I am about to pack up the last of my things and leave. In seven hours, I’ll be at my new home in Silver Spring, MD, just outside DC. It’s been a great run back in New York. So here’s to what lies ahead.
The Something New Project
One year. Learning, seeing, doing something new every day.
Tag Archives: new york
Day 135: Take note, manners matter
Great moment at the bank today, and to my surprise, something I’ve not actually seen.
Let’s set the stage: About 4 p.m., I go into the bank to cash some coins. A few tellers down from me is a woman chewing out the lady behind the counter. The customer is impatient, rude, entitled… this, sadly, is old hat. People are rude and demanding.
“This is unbelievable,” she grumps. “You can’t even do your job. Let me talk to a manager.”
“I’m the manager, ma’am,” the teller informs her in a polite, even friendly voice.
Oh, and by the by, everyone was watching.
The customer demands to see the manager’s name tag, then says a few more choice words, and storms out.
And here’s what I hadn’t witnessed before today: Everyone in the bank burst out in applause. The customers, the workers, everyone. A man standing next to me high-fived the manager through the glass.
It did my heart good to see people applauding the defeat of a rude person. Yes, it would have been great if one of us were to have spoken up to the obnoxious customer, but as High Five Guy pointed out, anything anyone would have said would have just made it worse, and the manager was handling it very well on her own.
New Yorkers do get a reputation for being uncaring, and sometimes it’s earned, but more often, that’s not the case. For all the progressive outlooks with which I was raised, the best lessons I learned about letting go of stereotypes were when I lived in the comparatively conservative Deep South. And here’s what I learned: Stupidity, ignorance, kindness, intelligence, respect, manners, et. al know no geographic limits.
Still, I know that to an outsider, New Yorkers are probably perceived as being more similar to the yelling woman. Therefore, on my last night living here, it was good to see more people cheer in the name of good manners and kindness to ones fellow human being.
Day 133: A promenade
As my all-too-brief return to my native city winds to a close, I’ve been making a special effort to appreciate New York and all it has to offer. Today, that meant a stroll along the Brooklyn Promenade.
Now, I’ve got to be honest. I’ve always heard/read about the promenade and the amazing views, how it’s this incredible place to walk, etc. etc. And it was very nice. But I wasn’t blown away. Grant you, I grew up looking at the Manhattan skyline, so it’s not especially new to me. It was also a bit difficult to ignore the busy roadway beneath my feet.
The view I found far more interesting was that of the buildings that ran along the promenade, and of the little parks and gardens. When I came to Brooklyn Bridge Park, I was able to walk along the water without having to look past construction work, so that was more peaceful, especially with the view of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Despite the fact that I might have built up the impact of the experience a bit in my head, it was a really lovely walk, and a perfect day for it, weather-wise. The only real disappointment: Why did no one tell me about the Brooklyn Ice Cream Factory? It was a perfect ice cream day, so I got a cone from a truck, which is perfectly fine, but this place looked adorable.
Willpower mildly intact, I refused the urge to get a second cone and returned to Manhattan on foot via the Brooklyn Bridge. I haven’t done that for about 10 years, so it doesn’t fit my 15-year rule, but despite not being a new experience, there’s nothing same-old-same-old about it.
Day 112: Conservatory Garden
This is an example of how plans don’t always work out, but sometimes you find something just as good, or even better.
I’m sure there’s an expression for that, but I can’t recall what it is right now.
I set out this afternoon to pay a visit to El Museo del Barrio. Unfortunately, I forgot to check the hours. Turns out, the museum is closed on Tuesdays. I’ll go there soon. Stay tuned (I know, you’re all on the edges of your respective seats).
Nearly across the street, however, at 5th Ave. and 105th Street, I spotted this:
This is the entrance to Conservatory Garden, a lovely, manicured formal garden toward the northeast end of Central Park. I grew up in New York, not far from Central Park, and I spent some time there, but in a somewhat limited area (largely The Great Lawn and the Reservoir). Add in the fact that I lived in other places for 14 years, and the fact that it’s a big ass park, and you can understand how I not only had never been to Conservatory Garden, I’d never heard of it.
