I have read it as fact, that the early settlers were not seen arriving in their boats by the indigenous inhabitants of the Americas, because you can’t see what you don’t know. [the theory is that the shaman, better attuned to observation, saw the ripples in the water and reasoned that ripples were indicative of something afloat – as it were] [which brings to mind that pain is not the disease, but an indicator, but I digress!] Inside the 14th Street Subway station of the ABC and L lines when you begin to look, you see small scale statuettes placed oh-so-obviously that how-did-you-not-see-them-before. I didn’t see them until a friend who knows everything about New York pointed them out. Now while photographing them for you, I inadvertently introduced others to them
. This is all to say that many subway riders rush, walk, pass through this station and never see these small figures at all. One of the larger ones is an alligator coming out from under a manhole cover and grabbing a small man by the back of his coat.
Most of the small men remind me of the early monopoly male figure that appears on those cards that sit on the board. There is a small person working his way along a steel girder, next to the stairs and above the platform.
Another is asleep under a protective railing. One sits atop another man reading a book, on top of the newel post of a different stairwell. One of my favorites are the two persons crawling under the entrance gate, only to find a ‘copper’ waiting for them on the inside. Busted. The one that sits on the bench where the trains come and go is shiny from all the pats on the head. The artist is Tom Otterness, commissioned to create them, and they have been in place since 2002. Anytime of day, a special visual.
On the Street
Walking north on 7th Avenue early Sunday morning with a friend, a package slipped under a mailbox catches my eye. I walk past then reverse and stand there, conversing in speculation about what it could be. We can see a what appears to be a couple of folded pillowcases and the rest is all white in a zippered bag in which one typically finds a bed comforter. Unable to stand the unanswered question, I force the package out from its hiding place toward the curb with my foot. I walk around and pick up the clear plastic zippered bag by the handle. Indeed, it is white on white linens. We can see the curve of a fitted sheet but the rest defies definition. All of it defies explanation. With questions unanswered, we slip it back into its hiding place. Next time I passed the mailbox it was gone.
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The minute screw fell out of the left arm of my eye glasses; instant lorgnette. I saved the screw and with it taped to the lens popped into an eyeglasses shop and asked them to please fix it, for a fee. They gladly fixed it but, refused payment. I said I’d pay it forward. Walking down the street only seconds later I happen upon a couple with a city map and the known-look-of-lost, on their faces. When directed, they were both exceedingly grateful and the man – perhaps 40’s or was- was effusive in his thanks. Walking further along the same street, another couple, same look, but older most likely 60’s. Giving them directions, she was grateful as well. He, however was more attitude: I don’t need to ask directions; I may be standing here lost, but I’ll get there before nightfall. I could easily read she had been there with him before.
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The New York City marathon was run on the first Sunday in November. I believe you don’t have to run the first 10K, the crowd is so thick you can just press between two runners and be carried along. A friend and I were at the spot where the race ended. Everyone who finished was wrapped in an aluminum space blanket and the number of damaged bodies was painful to see. We were walking beside a young 20ish couple and he was extolling the virtues of having run the race race once in a life time. [clearly he hadn’t yet taken the plunge as he was in casual wear, and she in high-heeled boots]. I heard her agree. To her agreement, he said, I think we should do it next year. Without missing a beat, she stumbled, sprawled on her knees and hands. Perhaps she was not so willing to have an actual date to his hypothetical statement.
All In A Day’s Ride
His head was shaved, and I didn’t think anything about it when he sat down in front of me on the crosstown bus. After he was seated I looked up and saw he had had someone tattoo an alert, open eye including that small clear dot in the pupil where the light refracts, under an eyebrow on the back of his bald head. When he turned his head to look out the window to our left, the singular eye took complete notice of me. I wanted to tap him on the shoulder and ask if he had children. You know, the eyes-in-the-back-of-the-head, all seeing parent thing. He had a second eye on the right side of his head which was completely different in ethnic choice, more slanted in shape, somewhat menacing. I don’t know upon it gazed while he sat. I was fixated on the one checking me out.
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Announcement by the subway conductor: ‘This train is only 2 minutes away from the next station where your will make your connection, but it will be 15 if you don’t let me close the doors!’ Everyone readjusted their behinds and the doors opened and closed with finality.
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Just an observation of the sort I’m-always-the-last-to-know: sitting on the subway I look up at an advert where a hotdog bun is standing upright. She is all dolled up – ribbons, bows, shoes, eyelashes. She is chatting with the hot dog, clearly male, also upright standing. Never before realized what a sexual icon a hot dog and bun is. Passed hand to hand at countless sport venues. Did the rest of you know this all your lives?
