL ST AND BOWERY STATIONS ON THIS LINE ARE FROM SOME HORROR MOVIE. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!!

* there is something evil in the uptown canal station

-- My Review: Honestly, I know nothing about this train, but I do know the Canal St. Station, and it is indeed a creepy (and smelly!) place. I highly suggest going late at night if you want to witness the ghosts of MTA past.

N Train:

* Half the time you can't tell if you are in a night club or train. I love it. All the little ghetto kids think its there own car and are bumping thier music from thier phones so everyone else can share in thier experience. It's the best coming up from Brooklyn.

* this train takes so long most days, waiting on the 30th Ave platform, we almost have to resort to canibalism.

* This Line Stinks like Cat ASS!

* It always smells like decaying homeless people.

And, my personal favorite review of the R Line, because it is so damn true:

* Good luck catching a train after Atlantic Ave in Brooklyn. This train is slower than a retarded Grandma on pain killers.

an entry about dumpster diving, tacos and beer.

random bits and pieces ...


favorite signs in new york city:

"no bathing" in the bathrooms at penn station

good place to get $4.95 tacos in brooklyn:

sunset park in brooklyn & 7th ave in park slope

great location to go dumpster diving in:

soho -- the area has good discarded furniture and books, especially if you like 'arty' stuff

there are too many hair salons along:

7th ave in park slope

favorite sunday activity (other than sleeping late & watching flavor of love 2 on vh1):

going to the drumming circle in prospect park. visit on mother's day for a special african celebration ritual.


yesterday i went out with a friend. this is worthy of note, because i don't really spend money 'out on the town' too often. went to cafe steinhof (http://www.cafesteinhof.com/) for dinner and beer. good food, and very filling. nice service, too. then me and the friend checked out a movie, black dahlia. not sure what to say about it, except entertaining in parts, delightfully gory when it needed to be, but otherwise flat and with rather crappy actors. there were a few standout scenes, however -- the one around the dinner table was especially entertaining. anyone who has seen the film will know what i'm talking about.

afterwards we came back to my apartment and sipped wine on the roof. i have a wonderful view of the manhattan skyline, and we spent awhile naming the various landmarks sprawled out in front of us. i will have to get a photo at some point of my view, because it really is postcard perfect. the empire state building, woolworth building, chrysler building, city hall ... it's all there. very beautiful.

i have a parental unit coming into town in the morning, and i will be showing her the sights of my new neighborhood, which she hasn't seen yet. my old one was just okay, but the new one is far better. i'm looking forward to showing mommo around, and hopefully catching a peek inside the met for an art fix.

also, moma's free fridays = happiness.

that's it for now ... ciao!

baby you can't drive my car

dear new yorkers,

learn to drive.

love,
me

my little pony: 11th avenue edition

Today's strange event:

* A miniature pony walking down 11th avenue.

Yes, a pony was stomping through the streets of New York. I was mildly surprised by it (everything seems less odd once you've lived here long enough), but when I realized the pony was the star attraction of a kid's birthday party, it all seemed quite normal and mundane.

a plea

This is not going to be an entertaining post. What follows is disturbing (to me, at least), not funny in the slightest and involves an innocent animal that has been hurt. If this sort of thing bothers you, stop reading. However, I'd encourage everyone who is able to please pay attention to this post -- it will make you think twice about how dispose of your trash and interact with wildlife.

This past Thursday I was in lovely Prospect Park on a stroll. It's always very nice to just go and sit there and collect one's thoughts. That day, however, I was with a friend and feeling more active than usual, and so we were walking around the various trails in 'Urban Explorer' mode.

The sound of a saxophone being played caught our attention as we walked down one of the busier trails. It had a mellow and sweet sound, and naturally my friend and I went to go investigate. We picked our way through the grass, avoiding litter dropped by fellow park visitors. Glass, bits of plastic, pull tabs from cola cans and gum wrappers were underfoot as we walked closer to the reedy sound of the sax. My friend had opted to go barefoot and I remember begging him to put his shoes back on. "God only knows what you might step on out here," I remember telling him.

We were almost to the saxophonist when my friend noted a beautiful white squirrel sitting under a clump of trees. He wasn't moving, and his wide eyes were looking us right in our faces. Captivated, we stepped closer and were surprised when he had made no sign of moving away from us. Thinking he was tame, we got even closer, until we noticed the squirrel couldn't move -- a front paw was stuck between a metal wire than someone had wrapped around a discarded piece of fencing they had propped up against one of the trees. The squirrel began gnawing frantically at the fence post and wire to try and loosen itself, to no avail.

