New York Narrative

When I first moved to the city, I lived in a small studio apartment near the corner of Fulton and Lafayette. I didn’t know much of anything about the city and frankly I was terrified of meeting people at first. I had a neighbor, Jack, who wore punk rock outfits and metal everywhere he went, even to work. I was working an internship at an office nearby and occasionally I would run into Jack as I was leaving for work in the morning, or when I was coming home at night.

25 August 2006
3:45 PM
Manhattan Bound A Train

As I moved from the standing only F train to the packed A train I scanned my surroundings for a place to sit. I saw two men who had their legs sprawled out and I almost couldn’t tell that there was an empty seat between them. And so I asked, May I sit? and they made room for me. This desire to rest my weary legs brought me more than just physically close to my A train neighbors. Now suddenly, I’m either subjected to or included in (I’m still unsure) a very personal conversation. I hold my Douglas Coupland book jPod and attempt to read but my attention is stolen.

Loud & Brash New Yorker: I banged Becky, and Curt don’t even know.
Quiet but Curious New Yorker: Yeh!
Loud & Brash New Yorker: Yeh! She was all pissed and shit because Curt was grabbin’ her ass and titties and shit and she don’t like that.

I pondered Becky and Curt. Well, Curt is easy. He’s probably not too sharp. He thinks that a woman should be flattered when he grabs their ass and titties. He thinks he’s smooth. I imagine he’s something like a man I once worked with who said that I looked slutty in my sleeveless summer tank and couldn’t understand why I didn’t take that as a compliment. Idiot. Becky, I imagine, is not so smart either, but at least she knows that having her ass and titties grabbed is not acceptable behavior. Loud & Brash is just that. No manners in the company of women. How do these people not know that it’s truly rude to speak that way in front of a woman? He is either clueless or he really wants as many people as possible to know that he banged Becky. So everyone, now you know.

26 August 2006
12:15AM
Brooklyn bound F Train

I desire quiet because I’ve just left work. I know that this wish is unrealistic for a Friday night. Riding the subway at this hour on the weekends is simply loud. Loud. Loud. Loud. People play their video games with the volume on LOUD. People who’ve had a bit too much alcohol speak LOUDLY. It’s just loud. Just accept it. I generally try to tune it out, knowing that it’s just a matter of time before I’m home. Whatever that means at this point. What I really mean is someone else’s home. The kind someone, who is lending me his floor. I digress.

So, I knew better before I hopped on the last train car because I could see the party streamers and balloons and a crowd of joyful travelers but the adventurer in me was intuitive enough to realize that this was most likely about to be an enjoyable New York moment.

There were musicians playing acoustic Green Day. Early 20-somethings decked out in various paper birthday hats and tiaras, sang along and drank alcohol out of mini water bottles. Everyone around seemed to enjoy observing. They were happy and loving life. Each person who entered the train received a warm hello and a handful of confetti. It was nice and it made me smile.

As part of the Vloggers Unite! series taking place this month at the Pioneer Theater in NYC, TurnHere is hosting a screening of short New York films by independent filmmakers next Thursday, August 31 at 7pm. Vloggers Unite! features a collection of online films from individual artists and filmmakers taken from the Internet and presented on the big screen.
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TurnHere, which produces short online films featuring cool neighborhoods and travel destinations around the world, will showcase authentic films highlighting interesting locations around New York City. The TurnHere screening will be Emceed by East Village icon and famous competitive eater Crazy Legs Conti, and attended by many of the featured filmmakers and local characters who narrate the films. The event also features the premiere of Tuba by filmmaker Chris Kenneally.

For ticket information and a complete schedule of films, visit http://www.twoboots.com/pioneer. The Pioneer Theater is located at 155 East Third Street between Avenues A and B.

Captain Morgan must have come to town. Tom was walking down the street, a trail of water dripping from his overcoat. We were out on his 21st birthday and he couldn’t get enough rum. I never even knew he drank rum and we’d been sleeping together for two months now. He was so plastered he couldn’t walk straight and he had an umbrella cupped in his hand like a tall forty or something. It’d been raining earlier, which is why he’s soaked and I’m walking behind him carrying my own umbrella. We’re alone on Lafayette Street. We just came from a Stomp like production, where Tom was banging his head, shot glasses, and me all night long. Yes, we did it in the bathroom. It was his birthday. It doesn’t make me a slut.
So in the rain, he starts singing Nirvana. This is a little out of sorts, but not too uncharacteristic of him. He’s not an alternative mainstream music kind of guy, but who doesn’t love the unplugged version of Come as You Are. He once came to my house warm and fuzzy from a box of wine he drank and sang me a song he had written that night. It was something about how hot he was in the sun and how hot he thought I was under it. I don’t know. It was ridiculous. Tom thought I loved it so much he started bellowing it throughout the streets, for everyone to hear. It’s not that he’s tone deaf, but it was definitely a 21st birthday song to hear. I will never forget that stumbling trip home, although I don’t think Tom will ever remember it.

You’ve probably seen the movie Sleepers like me. There’s the one part where the boys push the vending cart down the steps and ultimately kill the guy at the bottom of the stairs. I find that story so crazy but I’m admirable of their effort to get rid of this nasty hot dog vendor. I mean seriously, who wants to eat that garbage?
I don’t know how many vendors I’ve stopped over the years, eating hot dog after hot dog, filling myself with the vile relish and mustard lather. One day I ate a dog that tasted like rubber. The vendor suddenly couldn’t speak English when I wanted my money back. I simply set the dog back on his cart and took one last bite which I chewed a little and spit all over the sidewalk close enough to splatter his shoes.
I’m not necessarily proud of that behavior, but I feel like these guys are basically peddling death to the American people, New Yorkers in particular. I mean, how many sushi rolling carts do you see? That should be a must, by the way. Sushi rules! But you get a processed log of animal garbage and package it in special bread and people flock to it. We are idiots in America when it comes to our bodies and health.
I haven’t eaten at a hot dog vendor or any other street vendor in a few years. I imagine the fare hasn’t got any better in quality. Anymore though, I just grin when I walk by them, and know that someday Americans will wake up to what they’re digesting, maybe it’ll become as interesting as what we’re wearing.