It was awhile ago when I first noticed that the tracks of the A/C at West 4th are littered with batteries - fistfulls (fistsfull?) of AA Duracells, some shiny and recent, some filthy old. But then I got on the C at Canal today, and same effing thing!
I know you can't tell from this crappy photo, but I would never lie about the subway.
Fleet Week!
Also: thought those uniforms only existed in gay 1940s Broadway musicals.
Um, hi. Blog's gone dark, I know. Times are not good; everyone's stressed, everyone's sick, everyone's swimming in the whorls of mental instability that we academics like to masochistically impose upon ourselves every four months. It radiates out from work to time to people to life to health to self. I keep busy staring at the various aporias that every aspect of my life has resolved into: I need to be both here and there. I need to be both with and without him/her/them/that. I need to keep my schedule clear for academic work, which I won't be able to sustain without instead filling it with paid work.
And so, I present to you this commemorative shot I grabbed of the Empire State Building decapitated...
And a decapitated shot of my own, since I look good on Taz coffee and American Spirits.
Whoa, wait a minute. What is becoming of that pie?
This place is the bomb bomb bomb Holy shitness
Yo, that sucks. Btw, G train is running screwy
I just got out of jail.
Ew. I think I just finished my Gadamer paper...
Oddly mesmerizing, sleep inducing
Omg im drunk in long island.
Wanna do easter?!
Well, it's a very hip hipster queer bar in wilsbrg.
Drop that deuce yet?!
Hey babe. Drunk. Miss u. How u doin? Prob asleep.
I don't have any memory of like the last hour of the party AND i threw up IN BED (also dont remember that).
Shit girl lets ride.
Look left
I think i'm straight-up gay. Blink 3 times if you can hear me.
Give me 5 mins to finish this cereal
Yesterday I was in Greenpoint, which is a neighbourhood that is 75% Polish and 60% Hispanic, so it makes sense that I got cat-called in Polish by a Hispanic guy. 
My favourite new website being www.overheardinnewyork.com.
Patron: I'd like a grilled special.
Waiter: We don't grill 'em.
Patron: Yes, you do. I had one last week.
Waiter: You got lucky.
-- Katz's Deli
Middle schooler #1: Yo, is there, like, a gay country?
Middle schooler #2: Hell no, son!
Middle schooler #3: Naaah. There is. I think it's called 'The Village,' but I don't know where it is.
--Brooklyn Middle School
Conductor: This is a downtown C train making all stops. Spring Street, World Trade Center, we go there. We do all the stops. Get on this train! [Pause.] Hey, you, still on the platform -- did you not hear what I said? Why didn't you get on?
Man: I'm waiting for the A.
Conductor: I'm going wherever the A's going. Get on my train!
--C Train
Preppy guy waiting for walk signal: Hi there.
Hot girl: Um, do I know you?
Preppy guy: No, I was just being friendly...
Hot girl: Oh, yeah? Well then why don't you say hi to her, too? [Points to fat chick nearby.]
Preppy guy, to himself: God, I hate New Yorkers...
--Central Park
Mom to toddler screaming in stroller: That's it, sweetie. Let it all out. Doesn't that feel good?
--TJ Maxx, 19th & 6th
Mom to two small children struggling to get through the crowd: Just push them all as hard as you can! Use your fists and elbows, too!
--34th & 6th
Kid: Dad, what's a novel?
Dad: It's a story written down in a book.
Kid: What's a short story?
Dad, staring at kid: Are you freakin' kidding me?
--Father Demo Square
Screaming hobo: ... But you know she was artificially inseminated by aliens!
Suit: Wait... Who?
--NYU
Hobo: Go shorty, it's your birthday...
Drunk black woman, joining in: Yeah! Go, go!
Hobo: Shorty, it's your shorty...
Drunk black woman: You singing it wrong. It's, 'We gonna party like it's your birthday.'
(Passerby gives hobo two dollars.)
Drunk black woman: You need to give me half of that, I helped you out with the words.
--E train
Mom to toddler: Joseph, stop walking like a tourist!
--51st & 5th
Ghetto mom to lady with cigarette: Bitch, you just ashed on my baby!