My heart sank into my stomach. I felt sick. This poor creature was obviously suffering -- eyes wide in terror, limb being cut off by wire, claws stretched out in hideous pain -- and the rigid lines of his body revealed just how horrible this animal was feeling. My friend tried to loosen the wire from around the squirrel's paw, but the poor creature only began squawking out in pain. It was loud and eerie coming from a squirrel, the sort of sound you never want to hear and can never forget.

We had almost freed the squirrel when suddenly, in a last ditch effort, the animal pulled away from the wire so hard that his entire talon and the flesh connected to it came off. He scampered up the nearest tree leaving a piece of his body behind him.

At this point, of course, I was in tears. My friend and I apologized profusely to the squirrel, said a little prayer that he would be okay, and then began picking up all the litter surrounding the trees. As we slammed the trash into nearby garbage bins, I began to feel disgusted with people. What sort of jerk would leave WIRE out where an animal could catch himself on it? The same type of person who threw glass bottles on the grass fields where toddlers play, I concluded. Only a human would be so thoughtless as to pollute the environment in such a destructive, needless way.

The point of my posting is this -- if you're out, please don't litter. Clean up after yourself. There's no excuse to do otherwise. Innocent animals are hurt, and the people who have to help these creatures are often left traumatized by witnessing the pain of a fellow creature.

prospect park

Prospect Park on Thursday, August 7, '06

Harmony Playground Water Harp

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.

Soundtrack New York: Goldfrapp

In New York City, you spend a lot of time plugged into headphones. From riding around on the subway to going jogging, music is everywhere. This is in addition to not to mention all the shops and bars that have albums or iPods on shuffle constantly playing.

Every now and then I'm going to post a group/musician I like and include a link.

So, here's my first: oldie but goodie Goldfrapp, who has a new album out. I like their old stuff better -- Felt Mountain was out of this world -- but I have to say that their poppy synthy new sound is pretty tasty too, when it comes to party prep and the like.

Good to listen to during: Party/club prep, subway rides on weekends/late nights, before dates.

Favorite Album: Felt Mountain

Love, love Goldiefrappers. Maybe you will too. Maybe not.

http://www.goldfrapp.co.uk/

a community garden in alphabet city

"No sticks and stones."

The woman was sitting on a bench, plump rear firmly pressed into her seat. A weeping willow draped over her head, and for a minute she reminded me of a garden gnome. Squat, fat, and tucked away under the shadow of a tree.

When we looked at her with confused expressions, she added "... in the water."

Assuming she was a little nuts, me and my friend just nodded our heads and turned our backs on her. "What the hell was she talking about?" I asked my friend through gritted teeth. He kind of shrugged and started to laugh. "Who knows, but I'm trying really hard not to be a smart ass." While I giggled, my friend called out over his shoulder, "We won't throw anything into the water!"

The two of us carefully picked our way through the garden, staring around us in amazement. I found out the 'water' the gnome was referring to was a dingy fish pond, complete with dead fish at the bottom, gleaming gold and orange. Flowers brimmed against the sides of the pond, rimmed with bricks taken from somewhere in the city.

Mardi gras beads hung from bushes and wooden stakes, sparkling purple in the sun. Dirt -- actual country dirt, moist and smelling like rain -- lined the curving path around the garden, meandering around flowers and city trees. Glass spikes of different shapes and sizes lined the chain link fence around the perimeter of this patch of green, little dagger teeth with artistic bite.

I felt like I was Alice and had just dropped into Wonderland. This park, I thought, would be a wonderful place for a tea party. Even the Cheshire cat was there, big, fat and orange, rolling around in a patch of sunlight. When the garden gnome informed me that he was tame and "very friendly," I strolled over and the cat immediately began to purr and stretch out, rubbing his head against my hands.

"That," I said, "is one helluva friendly cat."

My friend and I tossed around a few jokes about it being on Ecstasy. It was impossible not to, since he was rolling around like he had just discovered how wonderful life is stretched out in the middle of a sunbeam.

After we left the neighborhood's oasis (only the size of a corner lot), my friend and I wondered aloud about the place. Who knew that Avenue C would have so many community gardens along it? The two of us passed park after park, strange fairylands tucked into the nooks between concrete apartment buildings.

Some were rundown, while others bloomed in riots of strange colors and sights. Most were padlocked, unfriendly and clearly unwelcoming. One parcel of trees had a rusty saw leaning against the fence around it, a clear reminder not to try to climb over onto the property.

