One Muddy Afternoon

A deer tick was crawling on me as our train pulled into Grand Central Station.

The poor guy – he didn’t realize we’d smash him into an old water bottle when he hopped a ride on my sweatshirt. But as there aren’t very many deer in New York City, his death was imminent.

It was 8:22 in the morning when I tossed that tick-invested water bottle into a trashcan, throwing away the last little bit nature from a weekend excursion. We’d traveled an hour or so upstate for a “mud race,” and while I didn’t participate in the actual obstacle course (lack of money; lack of exercise), I was more than willing for a little camping adventure.

That Saturday, my muddy, smelly, and magnificent cohort traipsed through the woods as I snapped pictures of their efforts. Sun-kissed faces and splattered bodies exploded around the campground, while beer was guzzled and (questionable) meat devoured post-race.

As we sat on the side of hill, chasing the sun for any extra intake of its precious rays, I found myself feeling completely comfortable. We didn’t smell fabulous, nor probably look our best, but there was something incredibly peaceful about sitting in grass and being surrounded by enjoyable company.

(Note: I may not be a city gal at heart. Only oceans or stretching mountains "take my breath away," though a good New York rooftop does moderately accomplish the trick. Thus, sitting in grass is one of my favorite pastimes.)

Of course, that was only the beginning of the night. My extroverted side won out in the end, and I found myself playing beer-induced card games late into the evening with a kid who resembled Harry Potter, a dude who breathed like a pug, and two Long “Guy” landers, amongst other characters including my own friends. It wasn’t exactly peaceful, but just as refreshing.

Then dawn came quite quickly, so we packed our tents and called a cab – which apparently is possible anywhere in New York. He drove us to a train that reminded me of the Hogwarts Express, and we sleepily headed back into the city. I reminisced about the sunny hill and late night card games as Harlem approached.

Ah, the city. We escape from you wholeheartedly, yet always come running back for more. Your heat, your opportunity, your endless instability and stimulation… though maybe half the thrill is leaving you, just to see what’s new upon return.

Speaking of our city arrival, it turns out my deer tick friend wasn’t the only nature that wanted to come home with me. As I unpacked my sleeping bag, a creepy crawler waltzed out and into my apartment, earning a sincere squeal of disgust as I shouted, “Why so many legs?!”

(Note:  I may not be a city gal at heart. But doesn't it just fit so well for now? Give me these people and their stories any day -- except maybe on that one muddy Saturday.)

The List

Ah, the infamous list... When I first got to NYC, I decided to create a bucket list of everything I wanted to partake in before my time here is up. This page is still morphing and completely open to suggestion. If you think of something (activity, museum, restaurant, etc.) I absolutely must divulge into over the next several years, please leave a comment. The words in red have already been done, and the words in white must still be fulfilled. 


Now let the New York adventures begin. 

