A Non-Twitter Tweet

If I had Twitter, I would tweet: "Katie wants her friends to read this post on text messaging ettiquette."

And what do you think this young couple tweeted after this subway ride?

I'm going to say their names are John and Rose.
John and Rose just woke up in Far Rockaway. 2 hours after their stop

Leave your own John and Rose twitter in the comments.

A Year Ago Today: Urban Hazzards
Two Years Ago Today: Subway Entertainers

Hold the Doors At Your Own Risk

I have been under the impression that the subway trains could not move unless all the doors were shut and locked; however, my cubicle neighbor Sarah relayed a terrifying experience she had on the subway this morning.

Over the white partitions that separate our work spaces, she recounted witnessing a twenty-something professional on the F train subway platform at 14th and 6th, whose hands were stuck in the closing doors of the last car around 8:15am. As the train began to move, he was forced to jog alongside the train and was screaming as the passengers inside pounded on the doors and tried to pry them open. From where my coworker sat in absolute shock, she saw him begin to cry as the train picked up speed and other commuters on the platform looked on in horror. The man's hands were eventually freed from the doors before the train left the station.

I bet he'll always just wait for the next train from now on.

And a quotable subway encounter from The New York Times, May 19, 2008:
"If one foot wasn’t on a sure step, I would have fallen in, and I would have been eaten up by the escalator."
LISA CHIOU, who was injured when a Manhattan subway escalator broke apart last year.

The lesson here? Commute in New York at your own risk.

One Year Ago Today: The Differences by The Hours
Phone Photo Ops - The South and Back
Two Years Age Today: Insomnia

Phone Photo Op - The Best Worst Violin Player

He is one of the worst violin players I've ever heard, but he's the best subway musician ever. Dedicated to his craft, he often performs in the subway stations between Grand Central, Bryant Park or Times Square, and is an adorable little man, who offers the cutest and most polite "thank you" when you give him money.



Today when running an errand for my boss, I passed him in the station below Bryant Park and dropped a dollar in his violin case.

Phone Photo Op - The Box Commute

How New Yorkers carry moving boxes home from work. I can't wait to live walking distance (or a cheap cab ride) from the office.

See my crafty handles made of duct tape?

"Things I Love" Thursdays - Audible Subway Announcements

Seventy percent of the time, on most subway lines, announcements by conductors are completely inaudible. Twenty-two percent of the time, they're clear and concise or merely decipherable. Five percent of the time, they're bold-faced lies (e.g. "If you cannot fit on this train, there is another one directly behind this one."). And the other 3% of the time, they are surprisingly amusing.*

On a downtown no. 1 train for a blogger girls brunch two Sundays ago, the recalled transcript of the best subway conductor in New York City:

"I welcome all my weekend customers on my train. But for all of you weekenders who don't take the train during the week, there are rules to follow. First, be advised that this is a train. It consists of separate cars all connected to each other and going to the same place at the same time. There are three doors per car, 10 cars per train, and 30 doors total. Please use all available doors to enter and exit the train."

*Percentages are approximate and based solely on the author's personal subway experiences over the past year and a half.

"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

Reminders That You Are One in 8 Million

The great thing about living in New York City is that you can feel like you are one in a million. And the shitty thing about living in New York City is being reminded that you are one in a million. Just like the city doesn't care when you're on top of the world. It doesn't care when you're down and out either.

It reminds you of that when you're walking along the sidewalk, holding your side in pain but trying not to look obviously distressed, and pedestrians bump into you left and right because wherever they are rushing to go is too important to step a foot out of the way. I can't judge; I'm guilty of it, too.

It reminds you of that when you leave the doctor's office, forget your book in Duane Reade on 34th and Park while waiting for prescription medicine and realize it when you get to Grand Central, return to get your book only to have your Unlimited MetroCard still flash "Just Used" in the turnstile, and the mean Asian/Polynesian/Indian (he could be anything, just like me) MTA employee in the uptown side of the no. 6 station at Park and 33rd doesn't care how sick you are: "Your MTA card has four more minutes before you can go through the turnstile, ma'am," he says through the glass over his little microphone.