It was my first real venture into Alphabet City. I had always heard how sketchy the place was, how people got mugged there, how far away it is from the subway. Which, I suppose, is all true. It is a long walk from the nearest subway stop, and I can agree that Avenue D is not the most inspiring place in terms of feeling safe. But ... Avenue C. Avenue B. Avenue A. I liked the trio of streets, the funny buildings dotting their length.

It bothered me though, the way all these beautiful gardens were blocked off from the world. I had the luck of getting into the only one that was open to strangers, and it was a wonderful experience. The three Avenues all seemed gentrified, and the people strolling along them did not look like they were going to go hungry anytime soon. Kids on expensive bikes roamed around, parents in tow. 'Bohemians' pretending to be cutting edge and avant garde were everywhere, all white skinned with their lifestyles intact thanks to daddy's trust fund.

Avenue D, I decided, would benefit from some of these places. There things changed suddenly, and me and my friend stuck out like a sore thumb with our pale faces and the digital camera we were carrying around. Here, instead of parks, there were basketball courts. Instead of expensive apartments there were tall, Soviet style buildings. These monoliths are what every public housing project in the city probably aspires to be. Kids on Avenue D seem older, grittier, wiser than their Avenue C neighbors, and none of the parents I saw could have been much older than 24 or 25.

New York City is, without a doubt, an amazing place. In the span of a minute, you can walk from the most beautiful streets to areas of poverty and unhappiness. I suppose you get used to it after a time. I know that I already am. But, (and this is a big one) -- but, I think it's a little frightening, this acceptance of poverty in the midst of wealth. It doesn't seem fair to hoard beauty for yourself, while denying your neighbors a chance to have it as well.

Post for My Banana Bread Friend

THANK YOU FOR THE BANANA BREAD!

My craving is now satisfied.

:)

reading in a cemetery

Happiness is reading a good book outdoors. This is especially true on warm, sunny days when there is green grass to rub your feet on and a spring breeze to cool your face in.

In years past, I have always marked the start of spring by bringing books outside and reading. I've read in parks, on roofs, balconies and by poolsides. I've turned pages sitting by the shores of Lake Ontario and Lake Erie, and I've even done some serious reading on the deck of an ocean liner.

But I have never read in a cemetery -- until today.

I know it sounds creepy. I even got asked about it today, by an old woman hauling her even older mother along the gravestones. "You're reading in a cemetery?!" she asked, in total amazement. Well no, wait. That wasn't the first thing she asked me. She wanted to know where the public bathrooms were located, and then broached the subject of reading-among-the-dead.

"Yes, I'm reading in a cemetery. It's the only place nearby with some grass, flowers and where I can hear birds." And besides, I added in my head, there's walking paths and benches all over the place in this place. People jog here everyday. What's so weird about reading?

But apparently jogging is okay. As is wandering aimlessly with backpacks on your back, which is what I saw several people do. (All with glazed expressions who vanished into the restrooms for long stretches at a time.) Even holding hands and looking romantic seemed to be okay. Just ... not reading?

The woman was shocked that anyone would want to read in a graveyard. I mean, really. Horrors. I didn't have the heart to point out to her that she was far more morbid, hauling around her corpse of a mother with her. The pair trundled along at a snail's pace, with the younger one shaking her head in despair at me the entire time. I couldn't wait for them to get to the bathroom, pee, and fall into the toilet and drown.

After the Doddering Duo left, I had my shady little patch of graveyard back to myself. Sort of. I had parked myself on a bench near the main entrance, because it seemed the safest place to sit. A beautiful tree had been planted to stand guard over the bench, and flowers were blooming all along the pathway in front of me. The place was begging to be sat in, noticed and appreciated.

Birds were singing, squirrels were rustling in the bushes, and the workmen on duty were joyfully speaking to one another in Spanish. It did not feel like a burial ground at all. Even the visitors were smiling, and most weren't even dressed in black. Lots of kids running around, parents sighing, a couple or two smiling at one another.

When I had first moved into the neighborhood, the local cops had told me the cemetery was open to the public. "Lots of people go hiking in there," one of them told me. "I mean, I don't advise doing it after visiting hours, but it's safe during the day. And real pretty."

And real pretty it was. At one point I walked until I found a duck pond, and stared at my reflection in the rippling water. Ducks were honking at me and nosing by my feet for food, making me feel guilty for not bringing them bread crumbs. Spring blossoms were everywhere, in a profusion of purples, yellows and reds -- like cotton candy fluffs, electric colored and satisfying to look at.