1) Walk the Brooklyn Bridge
2) Kayak on the Hudson
3) Shop at Beacon's Closet
4) Get rice pudding in SoHo
5) Eat a hotdog at Coney Island
6) Have 2 drinks at Sidewalk Cafe
7) Check out the Mercury Lounge
8) Go to Pianos
9) Eat at Cup Diner and Bar in Astoria
10) Go to Museum of Moving Images
11) Try Mike's Diner and Neptune Diner at 2am
12) Go to the Bohemian Beer Garden
13) Eat a Heeb sandwich at Russ and Daughters
14) Get a slice of pizza at Di Fara, Grimaldi's, Roberta's and the restaurant across from The Spring Lounge. Then decide the best. 
15) See a movie in 3LD
16) Go to Brooklyn Botanical Gardens
17) Order an $8 float at Back Forty
18) Have a $2 PBR at Welcome to the Johnson's
19) Go to a hookah bar on Steinway (Little Egypt)
20) Go up the empire state building
21) Ride the Staten Island Ferry
22) Get a cup of joe at Joe in Soho
23) Go to the Staten Island Botanical Gardens and find the "secret garden."
24) Listen to free music from Juilliard kids
25) Visit the MoMA again
26) Visit the Met
27) Visit the Guggenheim 
28) Go to the Green flea market one Sunday
29) Eat something from Shake Shack 
30) Check out Clothingline and New and Almost New shops
31) Go to the beach in Queens
32) Get two buck corn at Cafe Habana
33) Go to a free play reading
34) See an improv show - free at The Pit
35) Enjoy Jeremy's 32oz. cup of beer in South Seaport
36) Visit Unnamable Books in Brooklyn
37) Go to the Ronnybrook Milk Bar
38) Get free food at Cha An Japanese Tea Room from 5 to 7 on weekdays.
39) See the Cake Boss bakery in Hoboken, NJ
40) Go to the Crocodile Lounge for free pizza with any drink order, any time of the day.
41) Sleep in central park - with people.
42) Visit the Chelsea Market
43) Souths for nachos and Solas for Couch Surfing  
44) Do the High Line train park
45) Go to Katz Deli for a Ruben, even if they're $15.
46) Visit the Brooklyn Brewery
47) See Pace University's downtown center
48) See St. Paul's Church in the financial district. 
49) Sunday dinners at Ferroli's Cafe in Soho
50) Go to a celebrity comedy bio reading in the Upper West Side
51) See the Cloisters in Inwood, the same day as the Met because it comes with the ticket
52) Dress up and see the Halloween Parade
53) Participate in Middle School Pancake Breakfast in NJ
54) See a celebrity 
55) Go to Rudy's Bar for free hotdogs with drink order
56) See the Macy's Day parade - in real life
57) See a free summer movie in Bryant Park
58) Do a brunch at Patsy's in Meatpacking
District. 
59) See the revolving floor of The View on the top floor of the Marriott in Times Square
60) See a Broadway and off-Broadway show
62) See the view of New York from The Top of the Rock.
63) Go to Brooklyn Bowl.
64) Go behind the scenes of a magazine
65) Get on to Roosevelt Island 
66) Spend time in The Strand and Housing Works book stores. 
67) Sing about New York in the street/subway
68) Hear Tim Keller speak
69) Have chocolate at Max Brenner
70) Then have chocolate at Jacques Torres in Brooklyn
71) Get on the roof of your apartment building
72) Take a tour of the Masts Brother Chocolate Factory
72) Go to an author reading at KGB Bar
73) Attend a book signing by someone famous
74) Ride the N train from Astoria-Ditmars all the way to Coney Island.
75) Eat at a restaurant overlooking the Hudson River 
76) Watch the sun rise is the city that never sleeps (after not sleeping of course). 
77) Go to a concert in South Seaport
78)And also one at the Brooklyn Ballroom
79) And then another concert somewhere dirty and gross and unknown.
80) Ride the 6 train when they are turning it around and drive through an old, unused subway station.
81) Go to one of New York's sports arenas.
82) Go to Eataly and enjoy Italian food. 
83) Visit the Grand Central Market
84)While your there, go to Grand Central Oyster Bar.
85) Tribeca Film Festival
86) Brooklyn Cheery Blossom Festival
87) Go to the opening of a movie
88) Do a scavenger hunt through the city.
89) Party at PS 1 during the summer in Queens
90) Do the bread list from NY magazine
91) Try playing pool again. Maybe at Turkey's Nest?
92) See an outdoor movie in Queens Sculpture
93) Go to that bar that was in the movie Rent in LES
94) While you're at it, go to the bar that How I Met Your Mother is based off of in Midtown. 
95) See something at Soho Rep 46
96) Check out the Merchant's House in East Village
97) Go to Astoria's Hell Gate Social for a cult classic film in  the summer
98) Look into Westsider Books, which is open till midnight.
99) Eat for free at Boss Tweed's from 5-7pm Fridays, or the try Brazen Head's bagle brunch deal. 
100) Also try Sip on the Upper West from 5-7pm or 2-4am. Buy a drink, get some tapas. 
101) Try Kossar's bialys
102) Explore LIC more, and look into historical Hunter's Point
103) Check out the art shows at the end of February
104) Go to Otto's Shrunken Head and Union Hall.
105) Have coffee or write in the garden at St. Luke's. 
106) Always remember you're extremely lucky and blessed to be living in New York City. 


Feel free to comment below to add a suggestion. 