It reminds you of that when you are referred to a specialist for additional testing and the specialist's earliest available appointment is a few weeks out.

The world doesn't revolve around you in this city unless you are rich or famous or both. And even then, they have to balance carefully because Page Six will make it entertainment when the "elite" fall. It's one of the things I dislike about New York ... but what keeps me here are the 10 reasons I love it for every one reason I don't.

So you stick it out and live to be a New Yorker another day.

And I Thought the Seventh Avenue Line Was Bad

What we have to look forward to if New York City doesn't choose to see the bigger picture for Mayor Bloomberg's New York congestion pricing plan (at least, I think there is a bigger picture to be seen beyond the daily inconvenience of higher bridge and tunnel tolls):

http://www.chilloutzone.de/files/08040701.html
I guess they don't really believe that "there is another train directly behind this one."

More about the opposing views
In this corner, fighting for congestion pricing:
Campaign for New York's Future
And in the opposite corner, campaigning against congestion pricing:
Keep NYC Congestion Tax Free

“When two elephants fight, the grass suffers; and, when the same two elephants make love, the grass also suffers.”
- Swahili Proverb

My fellow commuters, we are the grass, as the death of Bloomberg's proposal at the state level meant that New York City would miss the deadline to qualify for $354 million in federal funds for traffic aid.

Phone Photo Op - Not Recommended

This may be the bravest act I have ever witnessed
of a fellow NYC commuter.

All white in the subway.

Phone Photo Op - Train Rehearsal

In New York City, you're more likely to unintentionally memorize a scene while listening to an actor rehearse their lines on the subway.

Please Use All Available Doors ... If You Can Get There Before I Shut 'Em

Dear MTA,

I understand that rush hour is a busy and hectic time for your staff. However, if your conductors are going to instruct passengers to use all available doors and then immediately thereafter shut the doors promptly before one can get to the next nearest available door, maybe the conductors should consider leaving the closing doors open a few seconds longer so that passengers can use the other available doors.

Regards,
BNY

P.S. And please stop telling me that there is another train directly behind this one ... when there isn't.

P.P.S. And about that other thing ...

"Things I Love" Thursdays - Book Clubs

I love to witness a couple sharing a novel on the train.



As New York Magazine put it in Reason #50 of their recent article Reasons to Love New York, "We are a city of readers, and apparently we start early."

"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

Life, Maybe Death, and Christmas

I think I saw someone die on the subway today. I can't be sure, of course, because 1) I've never seen anyone die, and 2) I wasn't close enough to pronounce him dead.

I had just switched to a no. 2 or 3 express train at 96th Street and had settled into the front end of whatever car I was on, reading Rules for Saying Goodbye ... which is, in some ways, like my psychological biography. The circumstances of the heroine vary from those in my life, but sometimes I feel like she borrowed the thoughts right out of my own head.

I was completely engrossed in Chapter 21: Engagement; or a Hostage Situation and ignoring a very slight commotion in the back end of the car. At 72nd Street, the train paused with the doors open for longer than usual. I didn't look up. A man sat next to me and opened his own book. There was something comfortable about the stranger beside me, both of us reading.

Then an announcement: "We are delayed due to a sick passenger on this train. Please be patient."

A few downtown no. 1 local trains passed across the platform, but I did not feel any need to hurry so I continued reading. More announcements were made. At some point I realized the sick passenger was on our car. I leaned forward slightly, but could only see others standing about and looking down. So, I leaned back and continued reading. And then a final announcement: "Ladies and gentlemen, please transfer to the no. 3 train across the platform."

I shut my book and stood up and as I stepped off the train, I looked toward the back of the car and saw a middle-aged, bald man laying on the floor, his legs buckled under the seat as if he had slumped over while seated. There appeared to be a pool of blood by his mouth, but I couldn't be too sure because I looked away immediately and walked across the platform without looking back.

I have hated the sight of blood since I was young, which is kind of funny since both my parents are nurses. I can't even watch horror movies because all of the blood and gore gives me anxiety. I know exaggerations are how rumors start, but I think blood is what I saw.

As I held onto the pole in the express no. 3, I knew most of my fellow passengers were thinking the same thing regardless of whether or not the man was going to live, "This Christmas is going to be a bad memory for somebody ... if he has anybody."

