It isn't enough to go shopping here. The experience must be augemented and made as pleasurable. I might have mentioned the music in stores before, yes? Well, to make it official, a kick-ass soundtrack is beloved by all New Yorkers. I'm not just talking about the music in Abercrombie that makes your eardrums pop because of the sheer volume. This is music played at the perfect volume. Good enough to hum along but unobtrusive enough to hold a conversation. If it were a hot tub, the music would be at exactly 100 degrees.
The range of songs are unbelievable. If you are picking out tuna fish at the grocery store, the Village People are a good option. If you are in the pharmacy getting your prescription, it is best to have Marvin Gaye playing.
It isn't just the music, I'm finding that New Yorkers are not inhibited to sing in public. Just the other day in the cereal aisle, I saw a guy do a little spin on his heel as he sang along to D'yer Maker by Led Zepplin. Good music makes your ordinary shopping experience extraordinary!
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Full-on changes
Moving
Things change a lot in New York. We now have a new apartment where Franklin Avenue meets Fulton in Brooklyn. It's slightly further out than our old digs in Ft. Greene, but the rent is cheaper.
Kitty and I live in the basement of a brownstone on a small street called Lefferts Place. Nestled between the mayhem of Fulton Street and the car detailing shops on Atlantic, Lefferts is a quiet, tree-lined street. Families hang out on the stoops and slowly you can see the houses are getting repaired one-by one.
A showdown at high noon.
At the corner of Fulton and Franklin, a showdown is going on. On one corner, Crown Fried Halal Chicken and on the other, Popeye's Chicken. Both serve their chicken from behind bullet-proof glass. The best fried chicken is served from behind bullet-proof glass. Popeye's has the consistency of a chain, but it costs more. Crown (a local chain) is much less expensive and in addition to chicken, they serve beef patties, pizza, burgers, gyros, fries (which are delicious), ice cream and popcorn shrimp. You can guess which one we go to.
New sounds
When once we listened to children playing on the playground, we now hear the sound of the mosque, calling the faithful to daily prayers. It's an amplified recording of a man singing and on days when I'm around to hear it, the music reflects our place as outsiders in this neighborhood. For the first time, we are racially a minority, even though we are living with people who are in the same economic level as us.
Sweet Dreams.
As we turned out the light to go to bed, Kitty said, "It's stuffy in here. Would you open the window?" I happily oblige only to hear the sound of a car running at about 9,000 rpm. "What the... " I say. Our bedroom is in the back of the brownstone and it opens out onto the backyard. There is no street there. So what is the car doing?
The next day, I get home late and two men are walking towards the apartment. Our landlord, Vicky, is standing at the door in her robe and the men ask if they can come into our apartment. It turns out that they are from the State Environmental Protection Agency. Everyone on our street is complaining because one of our neighbors has neglected to pay their power bill. Instead, they installed a gas generator in the back. It's late, the guys are tired and they look sort of defeated as they go into the bedroom and pull out some sort of sound measuring device and roll their eyes when they see the reading on the meter. "Yep, it's a violation," says one.
"So, what happens next?" I replied.
"Well, we cite them again, cite the landlord and hopefully in nine months they will be evicted along with the generator. They've already been cited three times."
It's good to know that the city of New York is on our side!
Things change a lot in New York. We now have a new apartment where Franklin Avenue meets Fulton in Brooklyn. It's slightly further out than our old digs in Ft. Greene, but the rent is cheaper.
Kitty and I live in the basement of a brownstone on a small street called Lefferts Place. Nestled between the mayhem of Fulton Street and the car detailing shops on Atlantic, Lefferts is a quiet, tree-lined street. Families hang out on the stoops and slowly you can see the houses are getting repaired one-by one.
A showdown at high noon.
At the corner of Fulton and Franklin, a showdown is going on. On one corner, Crown Fried Halal Chicken and on the other, Popeye's Chicken. Both serve their chicken from behind bullet-proof glass. The best fried chicken is served from behind bullet-proof glass. Popeye's has the consistency of a chain, but it costs more. Crown (a local chain) is much less expensive and in addition to chicken, they serve beef patties, pizza, burgers, gyros, fries (which are delicious), ice cream and popcorn shrimp. You can guess which one we go to.
New sounds
When once we listened to children playing on the playground, we now hear the sound of the mosque, calling the faithful to daily prayers. It's an amplified recording of a man singing and on days when I'm around to hear it, the music reflects our place as outsiders in this neighborhood. For the first time, we are racially a minority, even though we are living with people who are in the same economic level as us.