The Writings

Publication Contributions

The Huffington Post (New York, NY)
Parents Magazine, Nov. Issue (New York, NY)
Parents Magazine, "The Goody Blog" (New York, NY)
Martha Stewart Living Magazine (New York, NY)
The Daily Press (Newport News, VA)
CNN IReport 
Pictory Online Magazine 
Lifetimes Newspapers (Dublin, Ireland)
The Limelight Arts Magazine (CNU) 
“The Why” (Blogger) 
“Wisdom of Age” Website (Hampton, VA) 

No, I Won't Tell You Where I Live

It’s nearly 1am on the 4^th of July. I’m standing in a crowded train, listening to a German man talk to an American guy, who is probably my age or older.  

The American is very polite, but it’s obvious the German is more into the conversation. At Queensboro Plaza the talkative European hops off the train, while me, a girl with a large bag, and the American Boy smile and shake our heads. It’s been a busy day, and New York dwellers often become the entertainment for visitors, but sometimes we still rise to the occasion to speak fondly of our city.

I turn my head slightly to the right. “Hiiiiii,” a man in his late-thirties says, making eye contact that cannot be avoided, even by one of the best gaze dodgers. (Me.)

Egads. I’m trapped. 

“Hi,” I say so briefly that you might not have heard it.

Oh, but he heard it.

“How are you?” he stands up with an eager expression. This is when I realize there is something a little off about this man. I don’t think he would hurt a fly, but you never know what someone is capable of, and I’m in no mood to chat it up after 4^th of July festivities.

“Where do live?” he says.

“Around.”

“In Queens?”

“In New York,” I say. The whole train is listening. I feel the stares and baited breath. It’s awkward, but no one knows the best way to interrupt.

“Oh. I see, I see,” he nods vigorously. “Well I live in Queens. I can walk anywhere! I walk to Woodside, to Sunnyside, in Astoria. I walk all the time – I can really walk anywhere,” he says, looking up at me with expectant eyes.

“Impressive,” I say, like you might to a small child. I hate being rude, but I look away and hope he accepts this social cue.

“So where do you live?”

Social cue fail.

“I’m not going to tell you exactly where I live. I live around New York.”

“Oh ok, ok.” Did he get the picture? The American Boy and Bag Girl watch the scenario carefully.

“How old are you?” he asks lightheartedly.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, hiking my book bag up with a free hand. After weighing the options in my head, I look directly at him and say with a not-so-pleasant smile, “I’m probably not going to tell you that either.”

Social cue accepted.

“Oh. Bye!” he says and sits down about three feet from me.

People on the train begin to talk again. “Well, points for trying,” the American Boy leans over and says with a grin. I laugh in response. “Yes, well you were getting chatted up earlier.”

“Hiiiiii,” the awkward man says, standing up again and cutting across our conversation. This time he’s closer but with his back toward me. My ally looks subtly in my direction, and I know he’s going to take one for the team.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“Do you live around here?”

“Yeah. I do. I like it out in Queens,” American Boy says with more enthusiasm than he should have to muster on a late night subway ride – and for that I was thankful.

But the rest of their tête-à-tête is a blur. While the talkative man’s back is turned, a woman in blue, probably in her late 20s, grabs me carefully by the sleeve. She says nothing but she doesn’t have to. I let her lead me to a seat she’s willingly given up. (This is “girl code” at it’s finest, my friends.)

“Thank you,” I say.

She and her husband smile. “We thought about pretending we knew you earlier,” he says. “But you were answering all the questions well enough.”

“Yeah, we assumed your name was probably Katelyn or something,” Wife chimes in, citing a generic babies-of-the-eighties name.

“Close enough,” I say. “Yeah, thanks so much… just trying to get home, ya’ know?”

They nod as we watch the awkward man chat with American Boy. When the train stops at Broadway, the man departs and everyone seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

“We were literally going to follow you home,” Husband says, looking over at his wife. She glances at me. “Yep, we were like ‘alright… if he follows, we follow.’”

I laugh at the odd parade of people that could possibly have followed me back to my apartment. And while I wasn’t terribly worried about my safety, the collective kindness of a subway car was a nod toward the general greatness of human connections.