As the train continued to 42nd Street, where I would switch to a Queens-bound no. 7 to join my titas in Woodside for Christmas, I was reflecting on how quiet our car had been when the man passed out ... or died. The initial commotion had been small enough to keep me from looking up from my book and the onlookers had been deathly still - pardon the pun. Only a few had been crouched down around him, but then again, what could most do in this situation if one were not well-versed in the medical field?

I felt the stranger I had been sitting next to earlier looking at me. I looked down at him briefly and then averted my gaze. I wondered if he had been thinking about the silence, too. The calm of an awkward Christmas afternoon.

My Favorite New York Holiday Story

My favorite post from Joe.My.God to celebrate the joy of the season. Merry Christmas!

Dance of the Sugar Plum Lesbians
From its 4th Annual Appearance on JMG (and the second or third on BNY)

Grand Central Terminal functions as the mechanical heart of midtown New York City, pumping out several thousand workers and tourists on one beat, then sucking in several thousand more on the next.

The rhythms of the terminal are fascinating.

Beat. Four thousand, inbound from New Haven.

Beat. Three thousand, outbound to Westchester.

Worlds collide on the main floor.

The tourists gawk up at the gloriously ornate ceiling and uselessly flash their digital cameras at objects hundreds of feet away. The commuters rush up to the track displays to determine their track number, then dart across the terminal floor, dodging the milling tourists, heads down, like running backs heading for the end zone.

It's mesmerizing. It's majestic.

And sometimes, like tonight, it's magical.

I'm walking through the massive main room just as the holiday laser show begins on the ceiling. To the tune of Take The "A" Train, the laser depicts two trains arriving from different directions. The trains stop opposite each other, and a reindeer leaps out of each one and crosses over to the opposite train.

The laser traces the outline of one of the zodiac constellations painted on the ceiling, and the Cancer crab leaps to life and becomes the Crab Conductor, waddling down the center aisle of the car, punching the reindeers' ticket stubs with his claws.

I move over to the edge of the room, near the entrance for Track 25, so I can watch the reaction to the show. As usual, I'm more entertained by watching the audience than by watching the actual show.

At the ticket windows, standing in front of signs that say "Harlem Line" or "Hudson Line", commuters tilt their heads painfully back to view the show directly overhead. The tourists cluster in delighted circles, holding each others' elbows for balance as they nearly bend over backwards.

Some people move to the edges of the great hall, as I have, to remove themselves from the traffic flow while they watch. Among those that come to join me on the perimeter of the room is a lesbian couple. They stand quite close to me, the taller woman behind the shorter one, with her arms wrapped around her, supporting her a bit, as they both lean back on the marble wall.

The shorter woman is stout, with a large firm chest. Her hair is short and brushed back into what might have once been called a ducktail. She has an ornate tattoo on her left forearm, and she has a leather wallet protruding from the rear pocket of her jeans, attached to her leather belt by a short silver chain. She has more than a passing resemblence to Tony Danza, her big boobs nothwithstanding, so naturally (in my head) I name her Toni.

Toni's girlfriend is blond, her short ponytail dangles just above her collar. She is wearing long Christmas tree earrings which nearly brush her shoulders. Her lanky, sinewy limbs are bound in a tight running outfit, over which she is wearing a school athletic jacket. I imagine that she might be a coach at Yale or Harvard, perhaps a girls lacrosse coach, or maybe track and field.

Coach is squeezing Toni tightly and they bounce together to the music a bit. Coach looks over at me and catches me smiling. She nudges Toni, who looks over at me too, and we all grin goofily at each other for a moment.

Overhead, a new show begins. The familiar opening notes of Tchaikovsky's Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairies ring out as the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building sprout arms, bow to each other, and begin waltzing across the ceiling.

I look around the room and it's as if time was frozen for just a second, every person stopped in mid-stride, eyes cast upward, mouths open in silent joy.

Toni pushes away from Coach, turns around and delivers her a bow as deep and as elegant as the one just depicted overheard."Madame, may I please have this dance?" she asks Coach.

Coach looks around a bit awkwardly, "You are TOO much!" And she giggles.

