Demarcation

The strike is over - for now - and there was much rejoicing. My feet are sore, my legs are numb and I need new sneakers, but I survived. In fact, we all survived. New York is nothing if not resilient.

Walking across the Brooklyn bridge and down queens boulevard and through midtown and... well, walking gave me time to think on things, and I started thinking about life in this city.

Life in New York is something that really has to be experienced. No matter how many stories you hear or movies you see, you can't truly understand it until you live it. Part of that is sheer volume. Can you really picture in your mind 7 million people? What about 9 million? You have to live it to learn it. But that's another discussion.

What I want to talk about is being a New Yorker. There are several arbitrary ideas about what is required to be a New Yorker. Some say you have to live here for 5 years, some say 6, others 8. A few claim you have to be born and raised here, but I'm not buying that. In fact what it comes down to is badges.

You see, every New Yorker wears this invisible sash declaring "I'm a New Yorker" (and, in small invisible print "Who the F@#* are you?"). And attached to that sash are the badges that they wear proudly declaring their New Yorkerdom.

Some of the badges are small and easily acquired:I put up with long lines for everything; I ride underground an hour each way to work and call it a good commute; I have an EZ-Pass; I have a year-long Metrocard; I know how to get to Times Square/empire State Building/the Statue of Liberty and how to avoid them ass well; I know where to get cheap Broadway tickets without a line; etc. These are the badges for the little horrors and privileges that are part of city life. They add up, but are so easily come by they have little value.

Then there are the medium size badges, the things that happen, but not too often: I was here during the blizzard of 20XX; I was here when the 59th Street bridge was shut down; I was here during the republican convention; a man peed on me once.

I have my fair share of small and medium badges, but they're no worth much. They have a lot of value out in the red states and other hinterland area, but everyone has them around here.

These smaller badges are part of the New York sash, but it's the big ones that are required to truly be a New Yorker.

I just missed out on the largest badge ever awarded. I moved here the year after 9/11, and people who lived through the falling of the towers are rightly proud of that. That one badge made you an instant New Yorker (for those who care, I was 90 miles away in Connecticut).

I have however lived through two major New York events - both coincidentally involving subway woes. The first was the blackout of 2003. While many experienced the blackout, the city was hardest hit as millions had to find a way home.

The second badge was, of course this week's Transit Strike. In my walks I was attempting to find positives in the strike and I finally did. I don't care what any other New Yorkers want to say about the 6-year rule, I've been a part of a distinctly New York moment. I've crossed the line, received the badge, ordered the t-shirt: Finally, I'm a New Yorker. And anyone who want to argue can go f@#* themselves.

Game on!

Strike commutting is a pain, but we New yorkers have risen to the occasion and joined together against the inconvenience.

Fortunately, the union has agreed to return to work (though it is slightly funny to hear them complaining that they're having trouble getting to work!).

This being New York, the strike should be forgotten by Saturday.

Happy Holidays.

A bit of holiday spirit

In an otherwise inconvenient day, a little cheer did fall.

While riding the PATH train - see post about transit strike below - I happened to glance out the window and catch sight of a colorfully lit Christmas tree tucked into an aclove along the tunnel underneath the Hudson River.

I don't know if it was put there officially, or by workers having fun, or maybe by a tunnel resident. Whoever placed that bit of cheer in the dank tunnels, I thank you. My day went a little better after that.

The R Train will not be running today

They're out. They struck, they walked, I walked. For the first time in 25 years the public transportation system of the city of New York has been shuttered by its workers. It's a tale of misinformation, greed, and plain stupidity on the part of both the MTA(metropolitan Transit Authority) and TWU(Transit Workers' Union). They're all asses. 

 Let me put this in perspective for those readers out in the hinterlands(meaning, beyond the NYC metro area). Have you ever had your car battery die and had to scramble for a way to get to work? Now, imagine if the car batteries died on the entire population of Massachusetts and the neighboring state of New Hampshire or Rhode Island(choose one). That's kind of what this is like. Over 7 million riders are left looking for a new way to get to work. 

Granted, we've known about this possibility for some time, but it's still a shock to realize that the workers are that stupid and selfish. 

 But there is hope. After all, New York is great at banding together in a crisis. Last time the subways went out - the blackout of 2003 - we still all got home and to work by helping each other. And the operators of taxi's, vans and livery cabs have been helping out this time. Granted, they're getting paid, but they're still helping out. 

