Big fat pain in the Apple

Manhattan is like Boston, Los Angeles, and Europe all put together and on steroids. There is a 45-minute wait to get a piece of cake at 10 p.m., but you can get a manicure if you want.


I come up the stairs from Penn Station, hungry and in need of some sort of caffeine. A breakfast place is steps away.
“I’ll have the French toast,” I say to the man behind the counter.
“That’ll probably take a while,” he says.
“Oh. Really? Okay. Well then um, I’ll have an egg bagel and a cup of…”
“We don’t have egg bagels.”
“Oh. Okay. Well then just a sesame bagel.”
“Cream cheese?”
“Yeah.” (What, am I going to have it plain?) “And some uh, lox. And a decaf hazelnut latte.”
“We don’t have decaf hazelnut.”
“Okay, just regular then.”
“I thought you said decaf.”
“No. Just…wait…okay. Just a small decaf coffee.”
“That’ll be $9.50.”


If you are walking towards someone on the sidewalk, somebody has to move but it probably won’t be the other person unless they get an inch from you and then angrily brush you as they pass. Nobody holds doors, unless of course they’re getting paid.

There is a store that sells nothing but olive oil imported straight from the Mediterranean.

Is it blue tooth or schizophrenia?


Walking to the subway station, there is a man sitting on the sidewalk with a crowd gathered around.
“I’ll take a dozen,” a lady says to him.
When I get closer, I see that he has a box full of carrots and is selling nothing else other than the shavings of those carrots. Duh.


Going back down the steps to the subway station the smell of urine invades. There is a man with dirty fingernails playing Spanish guitar hooked up to an amp so that it echoes through the concrete. Waiting for the train I imagine being in Spain, frizzy-haired, sipping wine…

Once the train comes screech, I realize I might be at the wrong place. The lady in the kiosk looks absolutely miserable. When I ask her where to go, her face lights up and she is all of a sudden bursting with information, get on the N, off at 36th, then to the W, the R or the Z, off at 8th…

I get in the elevator, and immediately regret it. God knows, by the look and smell, what has happened in there, or when it was last cleaned.

At the correct train, a lady with a massive turban, a sari and a suitcase is walking toward me. The train is approaching, but before I get on, she veers toward me more and taps my arm.
“Hey you,” she says.
"Yeah?"
“MOVE!!!”


Getting off in Brooklyn, I don’t need to know where to throw away my coffee cup because it appears that I am already in a landfill.
The breeze swiftly moves trash from one end of the block to another. I have to dodge a couple pieces as I walk. A man with no teeth wearing a stained wife beater is screaming something in another language to someone across the street. A group of men feet away are standing in a huddle and yelling. Hard to tell whether its friendly or not. I turn right and see a group of Hasidic Jews walking out of a kosher meat market. It is the land of toothless wife-beater clad people and lots of Jews. Then there are more. Then lots and lots more. They’re like ants. And not just regular Jews, but SUPERJews too. Even the babies have curly locks of hair and yamakas. Even the school buses have Hebrew letters.


Looking down over the next two blocks, there are more kosher meat markets, automotive supply places, and convenience stores.
“Is there anywhere like a little restaurant or coffee shop close by?” I ask a guy in the convenience store. He smiles, also without teeth.
“Not really in this neighborhood,” he says.
Two and a half hours later I am done walking the streets and can finally go to my appointment.


Leaving New York feels like leaving a hurricane. My hair has gotten bigger, and when I wash my face, there is visible grime that comes off.

When I lie down I smile. Feeling the ache of my body, I know I can’t wait to go back.


Other things worthy of acknowledging: New England foliage of course.

On the trail behind Aunt Becky and Uncle Nick's house:

Haavaahd:

From Above

It was a beautiful day, so I went up to the 50th floor Sky Walk of the Prudential Building (the tallest on the left) to get a really neat view.
We are looking at it from the Christian Science Reflecting Pond.



Behind the reflecting pond (which was very um, reflective...literally and metaphorically), I also poked my head into the Christian Science Church, but rejected the flyers and pamphlets and left after getting a look at the big pipe organ. It was nice, but no worries. Still Jewish.


The tall building reflecting the city is the John Hancock Building, the tallest in New England.


The bridge is the Longfellow (or also called "salt and pepper" based on the shape of the four central posts) Bridge. If you look closely, towards the upper right, before the horizon, there is another bridge. That is a major part the infamous "big dig." Only $14.6 billion. Looks pretty small from here for that amount of $.


Fenway Paahhk. Go Red Sox.



Back Bay. Used to be swamp land.

Fun being a tourist. :)

Some observations and lessons from a town of beans

(Please note: Cynicism is perhaps an overpowering element in this entry, but please do see that in the end, I am really aiming for humor. Additionally, the word “you” should always be taken vaguely.)

