peace out twitter.

Today I decided to remove the automatic twitter feed. I think it made me lazier about posting than I already was, which, to put it simply, made me not really post at all.
I mean my private journal is great, and I find some cathartic pleasure writing in it, but the whole point of this blog was to document my becoming part of this city. It seems now, as I finally feel myself integrating, that I haven’t shared my thoughts and experiences in forever.
I mean aren’t you chafing at the bit to know about trivia night on the ues? Or perhaps what the hell the ues even is? What about PDT, the secret whiskey bar you enter through a telephone booth in a hot dog joint, where I took my incredibly delighted Dad for Father’s Day?
Well, in any case I would like to share. And if you want to read my tweets, go read them all at twitter cause I’m going back to basics for now.
More to come.

words and papers

I have all these little scraps of paper, probably about 20 or more of them now, upon which I’ve jotted down ideas for blog entries. Some are witty, some wry, others uplifting and a few just run of the mill conversational. The thing is, not a single one has come to fruition in forever and I’m trying to figure out how to juggle this section of my life, within my new life.

I have a private journal, which thankfully I’ve kept current but here in liquidjill land it’s all so much more complicated. With content that anyone and everyone is privy to I find always myself writing with that in mind. How do I want my former/current employers to perceive me? How about my parents? My long lost friends that now follow me on Facebook ? Every one of them gets taken into account as I write and it affects the content, flow and pace of everything I express.

There is also this whole wacky social life thing.

In the longest and darkest days of winter I consoled myself with 3 basic things: my job, working out and writing. I would do a little cooking, and sometimes I’d take a book to a coffee shop but my stove didn’t work for months and the coffee shop was kind of a schlep and it all resulted in long, lonely and difficult nights that stretched out into months. Blogging helped and my real work flourished but internally it was difficult not to wonder if this move to ny was in some ways a huge mistake.

Then, after months of dormancy, repetition and let’s face it, boredom - everything changed. Within the space of about a month, and in concert with the birth of spring I began to make friends. The friends became circles and the circles multiplied. Within each one particularly special people emerged whom have become incredibly close and important to me. Within that month, what was lacking for so very long finally regained meaning and it has been exhilarating. One can not ever really appreciate true comradery without first feeling true loneliness. I can say with confidence that I’ve now met each one quite intimately.

I barely have time for laundry. My workouts, which at once point were occurring 6 days a week have been regulated to 3. I’m doing what I can to accommodate basic shopping and upkeep at my apartment but it’s tough and I’ve found myself leaving a dish or two in the sink - unthinkable just a couple of months ago.

The nourishment of writing has also taken a backseat, and I am starting to see that I would rather it would not.

Recently I’ve run into a fellow writer, a really serious one who actually defines himself by it. It makes me think of a time, long ago when I longed to define myself by the same parameters. My writing was something I found so much passion in and catharsis through. Somehow in the midst of the past 6 months, a lot of that focus has been pushed aside to make room for my struggle to find social happiness in this huge and often unforgiving city.

Now I finally see the opportunity of a little time. The days are longer, my life has much more meaning and I’ve found a little inspiration from this new friend. I don’t feel comfortable defining myself as anything really right now, save perhaps a communicator or a networker but I’m closer then I’ve been in a while.

You may see more of me and you may not, but either way I’m holding onto these scraps of paper, and in time I think that they’ll all find their way to their respective homes in the words of this blog.

Stay tuned.

When pictures REALLY speak louder than words

breaking through the bubble

It is a ritual of the city. As we enter the train each of us takes on our protective safety cushion of anonymity. Our personal bubbles of tolerance through practiced ignorance. It’s sounds harsh, but it becomes a necessity. How else could we ignore the presence of so many people every moment of every day?

In the morning there are panhandlers of every make and model, 16 years olds using cell phone speakers as boom boxes, and moms on a never ending quest to quell the wails of their children. By night the scene changes somewhat, to incorporate a different set of norms. Singing erupts from a young group of teens, silenced quickly by yells from a neighboring group. The smells of pizza and perfume and sweat battle in the stale air. A growing puddle of urine pools beneath an ancient homeless man as he nods off into an alcoholic coma. Twenty-somethings pop gum and curse and spit and flirt and pretend not to notice. The conductors voice, sometimes muffled with ambiguity sometimes automated and clear as day punctuates each lurch of the train. If we do not withdraw from it all then we cannot function. The stimuli would overwhelm us.

So we retreat.

Into books and newspapers and play lists, each of us with a routine of self induced solitude. We sit, or stand if we must and stare and block out the things we cannot process. Like looking into the ripples of water on a lake it can induce a headache to try to think about all of it. So we don’t.

