To be fair and equal opportunity, I have a counter-balance to my previous anti-New York rant. It's absolutely true that this cesspool of human misery (am I being dramatic? -- just a rhetorical flare for the negative, sorry!) can sometimes be a magical place.
And today was one of those times when I witnessed a little bit of that magic, which was enough to start my day off on the right foot, the I'm-loving-New-York, I-feel-OK-with-humanity foot, with that certain elusive feeling of expansiveness and acceptance that should hopefully linger in your body, like a robust hit of amphetamines, and last until the next AM.
On a typical midday subway ride from Brooklyn into the city today, people were locked into their usual commuting dispositions -- the man reading his paper with intense focus, the young guy listening to a walkman but still looking bored, the glaring teenager, the careful-not-to-make-eye-contact beauty queen. Then, at Jay Street-Borough Hall in downtown Brooklyn, we were all abruptly visited by some of New York's brokest entrepreneurs.
Seemingly emerging from a time capsule launched in 1984, two 20-something black guys in raggedy breakdancing fits entered, carrying only a simple boombox, and opened with the usual formalities used by subway performers: "Sorry to disturb you ladies and gentlemen. We have a short presentation for you all, and we hope you have a very pleasant afternoon."
They put on some non-descript breaking music embarrassingly -- or cutely -- uninfluenced by the Hip-Hop stylings of the last 20 years. Then they took position. One guy clapped as the other made an impressive and efficient show of acrobatics and breakdancing sensibility, with a precise intuition for the subway's spatial limitations. His partner then did the same, making flips, jumps, and moves jarringly close to people's feet and faces, not to mention the subway poles, but never quite touching any of them. It's as though they had a sixth sense. They finished their 2-minute act by wrapping their arms into the other's legs and forming a human wheel which rolled more than half-way down the length of the car, again without bumping into so much as a toe.
The finale in particular released a torrent of delight and applause from the crowd and temporarily united a good half of the passengers in a community of shared appreciation, while the other half kept on staring blankly ahead, making as though the dancers were smelly homeless guys panhandling.
Not only were the men skilled dancers and acrobats, but they had a terrific and energetic sense of showmanship. They had clearly worked hard and rehearsed -- there wasn't a misstep or bump in the routine -- and they were blunt and friendly about the service they were performing, what they hoped for in return (naturally, cash), and they were sincere with their thanks. They were the best of entrepreneurs, and New York is full of such showmen, musicians, dancers, etc., who mix skill with practise and an innate knowledge of what pleases or displeases the crowd.
Even though there are many subway performers, low-level entrepreneurs, and spare-changers around the city, and even though you might see talented breakdancing acrobats in Times Square or Battery Park performing for tourists, it's a guiltless pleasure sometimes to ignore the instinct to be jaded and to let ourselves be momentarily thrilled out of our apathy.
New York has many such moments.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Subway Rant -- Tuesday
Here's what I think: people who think nothing of putting their feet up on empty seats in the subway are the scourge of our society. And the shmutz from the bottom of their shoes that eventually winds up on our asses is only the tip of the anti-social iceberg.
We all want to do it. We're all tempted to do it. Many of us have done it -- late at night, drunk or in a pissy mood. But, as decent people, we usually feel a certain sense of guilt for it, like we know we shouldn't. The disapproving glares of strangers are generally enough to bring us back to a less favorable upright position; a rush of passengers into an empty car triggers an anticipatory, pre-emptive foot removal. Defiance in the face of crowds is normally left up to surly teenagers or crazies. The rest, I'll just call assholes.
Unfortunately, these "assholes" have other designs beyond just soiling shared subway seats. Yes, their arsenal includes any number of tactics for making life in these tight, dense spaces (let's call them "cities") that much less pleasant for their fellow beings: blocking subway exits and rushing in first, cutting you off in their cars or bikes, blocking streets and sidewalks, holding their jumbo-sized umbrellas right at eye-level as they pass through thick crouds, walking past silently as you chivalrously hold a door open, etc. etc. We all know the details, but do we care?
The point is that living in cities and negotiating dense places requires an urban etiquette, a tight-space, big city code of conduct for lubricating annoying situations and maintaining flow in the face of looming chaos. You might counter, "but life is chaotic -- you can't control it. Why fight against the inevitable?" And I say, If we were truly resigned to chaos we wouldn't follow any rules. Why follow street lights or signs at all? Why perform any courtesies for strangers? Why say please or thank you? We follow most of the rules because they make sense -- there is no official, enforceable policy. Urban etiquette is simply common sense that, if discarded, would make the world a terrible terrible place. Most of us do follow the "rules," but what of that highly visible, unabiding minority?
New Yorkers in particular pride themselves on their big city skills -- they're tough, quick-witted, verbal, brash, able to negotiate crowds, situations, transactions. And it's true. Living in a big, dense place automatically -- unconsciously -- hardens your skin and teaches you how to cope: how to get what you want, to avoid what you don't want, and to watch out for your best interests when the anonimity of a huge population sure as hell doesn't provide.
