Tag Archives: nyc

NYC, Retro-rage

Random Acts of Retro-Rage

This may come as a shock to those who read this site, but I hold on to grudges for a long time. Even when they don’t directly involve me. Scratch that: especially when they don’t directly involve me. I’m still furious at Chuck Klosterman for something he wrote in The New York Times year-end “The Lives They Lived” back in 2002. Ask me about it some time if you’d like to hear me rant for 45 minutes.

This is why it may be unwise for me to live in New York City. Conventional wisdom says people get lost in such a large metropolis, but that’s not true. You actually run into people you know all the time, because with so many people in such a relatively small space, there’s a greater likelihood of meeting an acquaintance (math!). Running into random folks can be a wondrous thing. Back when I was younger and childless, a chance encounter on a weekend could turn into an odyssey of awesomeness. “Hey, we’re gonna go to this bar and then check out this band and then we’re gonna barbecue on somebody’s rooftop at 3 in the morning. Wanna come with?”

Then there’s the alternative. Last week, I was exiting the West 4th Street station on my way to work. Some days I’m already in a bad mood before I even arrive at the office. This was not one of those days. I wasn’t whistling and twirling a cane and doffing my cap to young ladies, but I wasn’t predisposed to be angry or grizzled, either. I was simply wondering what the day might bring me.

As I got to street level, I saw a few paces ahead of me, heading toward the subway I’d just left, an old boss. I’ve had good, civil relationships with most of the bosses in my life. This was not one of them. Although truth be told, it wasn’t the work relationship that was strained. It was more the laying me off when I had a toddler that bugged me.

I saw this man trudging up the sidewalk, hands thrust into the pockets of his khakis, head slumped downward, his thinning hair sloping toward the sidewalk, and I felt all this rage bubble up within me. Did I still wish I had the job from which he laid me off? No. Am I happy where I am now? Yes. Did everything ultimately work out? I suppose it did. Still, I had this intense, fist-clenching fury at the sight of him for putting me through the worry and self-doubt and pain and struggle of looking for a new job when I had a tiny life to care for. Fuck this guy forever for doing that to me, I thought. I don’t care if he donates his entire salary to the Red Cross, this guy’s a monster.

And as I’m thinking all these things, he must sense my eyes on him, since they’re trying to bore a hole in his pasty head. He looks up, locks eyes with me, and gives me this quizzical look, like Why is this person staring at me? He clearly has no idea who I am. I’d like to think I don’t look all that different from the last time I saw him, and that’s probably true. But my face has been lost in the mists of time for him. He hasn’t a clue who this scowling weirdo is, and picks up his pace a bit, proceeding as quickly as he can into the underground.

I hadn’t thought about this person in years, and all it took was one second to make me furious at him all over again. Meanwhile, Ex-Boss has clearly given me even less thought, since he hadn’t even recognized me. There’s very few things worse in this world than unrequited hate.

NYC, Parental Guidance

The Kid Who Knew Too Much

This may be the saddest and most glorious thing I’ve ever seen.

I’ve just gotten off the L train at Grand Street. As I run through the turnstiles and begin climbing the stairs, I see a mother carrying her child 10 steps above me. What caught my eye was the way she was doing it. She was carrying this boy in his stroller. I’m sure you’ve seen moms in the subway do this, but not the same way this mom was doing it.

This mom was holding the stroller parallel to the ground, hard against her stomach. It was an umbrella style stroller, meaning it was relatively light. (As opposed to those huge baby carriages for newborns. Try lugging that thing on a subway some time.) Even so, the ease with which she scaled the stairs while holding this thing so tightly against her body was amazing. She had the grit and determination of The Mom Alone. I need to get out of this station so I can catch the bus, because if I miss the bus I will not get to X on time and I will be screwed.

But the real kicker was the kid. He looked to be three years old, maybe four at the oldest. His head stuck out from his mother’s side at a right angle, as if he’d been screwed into place. And the look on his face was not one of fear, as he probably should have had, or one of kiddish “whee!”-type excitement, as some kids might.

His expression was one of resignation. Not sad, just a look of guess we’re doing this now. A look far too world weary and wan for a three year old. It was chilling in some ways, and in others hilarious, almost admirable. A child who had no illusions about what to expect from this world, who had no illusions to shatter. He knew at any moment, he would be hoisted aloft, hovered two feet above the ground, placed flat against his mother’s stomach, perpendicular to her, and then finally placed on the pavement when back in the light of day.

Part of me wanted to catch up to them and offer help. But the mom was too fast and already at the surface before I could get close. And anyway, what kind of help could I really offer? Maybe this kid had already figured it all out.

NYC, Pointless Nostalgia

My Encounter with the Wondrous Hypercolor Tapestry

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I hate to be one of Those People, but New York City ain’t what she used to be. Then again, she never was. In New York, the old is constantly being subsumed by the new. The pace can range from light speed to glacial, but nothing can last. Complaining about this is almost as old as the city itself. I bet Peter Stuyvesant bitched when they started building houses above Canal Street.

There is one thing that has disappeared from New York in my lifetime, however, and I do think the city is worse off for it. That is the Weird Little Shop, which has virtually no chance of surviving in the NYC of the 21st century, where real estate is at such a premium it can no longer accommodate the eccentric dreams of kooks who somehow luck into retail space.

By Weird Little Shop, I don’t mean a place that specializes in one curious niche, because those still exist in droves. And I don’t mean a thrift store, either, because there are still plenty of those, too. And a thrift store usually has some kind of focus and organization. What I mean is the kind of hovel that had zero focus and sold whatever the hell it felt like. Not a single thought or deed was spared to appealing to anything but the proprietor’s whim.

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