Sunday, July 31, 2011
An Adventure in the Park
Leave it to me to get lost in the park! All I wanted to do was to meander among the famed antiques of GreenFlea (see Flea Market finds). Unfortunately, unbeknown to me, the subway was undergoing construction, which meant that the 7, which I need to switch from the 6 on the east side to use the 1 on the west side was no longer functioning. No problem for me, I can TOTALLY handle this problem thanks to my month of accumulated knowledge and familiarity with the Manhattan grid system, and my trusty googlemaps app on my iPhone (literally a LIFESAVER). I figured that I would just walk from the east side to the west side since my iPhone, so deceptively as I later learned, displayed the only obstacle between me and the flea market as this tiny park...or so I thought. Ends up this tiny park was actually Central Park, and as I attempted to find my way out, I felt like Alice in Wonderland, walking in circles multiple times, coming into dead ends, and yes even being chased by a squirrel. Fortunately, I survived and was immensely rewarded at the flea market. Nevertheless, I can't say that my adventure was terrible since I stumbled upon some magnificent natural scenery. As I'm slowly beginning to learn, life is what you make of it. No matter what, however, you always have a choice, no matter how out of control you may feel in a situation. Either you can whine and complain about being set back 45 minutes from your personal predetermined schedule, or you can let go and embrace the excitement of not knowing where the winding path will take you.
Sad to say, but it reminds me of toxic waste!
A couple that frankly had no idea where they were going (a dead end) or how to direct the boat (the paddling was proving to be a significant challenge, and proved to be an amusing source of entertainment for a couple of minutes.)
Saturday, July 30, 2011
From American Idol to the Food Emporium Grocery Store it is undeniable...I am a Freak Magnet
After my regular Saturday morning yoga class at NYSC, literally around the corner from my apartment, I thought I would check out the Dekalb Flea Market-Brooklyn's Newest Year-Round Flea Market (see Flea Market Finds for photos and brief description). While the visit to the flea market itself was uneventful, the subway ride back was a completely different story. In retrospect, I don't know if I feel more victimized, or just annoyed, but having already taken the Q uptown, I was transferring to the 6 at Union Square when I got blind sided by a three woman family dressed in highly gaudy attire, even by New York standards.
All I wanted to do was to listen to my podcast to distract myself from the sweat trickling down my back and to make it back to air-conditioned confines of my apartment. This feather-clad and heavily eye-shadowed trio, however, had different plans for my ride. Even through my blasting headphones, I could hear the mother and one daughter prodding the daughter to "go ahead and just do it!" to which the other daughter responded by sinking further into her overly tight, barely there cotton dress and bedazzled high tops whispering "but it's scary". I would've been perfectly content to ignore them, as I do with most others, until the mother insisted in an uncompromising voice as she leaned on her suitcase that looked as if it was going to explode any second, "It's not any different from singing in the car. Now, you stand up here and sing. The worst they can do is not give you a dollar."
Curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn't help but pause my podcast as the daughter timidly got up as we came to a halt at 23rd street. It still isn't clear whether she was genuinely nervous or if it was all part of an act. What is clear is that she didn't anticipate three Hispanics to steal the show from her. Just as she had inhaled to belt out whatever tune she was going to sing these three men came in shouting, screaming, and laughing (not sure what the excitement was). Unfortunately, for them, they were so loud that they failed to hear the announcement that the doors were about to close. Consequently, their one friend literally got stuck between the doors, and the other two had to use all their strength to liberate him before the train left the platform. I am glad to report that their efforts were successful.
I am not so glad however that the girl was confident and courageous enough to not let this opening act deter her from being the main show. Perhaps I had too high of expectations. All I know is that I waited in tense anticipation, (maybe she would be the next American idol star-that would explain why the mom was lugging around the unnecessarily large suitcase for a weekend trip). Once she started belting out "The sun will come out tomorrow..." from Annie, I knew that it was going to be a long ride to 33rd street even though it was only another two stops away. The best part is that the mom wasn't kidding. As soon as the girl concluded with "...a day away!" her twin sister took off her bowler cap and gave it to "Annie" to collect tips. The best part of the show was that as she started to walk down the aisle to collect, the train came to an unexpectedly screeching halt, which literally sent her flying backwards. The doors flew open and I made a dash for it since the mom had been eying the crumpled dollar bill in change that I had received in change for my "Summer breeze" iced green tea at the flea market. Had she sung any other song I may have contemplated leaving a tip...actually probably not, but I sincerely hope that I do not run into this situation again.
