I’m on the B train on my morning commute to work, it’s somewhere around 9:45am. Normally, I don’t like to sit on the ride to and from work seeing as how I’ll either have the whole day to sit at a desk or I’ve come from a long day of sitting, but this time was different. For the first time in a while, my morning commute involved a crowded train (not having to commute during rush hour is a saving grace). I’m not complaining, piling into a packed train has it’s perks — I often feel a tiny thrill while shuffling into the train with playback flashes of NYC movies romanticizing the shoving and jamming of people into tiny spaces (it pays to be small in this city). On this particular day, the train wasn’t spectacularly packed or anything, but enough folks kept bumping into me that I snagged the first seat I could find . [On a side note, if you’re in NYC please check around before grabbing that sought after seat in case someone else may actually need it first. Yes, I do this. Always.] Continue reading “My Daily Commute on the NYC Subway: The Investigators.”
Just another Monday ride to work:
A Russian pop song starts to play at the opposite end of the train car. The old Russian man rolls a shitty speaker sitting in a mini-bed on wheels. At first, it’s just loud instruments, but wait… there’s more. The old Russian man starts to sing into a muffled microphone with little idea of the key. Every now and then on the belty parts, you can hear the song’s original singer lightly edited out. He walks back and forth with the music and mic blasting through the entire train car, which as if on purpose continues to stall in between stations. Sweet victory comes after the ending of the 2nd song… he quits his musical endeavor and peace has returned.
Just another Friday night:
The echo of the saxophone vibrates through the station as I sit reminiscing on my life. The dude sitting next to me licks his fingers as he eats from his whole foods paper bag. There’s chatter everywhere… it’s only 10pm on a Friday. I’m cold… I feel a chill to the bone. A stylish duo pass by wearing floor length leather jackets and matching Jimmy Chu booties. The sax is still roaring. I can feel it’s soul passing through the vibrations of my purse. I’ve had too much pork. And gin. Thank goodness the F is finally here.
Let’s take a step back right quick… to Thursday. My roomies and I went out for drinks and dinner in the west village to celebrate my upcoming birthday. Mary Alice chose the spot. Amelie wine bar. The place was packed solid. The host must have recognized MA and sat us at the bar without a reservation. BOOM. Every single staff member from the bar tender to the host and runners had French accents… the wine had to be good, right? We got a bottle of champagne instead. Cheese, duck pate, and beef tartare, and escargot was had… it was a first of many new foods for me. All incredibly delicious.
That’s a Martini Francais behind the gooey Maringe (sp?). To avoid sounding too douche… I’d like to add I have zero clue what’s in it, but it was YUMMY.
So grateful to have these lovely ladies as my roommates.
I ended my beautiful week with a brief photo shoot with one of my incredibly talented friends Abigail. She sculpts for a living and a passion and although we only had 30 minutes together on Sunday I left so incredibly inspired. I’m going to make a full post with all the photos, but for now here are just a few.