On to some New York observations and comparisons to my dear home in the Midwest.
There is (very) limited public transportation in Cincinnati but in New York, it's a necessary and wonderfully convenient part of everyday life. And thank God, because I could not handle driving in this madness with everyone honking while trying to navigate complicated intersections and one-way streets.
I realized something about myself when I came back from Australia, and that’s this: my stress level raises a hundred fold when I drive. The things that come out of my mouth when other drivers piss me off could serve as a stellar audition tape to get me on Rock of Love or Jersey Shore my sailor’s mouth is so bad. Yay public transportation for lowering my blood pressure.
As far as subway goes though, I think New York is actually a bit more complicated than some of the other transit systems I've encountered. In London, Paris, Chicago, and Sydney, there is one platform for one train going one direction. Here, multiple trains run on the same platform and if there are two sides, it’s a tossup as to whether both platforms go the same or opposite directions. Everything is marked, so it shouldn’t be that confusing, but the MTA makes the mistaken assumption that passengers pay attention.
If, say, you're half paying attention because your head is buried in a book, it becomes more difficult to concentrate and you might just jump on the wrong train because it’s at the same platform as the one you want and you forgot to check that you’re getting on the right line. Or going the right direction. Or getting off at the right stop. I’ll suffice it to say that these are all mistakes I’ve made.
The upside to this, however, is that I’ve polished off four books in my three weeks here so far. In light of this extra reading I’ve been able to do in transit, a book list and reviews are on my list of blog-additions to come! Probably in a new tab, but I’ll brainstorm and bring that to you shortly.
When I’m not reading on the subway, my other favorite hobby is people watching. Strike that – my favorite New York hobby anywhere is people watching. I come from a long line of people watchers. My mom and sister have an airport game where they pick out the various people waiting to greet people and give them new life stories.
“That middle-aged man is picking up his parents who are coming back from Florida, where they go every winter. He’s been taking care of their house, even though his brother was supposed to be the one doing it. His wife was going to come with him, but they got in a big fight because he won’t rat his brother out to his parents.”
“That family, they’re picking up their cousin who’s visiting for the month. He’s the daughter’s best friend – they grew up together and are the same age – and the parents are really happy, because he was always a good influence on her. She’s been kind of wild lately, but they’re all really excited to have this cousin visit.”
And I wonder where I got the need to tell stories.
I’ll leave you with a few of my most recent and most memorable encounters in people watching. There are always the well (or at least interestingly – hello hipster Mecca) dressed, the musicians, and the model-esque, forever making a statement. There are the unfortunate and poorly dressed with the shopping carts or strollers that may contain every possession the person owns. The suit-clad and power-driven businesspeople with their gadgets and stern expressions, the terribly touristy with the maps and cameras and clothes that give them away immediately.
Today, I saw a man in full camouflage and army boots, which wouldn’t have been so odd had he not also had a fox tail. I was crossing the street at the Time Warner Center this morning and stared at this thing poking out from the bottom of his jacket or from a hole in his pants. I honestly couldn’t tell you how tall this person was or what color hair they had, but I am fairly sure that it was a man. By the time that I recovered from the oh-my-God-WHY?!, I found myself scurrying after him to try and snap a discreet photo, but alas I lost my opportunity while I was ogling.
Second place goes to the upper-middle-aged man in the half-unbuttoned pink and white stripe button up, exposing a hairy chest and covering what I can only imagine was an equally hairy beer belly. On top of this beer belly perched an iPad opened to what I believe was a word search-type game. The rest of the outfit wasn’t anything special, but accompanying the beginning-to-bald man’s attire was the priceless look on his face. I think I looked up because his hands frantically skirting around the screen caught my attention. The way his brow scrunched together and his nostrils slightly flared in his deep concentration complemented the little pink tongue that flexed and curled over his upper lip, poking out through an otherwise tight and puckered mouth. That expression on a man whose era, based on the hairy chest and shirt, was probably the 70s stays with you. I would have taken a photo if I hadn’t been at the most inopportune angle.
First place, however, goes to the joint effort of this team. To the kid too engrossed in his game – at full volume no less – and the old man so bewildered by what he was watching that he couldn’t be bothered to control the expression on his face. And lastly thank you, Facefriends, for your entertaining comments when I posted this photo to Facebook. Blogworld, I’ll save you the description but leave you with this little gem of a photo.
Here and there,
Kiley
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