As if this pushy mother and tweedledee and tweedledum daughters weren't enough excitement for one day. I also managed to meet a crazy man in aisle eight at the grocery store. All I wanted was to wander down the aisles as I normally do, comparing the prices and looking for bargains. Well as I got to the bread section, I got caught pondering the difference between 12 grain versus seven grain versus whole grain. Seriously, why don't they just keep all the grains in the bread? As I was meddling over this puzzle holding the seven grain loaf in my hand and suspiciously starring at the 12 grain loaf, my thoughts were interrupted by the creepiest old man.
"You could be a model".
Considering that I'm 5'5" and not a pencil stick in either weight or size, I thought I must've misheard him. My mistake was in responding with "Excuse me?" since I think he took this to mean that I was flattered.
"If you wait an hour or more you could model for me."
As if that wasn't the creepiest thing anyone has ever said to me, my mind, thanks to the paranoia that has been generated by reading numerous briefs about criminal offenses and looking at mugshots at my job, was already jumping to conclusions that he must have a prior rape and violent felony offender record, and that if he took one step closer I was going to take his feet right out from under him by pegging him with my overflowing basket (I really should have gotten a cart). Instead he started rambling about some guy, his dad, and a race horse.
"He beat the race horse to death, and were he still alive he would be 123 years old this November."
I don't think even Usain Bolt, the fastest man alive, could have beaten me to the check out.
All I wanted to do was to listen to my podcast to distract myself from the sweat trickling down my back and to make it back to air-conditioned confines of my apartment. This feather-clad and heavily eye-shadowed trio, however, had different plans for my ride. Even through my blasting headphones, I could hear the mother and one daughter prodding the daughter to "go ahead and just do it!" to which the other daughter responded by sinking further into her overly tight, barely there cotton dress and bedazzled high tops whispering "but it's scary". I would've been perfectly content to ignore them, as I do with most others, until the mother insisted in an uncompromising voice as she leaned on her suitcase that looked as if it was going to explode any second, "It's not any different from singing in the car. Now, you stand up here and sing. The worst they can do is not give you a dollar."
Curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn't help but pause my podcast as the daughter timidly got up as we came to a halt at 23rd street. It still isn't clear whether she was genuinely nervous or if it was all part of an act. What is clear is that she didn't anticipate three Hispanics to steal the show from her. Just as she had inhaled to belt out whatever tune she was going to sing these three men came in shouting, screaming, and laughing (not sure what the excitement was). Unfortunately, for them, they were so loud that they failed to hear the announcement that the doors were about to close. Consequently, their one friend literally got stuck between the doors, and the other two had to use all their strength to liberate him before the train left the platform. I am glad to report that their efforts were successful.
I am not so glad however that the girl was confident and courageous enough to not let this opening act deter her from being the main show. Perhaps I had too high of expectations. All I know is that I waited in tense anticipation, (maybe she would be the next American idol star-that would explain why the mom was lugging around the unnecessarily large suitcase for a weekend trip). Once she started belting out "The sun will come out tomorrow..." from Annie, I knew that it was going to be a long ride to 33rd street even though it was only another two stops away. The best part is that the mom wasn't kidding. As soon as the girl concluded with "...a day away!" her twin sister took off her bowler cap and gave it to "Annie" to collect tips. The best part of the show was that as she started to walk down the aisle to collect, the train came to an unexpectedly screeching halt, which literally sent her flying backwards. The doors flew open and I made a dash for it since the mom had been eying the crumpled dollar bill in change that I had received in change for my "Summer breeze" iced green tea at the flea market. Had she sung any other song I may have contemplated leaving a tip...actually probably not, but I sincerely hope that I do not run into this situation again.