Sweet Dreams.
As we turned out the light to go to bed, Kitty said, "It's stuffy in here. Would you open the window?" I happily oblige only to hear the sound of a car running at about 9,000 rpm. "What the... " I say. Our bedroom is in the back of the brownstone and it opens out onto the backyard. There is no street there. So what is the car doing?
The next day, I get home late and two men are walking towards the apartment. Our landlord, Vicky, is standing at the door in her robe and the men ask if they can come into our apartment. It turns out that they are from the State Environmental Protection Agency. Everyone on our street is complaining because one of our neighbors has neglected to pay their power bill. Instead, they installed a gas generator in the back. It's late, the guys are tired and they look sort of defeated as they go into the bedroom and pull out some sort of sound measuring device and roll their eyes when they see the reading on the meter. "Yep, it's a violation," says one.
"So, what happens next?" I replied.
"Well, we cite them again, cite the landlord and hopefully in nine months they will be evicted along with the generator. They've already been cited three times."
It's good to know that the city of New York is on our side!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
A source of irritation
Moving to a new neighborhood changes your day on a fundamental level. The biggest change is that your commute. In this case, I find myself riding a bus. The bus is a curious environment. It is crowded and there are certainly rules about riding it. Since the bus driver has complete control over the environment, s/he is a bit of a dictator. Not a benevolent one, but a dictator who follows his/her whims. Catch her in a good mood and she will reopen the doors and let you on before the bus takes off. If he is in a bad mood, you may not be allowed on because "the bus is too full."
This was the case last week when Kitty and I were waiting for the B48. As the bus pulled up, the front was full of people. The bus driver wouldn't let us on. "Please, there is a lot of room to stand in the back of the bus!" Kitty yelled. "Just swipe our cards and open the back door."
At this point our bus driver (let's call him Shecky, for lack of a real name), starts motioning to his ears like he is deaf. Then he laughs and does it again.
"Please move to the back of the bus," Shecky half-heartedly announces into the microphone.
Let me interrupt for a moment. In a preliminary assessment of New York Bus Etiquette, it seems that it is not customary to actually move to the back of the bus to make room for other passengers. Even empty seats in the back of the bus must be avoided at all costs. Apparently, ascending the two small steps to the raised seating in the rear is too much of an effort. Rather than moving to the back, New Yorkers will do a sort of quarter turn with their bodies, in a an effort to make a bit more space. It's like one quarter of the hokey-pokey. A hoke, if you will.
Shecky looks at us and makes a chopping motion across his neck and laughs and laughs, then pretends to be deaf again. He shuts the door and the bus slowly lurches off.
Kitty and I start walking and we make it to the next bus stop before the bus arrives. Shecky pulls in, makes like he is going to open the door, then makes the chopping motion across his neck and pulls off, laughing all the while.
We continue our walk and at the next two stops he refuses to let us on. In the end, we walked to my subway stop and Kitty finished the mile-long walk to work. It probably took about the same amount of time as the bus would have taken. Why do we even try?
This was the case last week when Kitty and I were waiting for the B48. As the bus pulled up, the front was full of people. The bus driver wouldn't let us on. "Please, there is a lot of room to stand in the back of the bus!" Kitty yelled. "Just swipe our cards and open the back door."
At this point our bus driver (let's call him Shecky, for lack of a real name), starts motioning to his ears like he is deaf. Then he laughs and does it again.
"Please move to the back of the bus," Shecky half-heartedly announces into the microphone.
Let me interrupt for a moment. In a preliminary assessment of New York Bus Etiquette, it seems that it is not customary to actually move to the back of the bus to make room for other passengers. Even empty seats in the back of the bus must be avoided at all costs. Apparently, ascending the two small steps to the raised seating in the rear is too much of an effort. Rather than moving to the back, New Yorkers will do a sort of quarter turn with their bodies, in a an effort to make a bit more space. It's like one quarter of the hokey-pokey. A hoke, if you will.
Shecky looks at us and makes a chopping motion across his neck and laughs and laughs, then pretends to be deaf again. He shuts the door and the bus slowly lurches off.
Kitty and I start walking and we make it to the next bus stop before the bus arrives. Shecky pulls in, makes like he is going to open the door, then makes the chopping motion across his neck and pulls off, laughing all the while.
We continue our walk and at the next two stops he refuses to let us on. In the end, we walked to my subway stop and Kitty finished the mile-long walk to work. It probably took about the same amount of time as the bus would have taken. Why do we even try?
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