Archives for posts with tag: NYC

My feelings are more important than yours.

Getting to work via the subway is never fun. On good days it is tolerable and you are thankful for that. I have begun a new subway commute and after just one week I have had it with the pole leaners. Chris Rock once elegantly stated, If you have a daughter it is your “only job in life is to keep her off the pole.” I believe this goes for subway poles as well. Nice job, Dad.

I'm leaning here! I'm leaning here!

Both photos on this post are form the SAME COMMUTE. Rush hour. What is with god’s special snowflakes that they believe the pole was put there just for them? Rub your butt against it and block and entire section of seats because you are that special. Come on, those nasty, pink-eye ridden poles are there so those of us unlucky enough to not get a seat don’t have to go flying across the car every time the train makes a turn or a lurching stop. They are not there for you to claim as your own little subway kingdom. Stay off the dang pole.

Move to the big city and talk like a dolt.

Everyday, I hear 20-something loud talkers blundering their way through the language. Are declarative sentences now uncouth and no one told me? I hear voice after voice trailing upwards at the end of every sentence as if every utterance is a question. Or they communicate in vague phrases that only echo the information that they are trying to express. I witnessed a prime example of this needlessly opaque communication style last night at a local burger joint.

Now there is little excuse for confusion at a place with five things on the menu: Three burgers and two types of fries is all this place offers. But when the couple at the table beside me was served dinner, all inarticulate hell broke loose.

“Our fry situation, is, like, totally, reversed?!” said the young woman in the 60’s style print cotton dress and platform wedge peep toe woven straw sandals. Her face was contorted in disgust as if piles of rodents had just been delivered to her table.

The waiter had little response except for a look of confusion like the one I flash at my cat after he has squealed out a meow that is eerily similar to an English word.

The boyfriend was just starring at the baskets of dinner. Not trusting them now that his date was so upset, but not comprehending the meaning of her outrage.

She tried again while pointing at herself then her date, “I, like, didn’t want the sweet potato fries? But, like, he totally did?”

A light went on behind the waiter’s eyes and he grabbed for the baskets.

The boyfriend finally displayed his liberal arts college reasoning skills, “Naw, could we just swap sandwiches?”

“Oh, yah,” she agreed. They exchanged beef burger for fish burger and had the fries of their liking.

I should stop paying attention to others and just enjoy the view of this grape vine.

Why was it so difficult for these two to figure this out? Why even involve the waiter and why address him with such babble? She would have had a better chance of being understood if she were speaking pig Latin and she wouldn’t have looked as childish doing it.

A few minutes later when this same waiter brought my companion and myself our baskets of burgers and fries, he was still on edge from his earlier encounter and had slipped into non sequiturs. “I don’t know about the fries and stuff?” he tentatively asserted while placing the food in the middle of the table. Incoherence must be catching.

image

Years ago I began spotting these hats around town. And when this trend hit, it hit big. Men by the thousands now parade the streets of Brooklyn in their summer uniforms: Seersucker shorts, white v-necked tee, aviator sunglasses, with a straw fedora on top. I was sick of this look by the first day. Hey hipsters, I’m gonna let you in on a secret: You are not members of the Buena Vista Social Club; you are from Ohio. Time to throw away your cliche of a hat.

NYC is the Wild West. Traffic laws are not enforced. And everyone hates bike lanes. I have no idea why. Bike lanes encourage folks to bike instead of drive, which decreases traffic and decreases air pollution. What’s not to like? But the way some drivers treat bike lanes is disrespectful at best. Let’s use this lady I photographed yesterday as an example.

Parking: you're doing it wrong.

She was blocking a bike lane parallel to a COMPLETELY LEGAL and giant parking spot. How is this okay? What was her logic? “I am just gonna sit here and block the bike lane AND keep someone from enjoying this beautiful parking spot. Frak all ya’ll. I cannot be bothered to actually park, that would take whole seconds.” This would not get my goat as much if it was an isolated incident, but I see this crap all the time. This is worse than the run of the mill double-parking in the bike lane for deliveries or errands or whatnot. This kind of professional laziness is totally unnecessary. Pull into the parking spot and stop being a prick. I know, I know, you do this all the time, and will continue to do so…because you will never get a ticket.

Within the same mile as the obnoxious grey Yaris driver I encountered this MTA bus doing a smashing job of blocking the bike lane.

MTA: this bus stops whenever it's groovy, baby.

Notice the placement of the bus parallel to a space on the curb. But this driver is an overachiever; he has managed to block the bike lane, a half block of parking, AND a good portion of the southbound lane. With a little maneuvering this bus would be blocking nothing. But this genius driver was in such a hurry to spend every bit of his break a few feet away smoking a fat skunky cone of a joint that he didn’t have time to worry about traffic patterns or safety. Those things be damned! This is just the type of attitude you want in a bus driver, right?