Back at my reading perch under the tree, one of the groundskeepers walked by and gave me a big smile. A genuine one, not one of those creepy-old-man-who's-going-to-hit-on-you ones. "You picked a great day to read here," he told me in passing. He then went on to tell me other good reading spots in the cemetery, and I assured him I would explore them all.

cows: i keep forgetting they're sacred in india.

"If a driver hits a ... cow, the vehicle and its occupants are at risk of being attacked by passersby. Such attacks put the vehicle's occupants at significant risk of injury or death, or at least incineration of the vehicle."

-- Travex Report on India

In traffic and on roads, "the cow always has the right of way."

-- CultureShock!

and other funny things ...

1) Cows, camels, goats and elephants are all fairly typical sites on Indian roads.

2) Monkey bites are, apparently, a common malady among tourists.

3) I've read several times that sidewalks are not really there to be walked on, but are instead used by the homeless as places to sleep, by merchants as places to sell wares, and others use these 'walks as parking lots, taxi stands, lunching spots and more.

4) Asking for a hamburger is grounds for getting punched in the face.

(And oh man, I love beef!)

I am leaving in less than 2 months. Ahhhh. I just got back from my school's travel clinic, after being vaccinated for typhoid, hepatitis A and getting prescribed my malaria pills. I have to go back for further shots next week ... lucky me.

At least the doctor gave me cute bandaids and Gatorade. Oh -- and I'm the brand new owner to the World Health Organization's International Certificate of Vaccination. It's bright yellow and hurts the eyes -- but apparently you can't (literally) leave home without it.

mr. homeless man

Me, I'm pissed off. I've been wandering around the Lower East Side for the past fifteen minutes trying to find a subway stop, it's cold out and some bum I walked past just announced "white people should burn in hell." My right ear is sore from having my cell phone jammed up against it for the duration of a six minute argument with a friend, in which I finally told him to "F--- off," -- which, by the way, he most righteously deserved.

So now, I've finally found my way to the elusive subway stop and I'm crying. Just a little bit. Nothing major, a few tears in the wind type of thing. I'm not sure if it's because I'm upset or because it's so damn cold out. Either way, I'm wondering if my mascara is going to start smearing, which would increase the shit factor of the entire evening.

As I'm digging my metro card out of my business-card-holder-that's-not-a-real-wallet, I notice a homeless man standing by the steps down to the track, holding out a change cup. He doesn't rattle it at anyone, and is just holding it in front of him rather lethargically. The man does speak up, though. A lot. At any person who walks by. "Dollar? Dollar? Money? You got money?"

I am irritated. There are thoughts in my head along the lines of 'get a freakin' job, dude.' (I'm still waiting for the day when I snap and say that to someone.) A few people within the homeless guy's range are giving me funny looks, and I think it must be out of sheer curiosity -- is that girl just standing there? Or is she crying? And if she is, why the hell is she standing next to some crackhead who's bothering everyone within shouting distance?

Finally, I have my subway pass firmly in hand, and I start to make my way to the stairwell. Old Mister Homeless, though, has decided he needs to ask me for some cash.

"Dollar?"

And suddenly, I feel nice. So I say, "No, sorry."

"Two dollars?"

This is turning into some kind of reverse bidding war. I'm annoyed, but also amused at how brazen this guy is to stand around and ask people for cash. Not change. Dollars. In multiple amounts.

I shake my head at him, starting down the stairs slowly.

"You upset about something? You need me to cheer you up? I'll cheer you up."

Now I start to laugh. The situation is too absurd, too New York. One minute ago I wanted to stab someone I'm close with, and now a complete stranger is making me smile.

"I'm good, thanks. But I appreciate it."

(See how nice I can be?)

"Alright, well, you come back if you need cheering up. I'll cheer you up. You know where to find me."

The minute I see how full my train is, the shit factor creeps right back up again. The only seat left is in that little row posted as 'Reserved for the Disabled and Elderly' or however the MTA likes to express their elitist seating rules. A quick scan of my fellow passengers is evidence enough that there are no disabled/elderly/whatever folks around, and so I snag the seat -- only to be stuck between some record industry guy who has a really puffy jacket on and an old Chinese man who keeps accidentally bumping me with his elbow.

Between the over sized clothing and newspaper reading senior, I'm a cramped, squished up and exhausted ball of human flesh. The only good thing about this ride back home is the smell. Yes, I said it. A subway car smelled good.

Like banana bread.

So now I'm back in my apartment and craving some. Home baked, too. Preferably made by the hands of my mother or sister, and put in the oven with lots of TLC.

(Anyone want to overnight me some banana bread? Your karma will thank you.)