 My odyssey began with the prospect of a 2 1/2 mile walk to the nearest commuter rail (only the MTA subways and buses are stopped due to the strike, commuter rail from Long Island, upstate and Connecticut are still running. Fortunately, I walked by a van that needed more passengers to meet the restrictions set by Mayor Bloomberg. I was able to get into midtown Manhattan for $5. Not bad considering a)the train would have cost $4, and b)I later learned that people were lined up for blocks to get onto the trains. 

 From Midtown(the middle of the island) I was able to get a PATH train downtown(the bottom tip of the island) and walk to work. PATH trains are yet another subway system which runs in New York, serving sections of midtown, downtown and Jersey. The whole thing took 2.5 hours for what is normally a 45 minute ride. 

 

So, this strike may cause severe economic damage to the city. And is a few steps beyond an inconvenience. But, we New Yorkers will survive it. We get through everything else, what's a little transit strike?

EDIT from the future: it was easy to be angry with everyone in the moment, but the anger towards the workers was misplaced. I would no longer call them selfish or stupid. With the advantage of time and life experience, it's easier to understand the situation they had to figure out. 

THE News

I spoke ot a friend in Ohio this afternoon. At one point I made a casual mention along the lines of "if IT happens." And then I had to explain what "It" was.

The problem wasn't a misplaced pronoun, or anything else grammar-related. It was all a matter of perspective.

As a New Yorker today, December 15th, 2005, there's only one thing that people are talking about. That piece of news is said in all caps, bold, italic. I am speaking, of course, of the impending MTA strike. As the deadline nears, those of us who are going to get royally screwed if there's a strike are trying to figure out how the hell we're going to get to work tomorrow.

It's hard to remember that there are people out there who don't know or care what's looming on the horizon. It's an interesting phenomenon, this belief that everyone knows what's going on in New York City. It reminds me of one of my favorite pieces of dialogue:

"Why are your problems more important than everyone else's?"
"Because they're mine."

Or, I could quote some more appropriate dialogue from Gypsy (Natalie Wood is still one of the most beautiful women in film):

"New York is the center of everything."
"New York is the center of New York."

Waiting on the dock of the bay

Will my ship ever come in?

Should I wait for it, or should I swim out to meet it? If I swim out, what if I run out of energy and drown? What if my ship runs over me in the middle of the ocean?

Why a ship? Who even travels by sea anymore? Couldn't it be an airplane or a large automobile or something? What I really want is a Porsche. I'm waiting for my Porsche to come in. Of course, European cars arrive by ship, so I guess I'm waiting for my ship to come in.

When will it come in? Don't they have to schedule these things? There's only so much dock space. Will it be in long? Do I have time to run to the bathroom? How about grabbing a bite to eat? A quick nap? Will my ship wait for me if I'm not there waiting?

Where will it arrive? What if it was blown off course and is on some Lost-esque island? Does it have GPS? Do I have GPS? Will it hone in on the GPS signal I have?

What will it look like? Is it a big ship? Do I get to keep the ship when it comes in, or will it just unload it's cargo and leave? I think I'd like a ship, I could travel all over by water. That's cool.

How do I contact my ship if I don't want it anymore? Can I cancel my order? Will I get my investment back? Do I even want my ship to come in?

Has your ship come in? Are you going to wait long?

Third Strike

The MTA strike negotiations are really annoying. Actually, when I think about it, it pisses me off. The union employees have it so good, and they're complaining.

Well, since I'm not union, I actually have to work today so I'll do something you will probably never see again, I'll direct you to an article in the New York Times. It pretty much sums up why I'm so annoyed.

Crapkins

Why do deli's, pizzerias, Chinese restaurants, etc. insist on using those cheap napkins? You know the ones I'm talking about, they're 2 inches by three inches wide, microns thick and made out of some sort of space-age material designed to absorb exactly one drop of any liquid before being rendered completely useless. And if that liquid is grease, I swear the napkins actually cause the grease to grow. I call these useless pieces of junk crapkins.

I'm sure they're cheap as hell, which would be why places buy them, but they're so useless for any sort of napkin activity that you end up getting 40 or 50 with each order. Wouldn't it be cheaper, in the long run, to give each customer one good quality napkin than 50 crapkins?

Even Mickey D's - at least around here - have resorted to what amounts to a slightly oversized crapkin. About the only takeout place - national or local to NYC - that's got it right is Subway. They're napkins are big, thick and absorbent. Too bad about the food.

Three Strikes

Strike One: A strike by graduate teaching assistants at NYU is winding down. The TAs were protesting the fact that they are no longer recognized as part of the UAW by the university.

UAW?!?! UAW originally stood for United Automobile Workers, though the official name is now United Automobile, Aerospace and Agricultural Implement Workers of America. Still, I don't see many TA's building cars, planes or harvesting produce. Why were they ever part of UAW?