The Light Goes On
I love it when the light goes on. Three females, with one map in hand, stop me as I am walking. Pardon, they said, can you tell us how to get to Broadway? I ask, what are you going to do once you get to Broadway? Do you want to go north or south? Further questioning revealed they were a bit confused as to how they had arrived at the corner on which we were standing: Christopher and Waverly Place. But soon they chorused, we want to shop. Good, then you want to go south when you reach Broadway. I look at their map to try to explain the directions, but see there is more confusion. Look, I say, just walk to that traffic light we can see from here. That’s 6th Avenue. The traffic is driving north, so walk against the traffic. The mother interrupts, but first we want to see all the good things in Greenwich Village, where is that? This is Greenwich Village [wondering what her list of all good things was] I reply, I really don’t think you will have the time to do them both. What I didn’t understand listening to the three of them: the mother had a heavy northern European accent, while the two university age girls spoke excellent English. [Maybe therein lies the answer.] Walk toward that light and walk south until you come to the street Houston. It looks like it should say Hew-sten, but it is pronounced HoW-sten. You can walk east along Houston to Broadway or you can continue past Houston and cross east – turn left- on Prince to reach Broadway. But for now, keep going south. Why south? asks the mother. Well, if you walk north you will end up in the theatre district after passing through New York University. But if you really want to shop, as you said, then you want to be south of Houston – that’s what SoHo means: South of Houston. I just love that moment you see the light go on and someone’s home.
The Bass
The eye-catching young man entered the subway car holding his bass-fiddle naked – the bass was without case or cover. Unprotected. I wondered how he dared do that; expose his instrument to the whims of weather. He was tall, handsome, with a couple of 24 hours worth of 5 o’clock shadow. While contemplating why he would take such a risk, two small perfectly crafted character-driven men wearing sombreros entered the car in his wake. They had guitars. Ah ha. As the door slide shut behind them, they began to sing and play ‘Guantanamera’ to the delight of the packed car. The Gringos are smiling. After only two choruses, one guitar player stopped and began to pass his hat, upended, among the crowd. I saw only paper money [including mine] dropping in as he made his way first north, and then south through the riders. One passenger shouted out ‘more’ but within seconds we reached the station and the three popped out of the car. It added such a festive feeling to the ride.
Night of the Week
It was Wednesday night and I was returning from the Upper West Side [UWS] to the Village. It had been a clever evening of lovely food and wine. I waited for the subway and when it arrived, got on. It lurched forward immediately and caught me and my balance off guard. I was going to sit down to my right, next to someone already seated, when the unexpected forward motion forced me to grab the upright pole in the middle of the car with my left hand, and while doing so, take a step or two forward away from my seat of choice. While moving forward I also weighed whether to just go ahead in that direction and sit there. After all, I wasn’t buying either seat, just passing through. But no, I decided to go with my original choice and now that I had my sea legs, I swung backwards around the pole and into the seat. The person next to whom I was now seated laughed out loud. Yeah, I said, kinda overshot there, huh. Yeah, he said, and I saw you were debating whether to move ahead or not [what is he, a movie director?] Well, I replied, maybe I shouldn’t have had that last glass, at which point another guy across the car said, Hey, life is too short to be counting. Apparently they thought I was somewhat looped, which I wasn’t. At this point the guy now next me asks me where I am from. Now what kind of question is that, I reply. I’m from New York. No, he says, before that. How much before that, I ask. I don’t know, he says. Well, I say, that’s what I mean, what kind of question is that. Alright, he says, where were you born. Oh, I say, I can answer that. And name the state. The guy across the aisle names the largest city in the state. Yes, I reply and without missing a beat the two of them engage in a discussion about the wonders of the city and state and how great it is to live there. Silently I agreed that there is something special about the place – it’s in it’s own category. My stop comes before they finish extolling the wonders of place. I chuckle to myself how this entire episode had lead two strangers to meet that otherwise would have sat in silence across from each other for the duration of their trip. When I text my hostess about the exchange and comment that the Sunday night crowd on the subway is giving and gentle- she flashed back – Sunday? By Sunday, do you mean Wednesday? Well, as he said, who’s counting?
Musings
…not certain about being a dog in the city. I see such variation in owners and the way they treat their dogs. Some owners act like their dogs are ‘good kids’ and some act like the dogs are ‘bad kids’. I have a hard time watching the interaction with the ‘bad kid dog’. There was one today as I stood waiting for the bus. As the dog walked – with difficulty – it strained at a tilted angle on the leash to be as far away as possible from the owner who had the leash reigned in to no longer than four or five feet. When the two of them stopped at the corner to wait for the walk light, the dog crouched in what I read as fear, real fear, and the owner tried to pull the dog up onto straight legs and closer to his own legs. The dog dug his claws into the sidewalk and resisted, straining the harness that was wrapped around his back and front legs. Mercifully for me, the light changed and I didn’t have them in my view any longer.