--Outside Times Square Toys 'R' Us
Hobo singing: Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten. From the Battery to the top of Manhattan. [To transit worker] 'Scuse me, sir. Where we at right now? Brooklyn? Queens? Manhattan?
Transit worker #1: We're anywhere you wanna be, brother.
Hobo: What borough is this?
Transit worker #2: This is the Bronx.
Hobo: The Bronx?
Transit worker #1: The boogie down.
Hobo: The boogie woogie? [Walks away singing] Boogie woogie oogie 'til ya just can't boogie no more...
Transit worker #2 to #1: If you just hopped into that train and drove it on time we wouldn't have to watch him wander around the platform.
--1 train platform, 242nd St
Sexually ambiguous guy: Yeah, Natasha is having a party tonight, but I didn't want to go because she has bedbugs, and I was afraid that I'd get bedbugs and bring them home. Everyone who's going has to wear plastic bags.
Female companion: Why is she having a party?
Sexually ambiguous guy: It's a bedbug party.
--St. Mark's Pl
Granny: Be careful!
Man jaywalking with several bags in hand: Ma, I know how to walk the streets in New York. [Car comes to screeching halt in front of him and honks. Man yells to driver] Fuck you! [To granny] See, I'm fine.
--Main St, Flushing
Bus driver who wouldn't let anyone pay to get on, claiming she'd won the lottery: Nice day today, huh? Y'all wanna go to the beach? Bring a blanket? Three p.m. -- meet me at a secret location. MTA going your way! They won't mind if I take it for a few hours. Madison is next.
--M79 bus, 79th & 5th
Girl: This has got to be the hottest station in New York.
Guy: It's good for you. It's like a sauna -- it will open your pores.
Girl: I don't want my pores open down here!
--5 train, Fulton St station
Janitor: I'm sorry, ma'am, you can't wear boots on the equipment.
20-something woman wearing Uggs on elliptical machine: But these are orthopedic boots!
Janitor: I'm sorry, but it's against policy to wear the boots on the machines.
20-something woman wearing Uggs: Why are you doing this to me?
--Dodge YMCA, Atlantic Ave
Hobo: Hey, you got any money?
Nice lady: I don't have any change, but I can give you some on my way out, or get you something to eat.
Hobo: I'll take the money. But don't worry, I ain't gonna use it to buy booze or drugs.
Nice lady: As far I am concerned, you can use the money for whatever you want.
Hobo: Whoa, lady! That's way too liberal for me.
--Outside health food store, Brooklyn
Hyper bus driver playing with overhead marquee while driving: I can set it to police bus, training bus... It's like a microwave -- what do you want? Corn? I like to change it to 'Harlem.' Then people get really confused. [Changes sign to 'B6 Limited' and comes up to bus stop. No one gets on bus.] What do you need, the B6? No? [Keeps driving.]
--B4 bus, Sheepshead Bay
Shout out to Shuangyashan!
Shout out to Harbin!
Shout out to Caijia!
Shout out to Shenyang!
Shout out to Zhangye!
Shout out to Beijing!
Shout out to Jimo!
Shout out to Xiaozhaozhuang!
Shout out to Quzhou!
Shout out to Ningbo!
Shout out to Wenzhou!
Shout out to Shandong!
"Do you have valentine's day in canada?"
"North side of the street, closer to 6th than 7th"
"Pouting verboten"
"You're my favourite Edmontonian."
"The 28th. Damn!"
"Yea that's my fault I guess. Are you having a good time?"
"God Bless America"
"Hey, sorry I missed your call yesterday. Pork WHAT?"
"Of course. It's very abstract"
"Writing is not happening."
"Have major debriefing to do with you!"
"Marginally"
"I did have fun. Thanks for throwing that shindig. Now, what is it you want to know?"
"Done. FUCK people there suck. Where u @?"
"Were in the corner. enter and turn left and left again"
"Lol. Actually, imma gonna make it riiiight now."
"At the Rockerfeller Centre. I'll be at Will Call, picking up the tickets"
"Hey I heard a nasty rumour there is something going on @ your place tonight. Care to comment?"
"Macy's. woot!"
"Haha I remember now hearing last night how your car got stolen and thinking that was no excuse for not coming out."
"YES! HURRY!"