As if this pushy mother and tweedledee and tweedledum daughters weren't enough excitement for one day. I also managed to meet a crazy man in aisle eight at the grocery store. All I wanted was to wander down the aisles as I normally do, comparing the prices and looking for bargains. Well as I got to the bread section, I got caught pondering the difference between 12 grain versus seven grain versus whole grain. Seriously, why don't they just keep all the grains in the bread? As I was meddling over this puzzle holding the seven grain loaf in my hand and suspiciously starring at the 12 grain loaf, my thoughts were interrupted by the creepiest old man.
"You could be a model".
Considering that I'm 5'5" and not a pencil stick in either weight or size, I thought I must've misheard him. My mistake was in responding with "Excuse me?" since I think he took this to mean that I was flattered.
"If you wait an hour or more you could model for me."
As if that wasn't the creepiest thing anyone has ever said to me, my mind, thanks to the paranoia that has been generated by reading numerous briefs about criminal offenses and looking at mugshots at my job, was already jumping to conclusions that he must have a prior rape and violent felony offender record, and that if he took one step closer I was going to take his feet right out from under him by pegging him with my overflowing basket (I really should have gotten a cart). Instead he started rambling about some guy, his dad, and a race horse.
"He beat the race horse to death, and were he still alive he would be 123 years old this November."
I don't think even Usain Bolt, the fastest man alive, could have beaten me to the check out.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Follow the Yellow Brick Road!
If you've been following the DSK sex scandal, then you've definitely seen the entrance to my work on national and/or French news. If you haven't, don't worry about it since I've got pictures here. Contrastingly, if you have been following the case...well you still haven't seen my walk to work.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Elevator Pitch...Failure
In case you were living under a rock, the east coast was hit by a horrific heatwave last week. Not only did outdoor temperatures feel like 104 degrees Fahrenheit, but my mind was on week-end cruise control since my supervisor was away on vacation.
My priority when picking out my work clothes last Friday morning was coolness, for once in terms of physical condition and not fashion trends. Having sweat off half of my water weight while waiting for the six downtown to City Hall/Brooklyn Bridge, I realized that I had neglected to grab my id from my desk before leaving work the day before.
Instead of "keeping calm and carrying on" I freaked. For whatever reason (I'll blame the heat) I was convinced that the security guard was not going to let me up to my office, meaning that I would hand scan in late, which in turn would deduct from my precious vacation time.
I hadn't even gotten "I left my id at my desk" out of my mouth when the guard laxly waved me through with what seemed to be a hand wave. Then again he could've been sending me the universal hand signal to stop, but I was already through the metal detector, and it would've taken more energy than necessary in the heat to call me back.
Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough to catch the elevator that all of the other paralegals were taking up to the eighth floor. One thing you've got to understand about these elevators is that they are the jaws of death. Seriously, if you don't watch it, they'll take your arm right off! Anyways I noticed that the doors to the far elevator were just about to close. Out of a unnecessary act of desperation (I was ten minutes ahead of schedule) I lunged for the "up" button.
Miraculously, the doors slid back open. In a hot mess I tried to simultaneously throw my blazer on while pushing the eighth floor button. Now before proceeding any further, a reminder is necessary. That morning while getting dressed, professionalism was the last thing on my mind. Consequentially, I had grabbed a black tan and laced skirt, a purple lulu lemon athletica tank (to absorb the sweat of course), and a white blazer. Granted it wasn't the worst thing to be wearing, but the last thing you would want Cyrus Vance, THE Manhattan District Attorney to see you in during a first encounter.
Back to the story, I was intrigued to see that the eighth floor button was already pushed since that NEVER happens. As the doors shut, I became uncomfortably conscious of the fact that the elevator was practically empty. Again something that NEVER happens in New York City. As if in slow motion, I turned around to come face to face with Cyrus Vance, with only his body guard standing between us.