“The whole train was on your side,” Husband continues. He gestures at a family sitting across from us, who smiles in return. The father has his hand on a stroller, with a little baby girl inside. They don’t speak much English, but basic body language is universal, so I wave and smile back.

“I know, I usually have headphones. They're such a lifesaver,” I say.

Wife nods her head. “Oh yeah, I hate when I don’t have those things.”

Headphones are New York’s Novocain: They’re fabulous for blocking out immense amounts of stimulants and sometimes necessary for peace of mind. But headphones also make you numb or unaware – and that illusive apathy is always the great danger.

“Then again,” I smile, “If I’d been wearing headphones, there never would have been this little moment.” The phrase was said with a slight sarcastic twist and a roll of the eyes… but I meant it.

They laughed in agreement. I thanked them one more time for their help, and then we all walked off the train.

And no one followed me home. 

Yet somehow, in a city with 8 million plus people, this still happens.

Ode to a New York Summer (in Pictures)

Don't worry about the temperature; just take it all in while you can. We blink and the summer's gone, with our lackadaisical mentality thrown into hibernation for another nine months. The heat is fierce, no doubt, but a calm haze settles over the city while the sun is high. 

And then we wake up at night. 

July 4th festivities in the greenery. 

Sweaty subway rides made better by balloons.

Union Square's green market snacks.

Classy summertime lady of the boroughs.

A sweet promise for the price of a drink.

No tables needed.

Thrifty, thrifty, all we've got is $50.

Surprise storms in the late afternoons.

And so we dance when we get the chance.

Wasting away when the sun is high.

Friday night boat trips around the island.

A Saturday summertime staple, not easily found.

Accidental pictures and accidental laughs.

Random edamame nights and two-buck beer.

Watching the blistering sun melt tar in the streets.

Getaway trips upstate to beat the heat.

Picnics in parks, porches, and pathways.

At that frenzied crux, when the night is about to obliterate the day. 

Summer Subway Rides and Rats

It’s that all-encompassing sticky kind of hot.

I’m waiting for a transfer on the subway platform of 42nd Street, Time Square. Everyone, including myself, has a sweaty sheen about them and the stagnant air only further advances possible heat exhaustion.

It’s 1am, so I can’t fathom how the temperature is this suffocating. The sun has been down for hours and still I sway side-to-side, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. There’s no escaping this oppressive air, and if I sit for even a second I’m positive I’ll pass out.

I’m also 100% sure we train goers are about to lose our minds. Nearly 14 minutes has passed, but still nothing barrels into the station with the promise of a seat and air conditioning.

The 19 or 20-year-old dude next to me looks down at the tracks as though he might jump. This concerns me for a second, but then I realize what’s caught this young man’s attention. He’s staring at the rats, thumping his foot to an imagined beat. Suddenly he begins rapping, with his eyes still locked on the vermin. I look over at him in annoyance.

“It’s hooo–ot in here, but I just drink my beer. And yooo rats don’t care cuz you don’t need no air. But you know; It’s hooo-ot in here…”

You get the point. This phrase continues to be repeated, over and over again.

After three minutes, I put my purse down and take my rings off of my fingers. Next I throw back my arm, and punch him in the face. He stops his ongoing, mindless ode to the rats and silence is restored.

 VICTORY IS MINE.

No, that didn’t happen. It might have… but just then, we began to hear the blessed rumble of the train.

People on the platform stretch out their necks, leaning over the subway tracks, in hopes of catching that heavenly beam of line signifying the arrival of on-coming transportation. But the rumble gets louder and louder and yet, still we remain in the heated darkness.

Swooooosh.

Dangit.

The express train arrived on the opposite side of the platform. It’s only in service for two more stops, therefore, this faux transportation will not whisk me away to Queens. I want to punch the Rat Rapper out of sheer anger, even though he too sits in sweaty disappointment.

Next thing I know, a mini gay pride parade is waltzing down the platform. Yes, that’s right – a line of happy, rainbow-painted faces and short shorts is assembling. Believe me when I say I’m not stereotyping in the slightest, but only describing the scene that unfolded. [Note: A much less tired Britney remembered later that it was also Pride Week.]

