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.
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