"Good morning" he smiled from beneath his black Ray Ban sunglasses. "Here it is", I thought to myself, "my chance to impress Cyrus Vance, my boss of bosses." I opened my mouth, and wouldn't you know, the only thing that came out was "It's really hot outside!"
Instead of asking him about the DSK proceedings, or his opinion of the internal affairs of the American government, I have to comment on the most banal topic known to man...the weather! Fortunately, he was friendly enough and responded with an equally obvious reply "Why yes it is." A couple of semi-awkward moments of silents passed as the elevator passed from the sixth to the seventh floors.
Once we arrived at our level, I stepped out and decided to own what I had started. "Have a great day, and try to stay cool." Next time I will definitely be more prepared, and will redeem myself from being the "weather girl".
My priority when picking out my work clothes last Friday morning was coolness, for once in terms of physical condition and not fashion trends. Having sweat off half of my water weight while waiting for the six downtown to City Hall/Brooklyn Bridge, I realized that I had neglected to grab my id from my desk before leaving work the day before.
Instead of "keeping calm and carrying on" I freaked. For whatever reason (I'll blame the heat) I was convinced that the security guard was not going to let me up to my office, meaning that I would hand scan in late, which in turn would deduct from my precious vacation time.
I hadn't even gotten "I left my id at my desk" out of my mouth when the guard laxly waved me through with what seemed to be a hand wave. Then again he could've been sending me the universal hand signal to stop, but I was already through the metal detector, and it would've taken more energy than necessary in the heat to call me back.
Unfortunately, I wasn't fast enough to catch the elevator that all of the other paralegals were taking up to the eighth floor. One thing you've got to understand about these elevators is that they are the jaws of death. Seriously, if you don't watch it, they'll take your arm right off! Anyways I noticed that the doors to the far elevator were just about to close. Out of a unnecessary act of desperation (I was ten minutes ahead of schedule) I lunged for the "up" button.
Miraculously, the doors slid back open. In a hot mess I tried to simultaneously throw my blazer on while pushing the eighth floor button. Now before proceeding any further, a reminder is necessary. That morning while getting dressed, professionalism was the last thing on my mind. Consequentially, I had grabbed a black tan and laced skirt, a purple lulu lemon athletica tank (to absorb the sweat of course), and a white blazer. Granted it wasn't the worst thing to be wearing, but the last thing you would want Cyrus Vance, THE Manhattan District Attorney to see you in during a first encounter.
Back to the story, I was intrigued to see that the eighth floor button was already pushed since that NEVER happens. As the doors shut, I became uncomfortably conscious of the fact that the elevator was practically empty. Again something that NEVER happens in New York City. As if in slow motion, I turned around to come face to face with Cyrus Vance, with only his body guard standing between us.
"Good morning" he smiled from beneath his black Ray Ban sunglasses. "Here it is", I thought to myself, "my chance to impress Cyrus Vance, my boss of bosses." I opened my mouth, and wouldn't you know, the only thing that came out was "It's really hot outside!"
Instead of asking him about the DSK proceedings, or his opinion of the internal affairs of the American government, I have to comment on the most banal topic known to man...the weather! Fortunately, he was friendly enough and responded with an equally obvious reply "Why yes it is." A couple of semi-awkward moments of silents passed as the elevator passed from the sixth to the seventh floors.
Once we arrived at our level, I stepped out and decided to own what I had started. "Have a great day, and try to stay cool." Next time I will definitely be more prepared, and will redeem myself from being the "weather girl".
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Doors
I don't know what it is, but there is something dramatic and captivating about doors. Perhaps it's the strong lines, the glint of the sun off the weathered bronze knob, but doors have always been a source of particular fascination. My obsession originated during a trip to Italy in my senior year of high school when a friend suggested that I find some kind of theme to help focus my wandering eye and mind. Realistically, I think she was just tired of my incessant chatter and was desperate for a way to distract my attention away from her. Consequentially, my vacation albums are filled with unique doors passed while wandering down lonely alleys, busy streets, and quiet neighborhoods. Check out the pictures I snapped of a couple of the doors while wandering around 51st and 1st Ave and the Upper West Side (around 77th and Columbus Ave).
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