"Madame, I must insist!" says Toni, as she takes Coach's hands into hers.

Coach relents and she and Toni begin a beautful, slow waltz, moving in half-time to the music. As you might have guessed already, Toni leads.

As they dance, their eyes remain locked on each other. Toni is giving Coach an intense look, her lips tightly curled into a satisfied smile. Coach is grinning from ear to ear, and again she giggles.

All around Coach and Toni, the tourists, the businessmen, the students, the conductors, even the guy with a broom, they're all watching. Some are expressionless, but more are smiling, and some of them...some of them are frantically fussing with their cameras, eager to capture this magical New York Moment.

Serendipity prevails, the tune ends, and Toni dips Coach backwards with a dramatic upsweep of her free arm as a firestorm of camera flashes erupt around them. Toni pulls Coach up and close to her, and they hug. There's another camera flash, and the crowd begins to move along.

Then."Hey, look!"The laser show is being concluded with giant sprigs of mistletoe appearing over our heads. This time, it's Coach who bends down and plants a long tender kiss on Toni's non-lipsticked mouth. There's another flash of cameras from the delighted audience.

Toni takes Coach's hand, and they begin to move off towards the exit."Oh, don't stop!" says a disappointed woman, still rummaging for her camera.

Toni looks back over her shoulder and says, "I never will."

The mechanical heart of New York City, Grand Central Terminal, beats again, but this time I hear a different rhythm. This time I hear a double beat.

- Joe.My.God

Phone Photo Op - Subway Gymnastics

I generally despise most subway performances and other attempts made in an effort to relieve me of whatever cash I may be carrying at any given time. I got over all of the homeless, terminally-ill, and candy-selling spiels within my first month of living in New York. However, sometimes I see the subway dancers from the Bronx, who somersault, flip, cartwheel, and hang upside from subway poles just above your lap (quite literally) ... and often on a fairly crowded train. I always give them a dollar.

Phone Photo Op - This is a No. 2 Express Train

On mornings when I don’t leave for the gym at 6 a.m., I am tormented by the internal debate of whether I should stay on the downtown no. 1 local train or switch to an express no. 2 or 3 at 96th Street. Under normal circumstances, this should be a no-brainer if one wants to quicken his or her commute. However, in the midst of rush hour, you are more likely to stand on a no. 2 or 3 train crammed between someone’s ear and someone else’s armpit and watch a nearly empty no. 1 train pace you all the way to 42nd Street.

Today I made the switch to my own detriment. Below please note the armpit of the woman in the black coat, the man in the blue jacket about to be smashed by the closing doors, the grimace of the girl in the red (who would also watch mournfully as multiple no. 1 local trains passed our no. 2 express), and what appears to be a hand holding a baby in a tank top ... What the ...? It's 30 degrees outside! I didn't notice that while on the train so let's give the weary commuters of Gotham benefit of the doubt and assume it's a very life-like doll. Please further note the man seated comfortably on the empty no. 1 train across the platform.

Phone Photo Op - Subway Rules

On my way to a downtown dinner party last night, I realized that I have made it over a year in New York without ever knowing the rules of the subway.

Phone Photo Op - [No] SubTalk

TO YOU
STRANGER! if you, passing, meet me, and desire to speak to me,
why should you not speak to me?
And why should I not speak to you?
- Walt Whitman


On a downtown no. 2 train. What a concept in New York City. Yet somehow it did not inspire me to speak to anyone.

Phone Photo Ops - Subway Laps

Does anyone know why this guy was running circles around the elevator to the no. 7 platform?


Here he is mid-Rocky-Balboa-at-the-top-of-the-stairs stance.

Phone Photo Ops - Signing on the 1

I am always fascinated by people using sign language - especially in large groups, like these guys on an uptown 1 train during yesterday evening's return from the beach house via the LIRR and the 7th Avenue Line.


They were so animated and lively throughout their conversation that I could not help but wonder what they were discussing. Yet it was so quiet.

Phone Photo Op - Commuter Peeve

I hate this more than the people who stand on the platform
right in front of the doors to the train.

But I secretly crave these moments so I can snap pictures
with my phone and post them in my blog.