Occasionally though, the bubble is broken. Someone speaks, makes eye contact, communicates in some way and eyes turn to observe from all around. The act permeates cocoons and suddenly, we remember that we’re human. Sometimes it’s shocking, a genuine smile or a kind word. More often just numb, a woman crying, a child holding his chest as though his heart has actually broken. It is always a surprise when it does occur and it never lasts long. We are all back within the safety of our bubbles before long.

And then the doors swing open and we rise and scramble out of our temporary metal encasements. We push through the turnstiles and up the stairs into the air. Finally, the air. Crisp, cold city air woven like a tapestry with a new assortment of stimuli, color and smell. We are prepared for it though and take it all in stride.

Next week my daily affair with the train will come to an end for a while as I embark on the spring, and begin life as a bike commuter. I look forward to the change, and to leaving my bubble behind me for now.

formative years

I could sum up a pretty sizable portion of my childhood with just a few TV shows. This one however would take precedence above them all. What a wonderful thing it was to be a child of the 80’s with no possibly ability to correlate the insano number of drug references in the programming I enjoyed. Oh the nostalgia, I could cut it with a knife. Or maybe a razor blade. Hey, there’s plenty to go around people!

every voice matters

A few months ago I reviewed a local restaurant on Yelp.com, something I try to do as often as I can especially with local spots as I am a huge proponent of supporting my neighborhood businesses. Most, if not all of my purchasing is from locally owned stores and I don’t patronize chains any more often than I have to. The great part is that most of the local restaurants are actually not bad at all, and a few are pretty good - particularly when one considers the neighborhood. Now, if you aren’t afraid of authentic Jamaican jerk chicken, which I most certainly am not, then there are a couple of incredible spots right here on my block. In fact, I pretty much live with that heavily spiced aroma, reminiscent of the islands most of the time.

So there’s this place about a block away from me with a pretty well rounded American style menu and lots of red wines. When I initially moved here I figured it would be my go-to spot for dinner based on menu and proximity. Unfortunately I had some of the most god awful service I have ever experienced there. I even gave the place multiple tries but finally gave up after feeling completely ignored. It was the first and only time so far that I felt compelled to write a less than positive review. I felt kind of bad for writing it, but I also didn’t want others to have to waste time and money as I did, and isn’t that the point of Yelp anyway? If you like you can read my review here.

So a month or so after I wrote the review, a newly hired manager of the place contacted me through Yelp and said he was trying hard to improve the quality of service. He asked if I would come in for dinner with a friend, on the house, just to see that he had really made some changes. I was impressed and of course curious - so I agreed and last night my neighbor Leah headed down the block and checked it out.

I can’t say that we received normal service since I felt like I was a restaurant critic as soon as I arrived.  The staff waited on us hand and foot which was kind of weird but something I could totally get used to. Perhaps I’ve found a long lost callingas a reviewer? Man, I would so take that job.

Overall the food was extraordinary, the staff delightful and I didn’t see a single person I remembered from my initial visits a few months ago. This week I’ll write an update to my review and I will certainly be back to check it out again, but what an amazing example of social media and it’s real effects on the consumer. I spoke out, my voice was heard and in the end everyone wins. I have another delicious dinner option a block away. And you can bet I’ll be bringing my business to them in the future. The manager who contacted me even came to the restaurant while we were eating to shake my hand and ask me how I was. It was his night off. How cool is that?

daylight savings time arrives

So far this weekend has been pretty amazing. The weather finally, finally turned and I couldn’t be happier. Yesterday I woke up around 7am and met a couple friends in Prospect Park for a few loops on the road bike before breakfast. Once I got home it was laundry, a shower, and a walk to the farmers market in Grand Army Plaza to get veggies and delicious local turkey for dinner this week. I brought home the delicious spoils and made an amazing lunch of spinach salad loaded with fresh veggies and a side of spicy ground turkey sausage.

Saturday afternoon was spent biking around Brooklyn on the fixie. I renewed my library books, (when was the last time I did that???) and of course I had to take out another, since I was there. Delicious Gorilla coffee and people watching rounded out the last of the final daylight hours.

