love and hate

last friday i caught the one as fast as i could after work. i had to catch a train upstate so i could drink with my parents and watch a (probably) awful movie with my dad. i've mentioned it before, but i really do love the one train. the west side, for some reason, is far more interesting than the east side. so why do i still live on the east side? i got on and spotted these two, sharing ipod earbuds:



i assumed they were a couple, since they had some sort of large purchase in a white plastic bag across their laps...and the afore mentioned earbud-sharing. it made me a little sad, thinking about how my ex and i used to do that on the train from brooklyn to manhattan; how i would walk into my building smiling like a fool. but i tried not to fixate and instead turned my attention to the two teenagers next to them:



"hate is just another form of love," the black girl said. "i don't think so," said the white girl next to her, wearing a red yankees hat. "well," the black girl explained, "if you hate someone, then you care enough about that person to hate them." "but i HATE erica costello," said the white girl. "no," the black girl reasoned, "you despise erica costello." "yeah, i guess you're right," the white girl decided. and they went on to discuss the finer points of just how useless a friendship with erica costello was. how often she wanted to "fight" the white girl at school. all the spats and threats, the D-R-A-M-A. oh, how i could relate. oh, how achingly. just how well i could relate threw me. i have a decade on these girls and yet i was going through the same shit.

and THEN, then the black girl turns to the white girl sharing the earbuds with the black man to my right and says, "are you listening to music with my dad?" and the girl nods. and all my preconceptions are thrown out the window. i am obviously a terrible judge of age...and relationships, for that matter. this was just a friend of his daugher's trying to share new music with him. they were the furthest thing from a couple ever. but because of me and my ex, and even more because of me and sean:



i just assumed. sean and i took that picture...god....almost three years ago. we were on our way to an after party. and we came up with a great ipod ad. he was a photo major and i was a bullshit major. MATCH MADE IN HE...LL? anyway...the idea of a shared earbud experience inspired us. our ad would be a couple walking down the street, sharing earbuds, maybe dancing along to the music, or just strutting (see--john travolta in the sequel to saturday night fever), and the tag line would be "share the love." WHY HAS NO ONE COME UP WITH THIS YET? so i always assumed that anyone who shared earbuds was, you know, at least really close. i've only shared earbuds with my ex and my ex best friend. HEY, DRAMA. if you don't count sean anyway....BUT!...i was wrong about these two. but i'm glad i ran into them. i'm glad i got to hear highschool girl drama....at least until times square when i got off to catch the shuttle to grand central. oh, how i adore the shuttle. but that's for another time.

silly boys

i guess i found this guy attractive or something. seeing as i took two pictures instead of one...to soak in all the um...boy of him:




i like the second picture...not so much the first. the fact that i even took the second picture means that i mostly liked the hat hanging out of the pocket. and possibly the pocket itself.

and i saw this guy on my way back from work today. i walked to union square. which wasn't the best idea in the cold and rain, but whatever. at least i got to see SLUSHEE GUY:



this guy is every teenage stereotype ever. he was butthead with a heart of gold. it was like 40 degrees out, and snowing/raining all day. he watched people sit down, never trying to grab a seat, and was thoroughly preoccupied with his slurpee. it was cherry flavored. it was red and I COULD SMELL IT. i totally loved him. i have no idea how old he actually was. but he looked about sixteen. he kept looking at his slurpee and then slurping and then scooping the ice out. it looked like he had way more ice than liquid, which always sucks. but he persevered. i really wish i knew what was going on in his head.

old men...who turn crazy

so this first guy seems pretty normal. he's reading his paper.



then you notice that thing in his lap. what is that? is it a pashmina of some sort? a decorative scarf? perhaps a hawaiian shirt? did he have a party to go to? or was he coming from a party? is casual friday enforced with an iron fist at his company? and is he too embarassed to wear the shirt all day but just HAS to throw one on when the boss walks by? "bro! where's your hawaiian shirt? didn't you get the memo?! you disappoint me." he learned his lesson. and now he always carries a spare...just in case.

then there's this guy. nothing beats a wife beater and suspenders. NOTHING.



it must have been hot that day. it was september 18th. we had a long summer this year. i miss it already. he was opening his mail. i love his mustache. THAT is a mustache; not these stupid ironic overly enthusiastic but cynical hipster versions i have to contend with any time i go below 14th street. which....is every day. so i guess i have to learn to cope. he strikes me as german. have no idea why. he's like the stocky german grandpapa i never had.

and then we have this guy.



he was out of sorts. this was at 8 am on a monday. i wonder if he even knew where he was going. i think this is what hipsters try to emulate. but they can't bring the crazy. they're all too trimmed or...you know....SANE. i can't believe i used to go to work this early. what was i thinking? i hope this guy figured his life out. i hope we all figure out lives out.

pretty girls

there are so many pretty girls in this city. i notice this mostly at shows and on the subway. the last time i hung out with charlie, i told him about my amazement at just how many pretty girls i see on the subway. he agreed. it's distracting, really. pleasing, yes. it sort of restores your fait in...beauty? i don't know what. but i know they make me happy.

this girl you can't even really see:



but trust. she was gorgeous.

i loved this girl's style:



khaki jacket with that purple scarf. i wish i could rock a scarf like that. cause that's not a real scarf. it was august. it was a decorative scarf. i'm too much of a utilitarian to let myself play with decorative scarves. as much as this dismays my grandmother.

this girl was all long legs and simple dress:



reading a book, all like, "yeah, don't bother me." i guess that's how we all are on the subway. if i have a book, i don't notice other people. if i'm listening to music i'm sort of lost in my own world. if i'm coming home late after throwing back a few, i'm a total gawker. i'm just amazed by who i see in the harsh light, being thrown against each other as the 6 train lurches this way and that. i think they may be the only reason i stay in this city.