Strike Two: Home Health Care workers in New York City went on strike this morning. Of anyone, they seem to have the most cause. $5.50 an hour caring for our grandparents? The guy that cooks my fries gets more than that, and I don't really care so much about fries.

On the other hand, who is the most affected by the strike? Not the company, the patients stuck at home, sick, in the freezing cold. Even the picket line turnout was low because of the cold weather. You'd thinking - recognizing that it's December in NYC - the union might have chosen a more comfortable time to strike.


Strike Three: MTA. This one hasn't happened yet, and hopefully won't. Transit workers for one of the largest and busiest cities in the world are threatening - again - to strike. This seems to happen every other year. It is, in fact, illegal for transit workers to strike in New York.

Though, this would be the time to do it - tourists out the rear, cold weather, etc. Millions of people ride the subways and buses every day. A strike would mean people walking down streets, bicycles in the elevator, crowds leaping on taxis, cats and dogs living together in harmony, mass chaos. Twinkie the size of Manhattan type stuff.

Of course, it's unlikely to happen. Every time the end of a contract comes near, the media feeds the hysteria and everyone's trying to figure out how to get to work. But nothing happens - or hasn't recently anyway.

I have no sympathy for the transit workers. Of course, I depend on them to get to work, so I'd be kinda pissed if they struck. One of the sticking points? The MTA wants employees that stand around to do some tidying while they're standing around. Evidently, the union isn't too happy about it. Grow up, welcome to the real world where a job description is more of a suggestion and raises guaranteed.


You're out: This was going to be the point in this post where I went off on Unions. I don't like them. They served a purpose, but now they just make unreasonable demands that inconvenience alot of people. They usually don't even offer you a choice on whether or not you want to join. I just can't condone that. Okay, guess I did just go off a little, but I'll stop while I'm ahead.

That's the report from New York.

Things I should probably care about, but don't

Feeling almost apathetic right now. Here's somethings I'm just not concerned about at the moment:

* Neither my work, nor my home, are earthquake safe.

* Blogger's spell check still doesn't recognize "blog."

* There's a winter storm watch for Thursday.

* A co-worker and one of my bosses can clearly see my computer screen.

* I have a spam filter that I don't use.

* My closet is a mess.

* There's enough food to feed the world, but it's poorly distributed.

* Chinese aggression.

* Dressing-up for work.

* The future.

* A finished first draft of my book is waiting to be typed and sent out.

* I have over 300 read, but un-sorted messages in my home e-mail.

* I can't remember the last time I defragged my hard drive.

* My calendar is almost run out.

* My pen is almost dry.

* My hair is a mess.

* The world seems on the brink of self-destruction.

Some of these things I do care about, sometimes. But right now, I just don't care. I think it's time to go home.

Tradition

I was catching up on blog reading and came across a posting seemingly in response to my November 22 post, "Tradition."

This blogger seemed to think that tradition should be abolished. He cited examples of tradition gone wrong, such as slavery and Holocaust.

My first response: How the hell is holocaust a tradition?

Then I got a little annoyed. Why do people only read the parts they want? I carefully worded my post to point out that some traditions are comforting.

But anyway, that's not the point. The point is, tradition is a coin. Good and bad. Ohio State-Michigan? Good(especially when we win). Wholesale killing? Bad.

I have always abhorred when people do things because that's the way they've always been done. That's where my problem with most of the world's religions lies (though wholesale killing by a few of the monotheistic ones and hypocrisy also bother me). If you're going to do something stupid/mean/evil/just-plain-wrong, at least do it for reasons you can justify to yourself.

I'm a firm believer in thinking for yourself, going your own way, marching to the beat of your own drummer, and all the other cliches that indicate actual thought. But sometimes, usually on a Saturday in November, I just want an excuse to yell at the TV.

My hero

I have a new hero. Well, I've held this man in high esteem for some time, but the admiration has escalated over the past few years.

Normally I'm not prone to hero worship.

First off, the word hero is over used. I'm sorry, but just because you put on a uniform doesn't mean your a hero. Second, I prefer my heroes with a cape or tights or psychic abilities. At the very least, they should be quick with a quip. Few real people can pull any of these off.

But lately I've been learning a lot about Leonardo da Vinci. Due in part to Dan Brown there seems to be a resurgence in the quintessential renaissance man's popularity. This has made it much easier to learn about the man from Vinci.

He was smart, but kind of lazy. He started untold numbers of projects - paintings, designs, inventions, etc. - but seldom finished any of them. He would work on them until they ceased to be a challenge and then move on to something else. This tended to piss off the people who had hired him.