New Yorkers' skills at getting what they need -- in crowds, on the subway, at a store, on the phone -- are tremendous. And if that weren't enough, they often pull it off with both charm and humor.
But there is a downside: to so cultivate pushing and asking and demanding and lubricating and getting is to filter out the rest. New Yorkers notice little, absorb less, listen terribly and watch out so well for their own well-being that they routinely forget about everyone else.
Naturally, rudeness and self-absorption exist everywhere. But the willful and prideful version practised by New Yorkers has, unfortunately, achieved the status of local treasure never to be scrutinized. This is great for movies and books, for the collecting of colorful impressions and quotations, but less fun day-to-day, in the midst of the faceless -- and tragically pointless -- bustle.
We all want to do it. We're all tempted to do it. Many of us have done it -- late at night, drunk or in a pissy mood. But, as decent people, we usually feel a certain sense of guilt for it, like we know we shouldn't. The disapproving glares of strangers are generally enough to bring us back to a less favorable upright position; a rush of passengers into an empty car triggers an anticipatory, pre-emptive foot removal. Defiance in the face of crowds is normally left up to surly teenagers or crazies. The rest, I'll just call assholes.
Unfortunately, these "assholes" have other designs beyond just soiling shared subway seats. Yes, their arsenal includes any number of tactics for making life in these tight, dense spaces (let's call them "cities") that much less pleasant for their fellow beings: blocking subway exits and rushing in first, cutting you off in their cars or bikes, blocking streets and sidewalks, holding their jumbo-sized umbrellas right at eye-level as they pass through thick crouds, walking past silently as you chivalrously hold a door open, etc. etc. We all know the details, but do we care?
The point is that living in cities and negotiating dense places requires an urban etiquette, a tight-space, big city code of conduct for lubricating annoying situations and maintaining flow in the face of looming chaos. You might counter, "but life is chaotic -- you can't control it. Why fight against the inevitable?" And I say, If we were truly resigned to chaos we wouldn't follow any rules. Why follow street lights or signs at all? Why perform any courtesies for strangers? Why say please or thank you? We follow most of the rules because they make sense -- there is no official, enforceable policy. Urban etiquette is simply common sense that, if discarded, would make the world a terrible terrible place. Most of us do follow the "rules," but what of that highly visible, unabiding minority?
New Yorkers in particular pride themselves on their big city skills -- they're tough, quick-witted, verbal, brash, able to negotiate crowds, situations, transactions. And it's true. Living in a big, dense place automatically -- unconsciously -- hardens your skin and teaches you how to cope: how to get what you want, to avoid what you don't want, and to watch out for your best interests when the anonimity of a huge population sure as hell doesn't provide.
New Yorkers' skills at getting what they need -- in crowds, on the subway, at a store, on the phone -- are tremendous. And if that weren't enough, they often pull it off with both charm and humor.
But there is a downside: to so cultivate pushing and asking and demanding and lubricating and getting is to filter out the rest. New Yorkers notice little, absorb less, listen terribly and watch out so well for their own well-being that they routinely forget about everyone else.
Naturally, rudeness and self-absorption exist everywhere. But the willful and prideful version practised by New Yorkers has, unfortunately, achieved the status of local treasure never to be scrutinized. This is great for movies and books, for the collecting of colorful impressions and quotations, but less fun day-to-day, in the midst of the faceless -- and tragically pointless -- bustle.
Friday, December 10, 2004
Drinking Log -- Thursday
Blarney Rock, 6:30 PM:
T from Queens: You look like dat guy from Linkin Park.
Me: Who's that?
T: That fuckin' guy. Ya don't know who Linkin Park is? I'm old and I know who Linkin Park is.
Me: I've heard of them!
T: Yeah, I just fuckin' got out I jail and I even know who Linkin Park is, fuckin' guy.
***
T: I seen every fuckin' band. I know em all. I'm old. I had 15 tickets in row numba 10 to see Lynyrd Skynyrd -- it was 1977 -- I'm old. I had all this whole row reserved. Then the whole fuckin' band got killed in a plane crash a month before.
Me: Shit. Did you get your money back?
T: Nah. T-Rex and Jethro Tull played instead. It was crap.
Me: I like T-Rex!
T: Whateva. Ask me any band. I seen em.
***
T: Sometimes, you know, a guy fuckin' pushes ya over the edge. I'm a gentleman. Ya don't fuck with me, I don't fuck with you.
R, bartender from Ireland: Dere's no udder way.
T: But you push me over da edge...
R: Some guys, ya give em an inch, dey'll take a mile.
T: We're friends for life, man.
Awkward pound/hand clasp.
***
Silence. T's leg brushes subtly against my knee.
T: Uh oh! Sorry!
***
Girlfriend comes in. I go to bathroom.
T, to girlfriend: Why ya all bundled up? It's not that cold.
Girlfriend: [smiling]
T: You're too pretty to be wearing all those clothes.