Today I woke up at 9, which was really 8 but that whole daylight savings thing kicked in last night which is made of AWESOME. I met Wendy in the park around 10 and went for my first outdoor run in a very long time. It was wonderful, exhilarating and exhausting. I may need to take an Advil in the morning but I’ll be back in top condition in no time I’m sure. I spent the afternoon walking around the city stretching my legs after the run and window shopping. I didn’t really have the most exciting of days, but it was peaceful and recharging, preparing me for the week ahead. With the longer days I can only imagine how many interesting, new and outdoor related things I’ll be getting into. Finally. This has been the longest winter of my adult life.

such is life

So this evening I did what I often do after work, I went to the gym. I was feeling pretty strong and on the train I remember thinking I’d probably be able to run for a solid hour tonight, which is great, as my attitude tends to get me further than anything, which is pretty much the case with life in general, no?

Anyway, I got to the gym and went through the usual routine of stripping off the 5 layers of clothes I shield myself with from the blustery New York winter (which was especially cold and particularly wintry today after all that snow).

So I hung my huge down jacket on the hanger and folded up my jeans and placed them neatly in my locker. I pulled my workout gear out of my bag and on went the sports bra and the tee shirt and the proper socks. Then I reached for the jogging pants. I picked them up in front of me and slid a cold bare leg into them, right leg first, as always. As I shook the pants trying to get my leg to slide in I watched, completely detached, as a nice sized very lively German cockroach fell out of them and onto the floor.

As it scurried away into the well camouflaged berber carpet I thought briefly about where it may have come from. My apartment? I did leave the bag on the floor last night after I packed it up. My work? It was sitting on the floor there all day. Who knows. Either way I went ahead and pulled on the pants, grabbed my headphones and water and went on with my day. Can’t let these things slow ya down, right?

c’est la vie. New York New York.

this morning in Brooklyn

image via AP

This one is my walk to the subway:

And this one is from my office in Tribeca:

thoughts on people

Snow on the ground and a huge storm on the way, at least according to those pesky weather people. We’ll see the true outcome tonight I suppose.

The trains are completely wonky again this weekend. All 2 and 3 trains have their last stop at my station where shuttle buses (of which there are never enough) fill up quickly and take never quite all that are waiting the rest of the way home. Those that cannot fit on the buses wait, sometimes for 15 or 20 minutes. They stand like soldiers on the side of Eastern Parkway shivering in the snow. Babies wait in strollers wrapped in heavy plastic, older people with no place to sit down simply make do. Yet though all this inconvenience you see no complaining, no anger, just a level of acceptance and plainly visible drive to simply endure. It is the core I think of what is needed to survive in this city.

Abiding my personal effort to stay off the trains this weekend I started off the day yesterday with a walk to Grand Army Plaza, for a visit to the farmers market which sets up shop there each Saturday. In the winter the selection is sparse but there is still plenty to be found and just being surrounded with other people that take some joy from shopping locally makes me happy.

I picked up some amazing local grown produce, wine, cheese and bread. All of it made for a delicious lunch of grilled portobello (brushed in a tiny bit of extra virgin olive oil) with balsamic vinegar, some fresh chopped garlic and delicious goat cheese melted on top. I served it with a piece of rosemary flat bread and a little spinach salad leftover from the day before. Delicious. The best part was the fact that I knew where almost every part of my meal came from. I met the woman who miked the goat and made the cheese. She told me her stock was lacking a bit as of late since she had to share the milk supply with all the baby goats. Sigh. Baby goats. It is in my personal opinion that a baby goat may well be the cutest thing I have ever seen. It’s that time of the year, or so the woman said. I think I have a plan forming for my next trip out of the city. Maybe I’ll line it up after the huge snowboarding trip at the end of this month.

I did want to note something I was thinking about yesterday when I returned home from working out (one of two trips I begrudgingly made on the train yesterday - it was cold!)

Many months ago, when I first moved here I observed this, and I think I even blogged about it, but yesterday it struck me to a more acute degree. All those people, inconvenienced at the subway, babies crying and people freezing, still somehow they all managed to maintain a modicum of order and respect and peace. There could have been a ton of pushing and scrambling resulting in injury and probably violence. I’ve seen it happen often enough in similarly cramped situations at ball games and live music events, even in crowded high schools. Yet there is a code that people know and obey, regardless of size, race, age or status when navigating NYC public transit. We are all pushed and squeezed and forced to endure what most of America would consider very much an invasion on their own personal space. Yet problems, relatively, are few. It’s fascinating to me, and makes me think of psychology, sociology, social structure and culture. It would seem to me that we all default to a desire for order, but how does that occur when so much of what we are exists in chaos? If physics is to be believed we emerged from it, so why don’t we default back to it? Is it learned? Who came up with the code that makes us all coexist peacefully in the closest and presumably most likely dangerous of cramped spaces, surrounded by a tube of steel and up to a half mile of bedrock? Why does it work?

Food for thought on a Sunday morning.