Observations:
1. In Boston, women dress like women. Men however, are a different story. They usually fall into one of two categories: slobs and snobs. I think the slob is pretty self-explanatory. Snob on the other hand, is more complicated. Things like designer jeans (pre-faded and if really cool, pre-ripped) sport tucked in button downs, and when it is below 60 degrees (like today) happy cardigans sport shoulder laptop bags. Sharp hair cuts (not shaggy) frame faces (if at Harvard - or rather, Haahhvaahd - often with acne, not that there's anything wrong with it) which sport dark-rimmed glasses. This is especially true around the universities (oh wait, that’s pretty much all of Boston).
2. I never would have really guessed it, but in Boston there are in fact...yes...hippies. Dread locks and all.
3. Sweater vests are excellent for cusp-of-autumn, slightly crisp days. Absolutely perfect. (How did I know this? I didn’t. My astute instincts just led me right.)
4. Traffic lights are a mere suggestion for both pedestrians and vehicles.
5. Don't ever expect to find paahking for free.


Lessons:
1. Just because there are coffee shops on every corner of every single block, that doesn’t mean you need to get a cup of coffee every time you go inside one to hang up a poster for your job, because a) decaf is a lie…you’ll be bouncing off the walls no matter what, and b) being caffeinated makes you less cautions when reaching into your bag, thus leading to paper cuts and cursing.
2. Cursing is okay (even the cops do it just standing out on the street, but they're really nice when you ask for directions), but whatever you do, please don’t cry. It is unbecoming in an east coast manner. Suck it up and be a man (and so what if you’re not really a man...am I being sexist? Perhaps. Is this acceptable? Irrelevant.).
3. Back to coffee. Don’t buy a cup of coffee before you get on a train or bus. Trying to get wallet out of your bag and paying WHILE holding cup of coffee is bad idea. The driver will NOT wait for you to get your act together before slamming down on the accelerator. The coffee WILL inevitably spill on your skin and clothing and that WILL hurt.
4. When using public transportation, there is no shame in asking for help when trying to buy a ticket. People who know what they’re doing have just been there longer. Better not to waste your time or others’ time trying to figure out which way to put your card in and unzipping your wallet to take out the old one when you can just wave the entire wallet in front of the censor (duh). After all that, you will get your bag stuck in the kiosks (also leading to cursing)...and for what? Pride. At least people speak English here, so for goodness sake, take advantage of it!
5. Don’t be afraid to ask for help, but at the risk of once again being slightly offensive, don't necessarily ask help from the homeless. There is no shame in just turning around and saying "leave me alone!" when they won't shut up in complimenting your choice in earrings, even if they really are supersweet earrings.
6. Just because you are a struggling musician with the type of instrument that is among the most competitive and in an economy that is getting steadily worse doesn’t mean you should be discouraged. Did you expect the challenge of being in this environment? Yes. Were you really truly prepared for it mentally and emotionally? Perhaps not, but acknowledge every success rather than treating them as mere appetizers to a main meal that in actuality, might not be what you expect.
7. In all seriousness, do be grateful for landlords that come out at 11:00 at night to scratch their chins beside you as you both stand outside of the door you’ve been locked out of because you had been given a wrong set of keys. Think it fun when you have climb out a window over the ledge of a balcony. Adventure, after all, is included in the rent.

Like a River

So let’s compare. See pictures to understand what I’m talking about.

The Los Angeles River: no kayakers, fisherman, or swimmers will ever bother you there. It has a hint of toxic waste, and the citizens of LA always keep it decorated with broken beer bottles and trash. I have never been afraid of it except for a couple of times when rainwater made it over flow. Essentially, it is a manmade, concrete lover’s heaven. It is the “nature” I grew up alongside, and seeing it now reminds me of how far I have come in four short years of being in a different place.


The Willamette River is the life-giver in the Willamette valley of Oregon. People camp around it, swim in it, jog along it, and even occasionally die in it. With thousands of other Duck football fans, I walked across it to get to the games, I jogged along it, and I even once swam in it. It was the soul of Eugene, and allowed Eugene to be what it was for me in that wonderful stage of my life.

The Charles River of Massachusetts, the third and final destination so far in terms of rivers, you can see that there is a combination of urbanity and nature, which I find quite appropriate now, given that I have experienced both individually. At the risk of sounding obnoxiously philosophical, here we find symbolism!


Being in school my whole life has made me crave autonomy, responsibility, and freedom to put my skills to the test. Boston is where I feel drawn to because it is a clean slate, and begging me to jump in and swim in the musical as well as literary opportunities. Not to mention the fact that it is cheaper to fly there than it is to fly to Oregon. Oh yes, and those beloved family members who I will now get to see more frequently.

Sometimes the most significant changes happen in the shortest amounts of time, and that has certainly been the case with me. Life will do what it wants with me, perhaps harshly, and perhaps without success, I feel confident however, that no matter what, it will allow me to “flow” with ease to the next chapter afterward.

Here I go!

Hello

Well here I am. No turning back now. I am now a "blogger." Maybe I should have a blog bat-mitzvah (baruch ata adonai, blog-achhhaalachala...), or some kind of initiation into this portion of pop culture.

I decided to start doing this because I am used to making multiple reports to important people about the latest developments in my life, but I thought, wouldn't it be awesome to just do it once and still have everyone get the message? Duh.

I hope this might be somewhat entertaining, and that you will all feel free to write me back with your wisdom, advice, and yes, criticisms.

What can I say cyber space...look what the cat dragged in. :)