He also came from "unsavory" beginnings: he was a bastard. In Italy of his time, this meant he had no formal education. So, he kind of shunned the inteligista and forged his own path. In general, he found the authorities lacking and figured things out on his own without all that book learnin'.

Lazy, no respect for authority, but damn smart. My hero.

A note to Spammers

I do not want an authentic letter from Santa. He and I are not on speaking terms since the sweater fiasco of 1993.

I do not want to be a cop. I will never want to be a cop no matter what effect you claim it has on the ladies.

While I find your concern for my love life touching, I am married and have no interest in singles in my area - be they kinky, married, grandmas or schoolgirls. Nor do I have an interest in single women in Russia and Thailand. And, before you ask, I am not interested in men from those areas either.

If I had a desire to work in niche porn, I might be interested in increasing both my breast and penis size. At such time is this is necessary, I will contact you.

I never applied for a home loan with anyone, let alone your non-existent company form a town I haven't lived in for over 6 years.

I have no desire to purchase a fake Rolex over the internet. That's what Canal street is for.

If you want to give me cash/a PS3/an MP3 player please send it to my home address.

Finally, I have never e-mailed you. You do not have the right to RE: me. You are not welcome to call me by my first name, nor a misspelled version of my last name. In fact, you are not welcome in my inbox at all.

The independent music lover's dilemma

Maybe it's a festival performance that can't be believed; or maybe an open mic you wander into; or a showcase performance that leaves you breathless. However it happens, you have discovered your new favorite band.

You know the band I'm talking about. They're incredible. They perform (not recite), if for no other reason than they don't even have a CD available. Their songs sing to you. There's just something about them that makes you wonder why the whole world doesn't know about them.

So, you sign up for their mailing list, buy the home produced demos they sell only at the shows, sign up as a friend on MySpace and go to every concert. You go to open mics, hole in the wall bars where they play two songs in a showcase, coffee shops and even house concerts. You talk to the band before and after the show, hang out posters when they come to town and e-mail them on their personal e-mail accounts. All the time wondering, why doesn't the world know about them?

One day you hear them on a local radio show at three in the morning. Or a mention in some bizarre music publication or on a blog. You mention them in your blog, just to get the word out. Why doesn't everyone listen to them?

And then it starts happening. First, the performance venues get a little bigger. Then, shows start to sell out. Pretty soon, they're playing on bigger bills, opening for better known acts. One day, they're on the marquis of a local music hall. But with this popularity comes other things. You actually have to buy tickets in advance, and sometimes they sell out before you can get there. They have more friends than ever on MySpace. The band no longer has time to say hello before the show, and - if you're lucky - only a quick word after. More people than ever know about them.

Herein lies the dilemma, the warring instincts. As a fan, and almost friend, you want them to make it big. Your instinct to celebrate the success they have worked so hard for, and deserve so much. But, as a longtime fan, you're a little sad about the loss of intimacy. Concerts aren't as much fun, suddenly you get there hours early and still end up at the back of the concert. You instinctively wish for those more personal performances. Don't you deserve some recognition of your unflagging support?

Okay, so I realize most will not see this as much of a dilemma: the first instinct is pure, the second selfish. But, what fan hasn't experienced this at one time or the other? It's almost as if it's a different band - and often it is, as egos and eccentricities are magnified to fill the larger stage. But you still cling to the old days and offer your support and fight for a place at every show. After all, you want these people that have done so much with their music to be rewarded, you just wish it didn't have to change the experience.

Internet killed the holiday star

It seems like Christmas feels less like Christmas every year. At first, I thought it was just because of the whole getting old thing, but then I heard older people complaining how it just doesn't feel as Christmassy. (Is that a word?)

I'm sure I could go the Spider route and do all sorts of research and find philosophers and motivationalists to quote on the search for Christmas spirit. Instead, I prefer to blame the Internet.

The sad fact is, a large part of the American Christmas is the gift-giving. Gift-giving may be materialistic, evil, etc. But it is definitely a cheap thrill to see that look when someone gets the perfect gift and know that you are responsible for that look. I used to participate in the yearly trek to a local retail haven for Christmas shopping.

Now, thanks to the internet, I am able to avoid the crowds and buy everything online. It's easier, cheaper, and - according to all the recent news reports - everyone's doing it.

The only thing missing from the equation is that mixture of rage and good cheer that result from an afternoon in a crowded mall decked with gaudy decorations and cheery holiday tunes. And that little something may just be what makes it feel like Christmas. Sometimes I miss it.