"OMFG. How long does this Kierkegor paper have to be again?"
"That's perfect. [Redacted] has analysis until 1. Then we can all do lunch."
"107 row 6"
"On our way to the housewarming in a car service, as soon as we can get one"
"Same. WTF?"
"wrong girl!"
"Yeah i need a shower anyway"
Last night I went to a reading of a play - Jean Anouilh's verson of the Greek tragedy Antigone - by a small group of young actors in the very early stages of putting together a production. It took place after hours at a place called Manhattan Bistro in SoHo, what neighbourhood I rarely venture to since I'm more of an Anarchist Forum Meeting on the Lower East Side New Yorker than a shoe-shopping between cocktails one.
The reading was green, enjoyable, overwrought, endearing, uncomfortable, all of the above. 
Add:
a) Antigone being paged on the intercom/phone from the kitchen mid-scene.*
b) A young woman in the audience periodically leaving her barstool to sob loudly outside the restroom.*
c) Creon competing to be heard over the owner and a manager, who are arguing heatedly about unexplained suppliers' bills.
d) Another woman in the audience snickering, heckling, guffawing, suggesting throughout much of the second act.*
So here's the question. Which one was the real play, people? Oooooooo....
*Note: everyone in New York is an actor.
Must have been Valentine's Day yesterday, cuz the guy who cat-called me in the subway was carrying flowers for his girlfriend.
Went to Little Italy with some girlfriends on Friday and had dinner in one of the many restaurants on Mulberry, then went up the street for cannoli and coffee. Conversation was great but gastronomically the evening sucked, sucked, sucked. Thanks a lot I only have so many meals in my life, jerks! The funny thing is, the neighbourhood and restaurant seem to be full of Italians. The server was old-country Italian, and halfway through our meal an Italian wandering brass band came in and serenaded us all. But the sauce on my ravioli was a can of tomatoes nuked with provolone, and the cannoli, and my friend put it, was "grocery store quality."
This afternoon I went to Trader Joe's, like a non-day-of-the-week-minding fool. The lineup wended (went?) its way around the entire store - you couldn't even get to the items on the shelves for the wall of iPod listening, cell phone texting, puffy jacket wearing hipsters waiting to check out. Haha I am one of them. Anyway, Trader Joe's is wonderfully indulgent, like most Manhattan grocery stores (there's sushi and frozen hors d'oeuvres and fresh pasta, but no like, flour or vegetable oil or sugar. Substitute: white truffle oil and a small shaker of organic cane sugar) - except it's cheap. (Incidentally, helped some neighbours polish off 5 bottles of Trader Joe's wine on Saturday night - aka $16 dollars worth.)
This evening I went to my first ever Superbowl party. I brought crab cakes. People made fun of me - THROUGH THEIR REALLY FULL MOUTHS. And I don't know whether the same commercials are shown in Canada, but did you see the one with the GM robot that gets laid off and then can only find menial non-unionized service jobs and feels so dejected that he decides to jump off a bridge? Man, was that funny! Bwhahahahaahahaha!
Catching the A train the other day, I saw a hobo methodically emptying a pay phone of all of its quarters. He was taking them out of the coin return slot, and the phone looked relatively undamaged. I wanted to ask him how he does it, but I didn't figure he'd be interested in revealing the tricks of the hobo trade.
UPDATE: I have since seen several other hobos doing the same thing to several other payphones. Huh.
Little packages left on the all of the door handles in the dorm:
1 discount coupon for Stomp
1 individually-wrapped Cinnamon Stick tea
1 condom
The other day, I was walking through Washington Square Park on my way to borrowing some books from the well-endowed school down the street (NYBoo), when I passed a very scruffy homeless man sleeping on a park bench... in a full Santa get-up. Red hat, white hair, white beard, red suit, black belt, black boots, goggles... Ok, he didn't have goggles. Naturally, I didn't have my camera on me, though I probably wouldn't have taken/posted a picture of him anyway, since who am I to distribute an unauthorized reproduction of his image just because he is homeless and dressed like Santa. So I googled "homeless Santa" just now in the hopes of showing you an approximation, and got nothing. But if you picture Dan Ackroyd at his nadir in Trading Places, you get the idea.