Now if you don’t recall: I’m so sweaty by this point, someone could easily slide me halfway down the platform, and I’d be able to knock out that freaking Rat Rapper like a bowling pin. In basic terms, I look rough and totally defeated.

Then two men start to walk over toward me. I’m staring right at them, giving them the "warning-I-might-bite" eyes. And yet another two follow, until four equally sweaty gents surround me.

What happens next… well, it only happens in New York.

The men begin to jump up and down. “Smmmmile!” one of them says. “Smile girl, smile!” another chimes in. Then all four began to chant “smile, smile, smile” in a surprisingly deep, football-like tone. They look and sound so ridiculous; I can’t help but break into a grin, which inevitably rolls into flat out laughter. The man on my left begins to throw little bits of paper in the air, like a subway version of confetti, announcing our victory over the blistering summer heat.

Within a few moments the subway arrives and the parade waltzes on. 

Yet, I still couldn’t stop laughing the entire way home.

Thank God humanity knows how to save itself with a smile. 

Ode to Summer Subways:

Astoria, 30th Ave

Grand Central, 42nd Street

Harlem, City College

Union Square, 14th Street

The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly

THE GOOD.

(His name is Beefy. Apparently he's famous on YouTube. I want to kiss his face. -- Photo Credit: Ivy Jacobson)

THE BAD.

(That's a goat. Why he's walking into a store in the West Village, I just don't know.)


THE UGLY.

(An example of a horrifying New York cockroach, with wings and all... I don't want to talk about him, or the fact that he was sitting outside of my door, like a expectant puppy waiting for me to get home. You are now dead. And it's no one's fault but your own.)

CRUNCH. 

Next time, I would prefer the goat to be outside of my apartment. 

I've already kidnapped the dog.  

From the Corner Seat of a Subway Car

I haven't had time to write.

Well... actually I've been typing up something everyday for work. But it hasn't gone on the blog -- and that's what you read, so please excuse me. 

Work is hard, money is tight, and the recent weather has been uncooperative in a misty sort of way. 

Yet look at this:

it's mid-June and just as I'd hoped

, I'm relentlessly occupied. We all are. The long days and short nights of summer are amongst us. Now if only it would stop raining.

Speaking of being busy, I'm writing this on the subway via my iPhone's "Notes" app. It's 11:46pm and I'll have to be up in six hours to scour the web for news stories to pitch at work. So personal writing will have to take place underground, surrounded by New York's finest.  

By the way, the man next to me smells weird. And the guy across the aisle is taking pictures of me, as well as the surrounding occupants of this subway car with a huge camera. No one stops him; I'm not sure if any of us care. Plus he doesn't realize I'm actually writing about 

him.

Two girls to my right have huge suitcases, packed full of who knows what, going who knows where. Someone coughs; someone sneezes. Three people are reading paperback books, while another flips through a Kindle. If there's anything I can say about New York, it's that we're forced to be well-read.

Four stops to go until we're above ground. The connection at Queensboro Plaza will probably empty out this train a bit. 

Why is our conductor repeatedly explaining the construction work affecting our commute -- and in perfect diction, no less? He knows we're all locals. Tourists rarely make it out to Queens past 10pm... (

snort

) if at all. Yet it seems when you're visiting the city, lost in Time Square, the train conductor makes sure to tell you that the next stop is "blahppsshblah" and that construction will re-route you to "scccreeetchpblah."

(Note: If this ever happens to you, just ask someone for directions who has a bagel, book, or baby.)

So this post isn't really about anything. I just wanted you to sit on the N train with me as we whip through Manhattan and fly into Queens. I want you to smell what I smell (which at the moment is a mixture of leather and rain) and see what I see. I want you know what it's like to commute home at midnight, observing our world from the corner seat of a subway car.

Maybe you found this entry intriguing. Or maybe you're pissed that you read all the way to the end of this post, only to learn a lot about nothing. But either way, I stole your time. You were with me, whether you wanted to be or not. And sometimes that's all we need to know.

Here's my stop. Now we shall walk 15 minutes towards home, past the fruit carts and buzzing restaurants, only to do it all again tomorrow. Can you keep up?

I do hope so. 

But I've been told I walk fast.

Sent from my iPhone. Pardon any misspellings.