As I was walking home from the bus stop, I first saw the upright man on his skateboard sailing along the side of the street at a good clip. I saw that his left hand was held low. As he passed the car that was parked between us, I saw the leash. Happily racing along side him was a jack russell. For a dog that loves to run as a jack russell does, it was the absolutely perfect solution as the wind sailed past his ears and teeth.
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One of you readers suggested that the little bird at the Chinese vegetable stall was just being primed for consumption.. well, I want you to know, it was in full swing yesterday, alive and well.
Thanksgiving Day
Got up reasonably early to go and view the Macy’s parade. As for putting their name before the American public, Macy’s has outdone Bloomingdales and any other NYC retailer. It rolls off everyones tongue as they jockey for position along the curb and the street for a view. It is 9:06 a.m. and by now I’ve lost count of the number of times I have heard a big person saying to a smaller one, ‘stop whining!’ as they wait for something or someone to show up on the street. We are all at Times Square which feels to me like being inside a giant television set. The adverts on and around Times Square have the importance of a major campaign. I had no idea; here is a huge captive audience. Most of those waiting to see the parade will never see what actually passes at eye level, so the neons, digitals, movies and exclaims above their heads, up to the skyline will be a large part of what they remember about the parade. Many of the ads are Asian: Samsung, Huaxi, Xinhua, Hyundai, LG, or other foreign companies: Barclays, Swatch, Swarovski. Add in movie trailers, theatre titles, and drink: Coke, Pepsi, coffee, beer. Funnily enough there is little food, and all of it is at eye level, but with such a crowd eye level is distorted. Around me I hear Turkish, Russian, Spanish, French, Southern, Mid-Western, Japanese to name but a few. There is of course, a huge TV screen on the East side of Times Square [perhaps there is one on the West side, but it would be somewhere North and behind me] and it shows the parade approaching. It is 9:32. I realize how important the gigantic balloons are, for that is the only part of the actual parade most folks and children will see. The crowd from the curb is too thick to see what passes by at eye level. What surprises me most is that the balloons are not Empire State Building high as I always thought from watching television, but are just over the tops of the heads. They are far closer to the ground than I ever imagined. Since anyone beyond row three cannot see the bands or the actual floats, hands held high with cameras are everywhere. Something that was unknown but a few years ago. The fathers that hoist, hold-in-place, support their small children in lofty places so they can see better are many; wondrous to behold. Beside me, a couple from the deep South whose son is in a marching band. They have come to the City to ‘see’ him, although from their vantage point there is no hope of actually watching him pass. Again, the divide between some and others. If you have $895 a night you can have a hotel room with a view of the parade, just above our heads. Less than that? Don warm leggings, gloves, coat, hat, scarf and brave it. The parade begins on Central Park West [CPW] which means it runs down the west side of Central Park to a roundabout known as Columbus Circle. It then turns and runs along the South side of the Park and takes a right on 7th Avenue. It follows 7th Avenue to Times Square which means it picks up a bit of Broadway and then turns left at 42nd Street to continue to 6th Avenue. After a few block on 6th Avenue it ends at the Macy’s store on 34th. I find 6th Avenue iconic. I love to stand in the middle of 6th Avenue, either when crossing the street on a walk signal, or on a Sunday when it is blocked off for a street fair, and look north and south. It is as if one is standing in the heart of Manhattan; the way the buildings are situated and the perspective that arises from the width of the street and the height of the buildings. So I can imagine if I am a band member from a school or town other than New York City, and the streets are blocked off so that I and my bandmates may parade down the heart of the city…. what a thrill!! Cold? What cold? I get it, the chance of a lifetime.
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It’s early evening, still Thanksgiving Day and the subway station is quiet, a sort of whispered quiet. He is wearing a cowboy hat, vest, plaid shirt, jeans and black buckled boots, sitting at his keyboard. No cup or money receptacle in sight and he is playing Tchaikovsky, only interrupted by the roar of the arriving train. This in contrast to the adult male sleeping on the tile floor by the street entrance gate. Was he lulled by the music?
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Individuals getting on and off the subway with plastic-wrapped plates or foil-covered containers. Clearly send-homes from a Thanksgiving dinner.
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And then there are the two plates left separately on two exit stairs, neatly wrapped. Gave me a sense, not of abandonment but rather purposely left for someone who will definitely pass by and didn’t have family, friends and a sit-down dinner. Folks care.