G: [smiling]
***
Goodbyes all around.
T from Queens: You look like dat guy from Linkin Park.
Me: Who's that?
T: That fuckin' guy. Ya don't know who Linkin Park is? I'm old and I know who Linkin Park is.
Me: I've heard of them!
T: Yeah, I just fuckin' got out I jail and I even know who Linkin Park is, fuckin' guy.
***
T: I seen every fuckin' band. I know em all. I'm old. I had 15 tickets in row numba 10 to see Lynyrd Skynyrd -- it was 1977 -- I'm old. I had all this whole row reserved. Then the whole fuckin' band got killed in a plane crash a month before.
Me: Shit. Did you get your money back?
T: Nah. T-Rex and Jethro Tull played instead. It was crap.
Me: I like T-Rex!
T: Whateva. Ask me any band. I seen em.
***
T: Sometimes, you know, a guy fuckin' pushes ya over the edge. I'm a gentleman. Ya don't fuck with me, I don't fuck with you.
R, bartender from Ireland: Dere's no udder way.
T: But you push me over da edge...
R: Some guys, ya give em an inch, dey'll take a mile.
T: We're friends for life, man.
Awkward pound/hand clasp.
***
Silence. T's leg brushes subtly against my knee.
T: Uh oh! Sorry!
***
Girlfriend comes in. I go to bathroom.
T, to girlfriend: Why ya all bundled up? It's not that cold.
Girlfriend: [smiling]
T: You're too pretty to be wearing all those clothes.
G: [smiling]
***
Goodbyes all around.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
The Jesus Scale
A Newsweek poll (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6650997/site/newsweek/) this week offers a scary but unsurprising insight into the Jesus beliefs of Americans today. These are numbers we've all heard before but ones that bear repeating in light of how we now see our American identity, following the revelations of the recent to-do on Nov. 2.
According to the poll:
79% of Americans believe that JC was produced by the Virgin Mary, "without a human father."
"Sixty-seven percent say they believe that the entire story of Christmas—the Virgin Birth, the angelic proclamation to the shepherds, the Star of Bethlehem and the Wise Men from the East—is historically accurate."
55% believe that "every word of the Bible is literally accurate."
93% believe JC "actually lived and 82 percent believe Jesus Christ was God or the Son of God."
Most alarmingly: "Sixty-two percent say they favor teaching creation science in addition to evolution in public schools...Forty-three percent favor teaching creation science instead of evolution in public schools; 40 percent oppose the idea."
So, I suggest a new system for rating Americans' polital/social/moral/religious tendencies: The Jesus Scale.
In this scale, how we feel about Jesus places us into one of 6 groups in ascending order of Jesus-osity:
Group 1, The Haters: Avid Atheists, Hot-tempered Hebrews, and Aggro-Arabians agree: plain and simple, JC was a no-good fronter.
Group 2, The Doubters: JC was not a true winemaker and had no real working knowledge of how to build quality hot rods.
Group 3, The Status Quoers: JC is OK, I guess. On a par, maybe, with Falun Gong.
Group 4, The Likers: JC is delicious. I could spread him on toast.
Group 5, The Lovers: Jesus is tops! We'd elect him president of the US but he's too pro-welfare in his platform. And Jewish.
Group 6, The Morally Insane: Jesus talks to me while I eat breakfast cereals and demands that I crusade against faggotry when I'm spending time at my favorite bath-houses.
According to the poll:
79% of Americans believe that JC was produced by the Virgin Mary, "without a human father."
"Sixty-seven percent say they believe that the entire story of Christmas—the Virgin Birth, the angelic proclamation to the shepherds, the Star of Bethlehem and the Wise Men from the East—is historically accurate."
55% believe that "every word of the Bible is literally accurate."
93% believe JC "actually lived and 82 percent believe Jesus Christ was God or the Son of God."
Most alarmingly: "Sixty-two percent say they favor teaching creation science in addition to evolution in public schools...Forty-three percent favor teaching creation science instead of evolution in public schools; 40 percent oppose the idea."
So, I suggest a new system for rating Americans' polital/social/moral/religious tendencies: The Jesus Scale.
In this scale, how we feel about Jesus places us into one of 6 groups in ascending order of Jesus-osity:
Group 1, The Haters: Avid Atheists, Hot-tempered Hebrews, and Aggro-Arabians agree: plain and simple, JC was a no-good fronter.
Group 2, The Doubters: JC was not a true winemaker and had no real working knowledge of how to build quality hot rods.
Group 3, The Status Quoers: JC is OK, I guess. On a par, maybe, with Falun Gong.
Group 4, The Likers: JC is delicious. I could spread him on toast.
Group 5, The Lovers: Jesus is tops! We'd elect him president of the US but he's too pro-welfare in his platform. And Jewish.
Group 6, The Morally Insane: Jesus talks to me while I eat breakfast cereals and demands that I crusade against faggotry when I'm spending time at my favorite bath-houses.
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