the pretty girl that affected me the most (on the subway at least) was one i encountered on my way to wings back in the spring. i was in an odd mood....confused, unsure, what have you. and she came on and made me believe that happiness lay ahead. she had orange hair and was smiling ear to ear. i'm assuming she had just left a boy that made her deliriously happy. i could be wrong...but i know that smile quite well. she was very tall. she had on a green shirt and a grey skirt and a black cardigan. she got off at union square. she was amazing...and changed my entire mood. i wrote in my calendar, "fell in love with a girl with orange hair."

the same thing happened to me about two weeks ago at a savoir adore show. she was wearing this beautiful yellow dress...very Catherine Deneuve in Umbrellas from Cherbourg (which I'm sure is what she was going for). she and I were the only ones dancing. i wanted to live with her. we would share dresses and console each other every time some useless boy broke our hearts. and also dance to francoise hardy.

rain and mullets

I saw these two at Bleecker street on my way home from work last week. Tourists, obviously. But so glorious!



Matching mullets! Matching fanny packs! I'm pretty sure they were heading for Times Square….


There was a magnificent storm last Thursday evening. It started just as everyone began filing out of work. The lighting, the thunder, the streets being turned into rivers: I LOVE SUMMER.



This poor guy forgot his umbrella. His white polo was soaked and you could see his man boobs…or moobs as some kids like to call 'em. He just smiled like, "Oh well, what can I do about it now?" The smile made me think he was British. They have a great way of laughing at themselves. I took out my earbud to see if I was right and, sure enough, he was indeed British.

The rain had calmed down by the time I reached 86th street. The corner of 86th and 3rd was a lake. I sort of skipped through it and around the corner. Then I saw this genius:



Plastic bags around the shoes! At least I hope she had shoes on underneath there. From the way she walked it seemed as if water may have gotten into the bags, which really would have defeated the purpose.

And finally, although this has nothing to do with rain or mullets, I present to you the greatest name ever:



It was on a real estate sign near west 4th and 6th ave. I just stared for a very long time. Why would someone name their child Proctor? And why, if your name is Proctor Wong, do you think you need to get the N. involved? Was there another Proctor Wong at the firm? Were things getting confusing? Does the N. add some class and sophistication to it? Do you think people won't automatically think of proctologist if the N. is thrown in?

I should really call up and ask him.

couples edition

Oh, how I love couples. Lately they've made me a tad sad, but mostly they make me amazingly happy. Cause they make you believe that it's possible to have what they have. This one was memorable just cause they matched:



Well, I guess her outfit and her luggage matched. But he was dutifully guarding it! I'm pretty sure this was on the shuttle and/or the 1 train on the west side. Seriously…I need to start taking notes.


It always amazes me to see young people who are married. Like, why? Why are you married already? Should I be married already? Cause that'd be weird:



They held hands the whole ride. They seemed completely mismatched. But I guess they were both sort of dorky, so it made sense. But he just looked like he should still be living in his parents' basement playing Dungeons and Dragons or something. Yay, stereotypes! Good for them. I love dorky couples. They are totally the best.

Then there are the PDA-happy couples:



They are definitely my favorite. Look how sweet he is to her! Gives all of us girls hope. There are two more couples I remember, but who I did not take pictures of. One was in Grand Central. I saw them on the platform as the express train took off (which I was on). She was a good few inches taller than him. She was this seemingly blond glam girl...or at least from behind. He had glasses and was...well...unattractive. Why did I mention the glasses? I LOVE glasses. I HAVE glasses. I digress...he just ADORED her. He was stroking her cheek and kept resting his head on her shoulder. He totally didn't care what he looked like. He had reached the point of no return. You know, FUCK EVERYONE. I LOVE THIS WOMAN. Oh, it was so lovely.

Then today, on the 6 train coming up from Bleecker, there was this lovely tall indie couple. They weren't quite hipster, definitely not Brooklyn, but definitely not financial or upper east side at all. They were fucking refreshing. And they just loved each other. Both dressed down. She was reading something…possibly an L magazine. And he had his arms around her middle. Oh, how we love that. They kept whispering and kissing and just being adorable. And I sat there, my feet hurting, with Ryan Adams in my ears, and smiled. It is nice to see that such things actually do exist.

naps edition

This guy slept the whole ride from um….where was I? Probably from Grand Central to 86th. So, okay, that's not that bad. But he had it made…in the corner all by himself:




He looked almost comfortable. I don't think I've ever fallen asleep on the subway. Possibly passed out on the subway platform, but I always (somehow) managed to wake up when the train came.


I love how this guy still had a hand on the pole:



Such a busy businessman. This was also on the east side…I think. Oh! It may have been on the shuttle. I need to keep better records. He woke up at each stop. It's sort of like when your alarm goes off and you think, "Oh, fuck it, I've got at LEAST ten more minutes." Sometimes I feel like staying on the 6 train all the way up…just cause I'm tired and my feet hurt. "Oh, there's an express at Union Square? Fuck it, I am sitting." So why stop there? 86th? Why stop now? Why not stay on and see who shows up? It'll be infinitely more interesting than what I'll find when I get home.

This girl wasn't alone:



Her friend was actually standing across from her. But since they couldn't really talk, she decided to get some sleep. Once the train emptied out she ended up talking to her friend, who wound up sitting next to her. I wonder how my friends would react to me just passing out in front of them on the train. That's only happened in Prague. The one night I ended up a mullet-wearing-tram-rider. Accidentally!