Happening upon the garden though was a lovely surprise. I love spring. Actual spring. Those few, fleeting weeks when the post-winter thaw is over and when we’re not oppressed by the heat of summer yet. There are flowers and things are green. I daresay, friends, I think we are finally in the springtime.
Day 111: City Hall fought me
No, no, no, I’m not in any legal trouble.
So, I’d read about how, if you take the 6 train to the last stop at Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall, and stay on, the train will loop around and you can see this:
So I went. I got on the 5, switched at Union Square, and took the 6 all the way down. And when the car emptied out, I stayed on. I stayed on, and I looked out the door, keeping my eyes peeled, waiting to see the tiled archways.
And do you know what I saw?
Jack all.
I saw the walls of the tunnel, that looked like any other subway tunnel walls. Maybe I had to be in the front car or something? Or the light wasn’t right, or there was too much reflection? I have no idea. But the point is, this is supposed to be some charming New York secret, and somehow, it eluded me.
Technically, this experience is still “new,” because I’ve never actually stayed on the subway as it looped the track before, nor have I ever been the only person in a subway car, but this was not the new experience I was going for. So, that’s disappointing. But I think the effort has to count, don’t you?
Day 110: Shalom Easter
Where, I wondered, would be a good place to avoid Easter crowds today?
The answer? A Hasidic Jewish neighborhood.
So off I went, to Borough Park, Brooklyn, which allegedly has the highest concentration of Orthodox Jews outside of Israel, according to several Internet sources (I’m not testifying to this fact).
The first sign of the devotion to Orthodox culture I saw was a school bus with Hebrew letters I spotted from the subway. Then, across the platform, a family — a couple probably not much older than me, and six girls.
When I got off the train, I immediately noted that most of the stores had signs in either Hebrew lettering or Yiddish, often both. I’m not terribly well-versed in the Orthodox or Hasidic culture and practices, so I find the opportunity to observe a little more closely to be interesting. There’s plenty to be learned by reading, of course, but sometimes it’s nice to just see what you can see.
One thing I do know is that Orthodox Jews have particular (and perhaps, to outsiders, peculiar) practices of dress. The women adhere to practices of tznius, or modesty, so I was sure to dress in a manner that was respectful (long skirt, shirt that didn’t show cleavage, trench coat over). Married women don’t show their natural hair outside the home, so most ladies had on wigs.
The men are more recognizable, perhaps (payot, hats, black coats, often tallit), but I’m less familiar with the whys and wherefores of their practices. Frankly, I’m a little more interested in the roles of women, and the interactions between men and women. I noted, for example, in a music and movies store, that a shelf of DVD’s was indicated as being intended only for females.
My first exposure to the Hasidic culture was around age 11. My parents were doing some business with a photographer, and he came to our apartment. In my attempt to be grown-up and polite, I extended my hand and said “nice to meet you.” He recoiled, or at least, that’s how I remember it. I didn’t know that Hasidic men do not touch women other than (as I understand it now) their wives, mothers, daughters and sisters. I was naive (and a child) and he was abrupt, so I was insulted.
As I’ve learned a bit more over the years, however, the understanding I’ve come to, and this might be flawed, is that a lack of physical contact, sometimes even a lack of eye contact, is not meant to indicate that women are sub-par, but that it’s meant to preserve the specialness of contact between a husband and wife. The traditions are very different than what I (or most people I know) have grown up with, and from an outside point of view, it’s easy to look upon it as repressive and regressive. The only thing I know now is that I would have to conduct extensive research and interviews before even beginning to come to that, or any, conclusion. More research than can be done with a fast Google search.
I did notice one behavior that gave me pause, however. Several times this afternoon, I held doors for women with strollers, and not one said “thank you.” And several other times, men squeezed by me in store aisles, even bumping into me a couple of times, but none said “excuse me.” That made me curious. Was it because I was female? Because I am clearly an outsider? Or are they just being New Yorkers? For the record, plenty of us do have good manners. Or was there another reason?
I like it when I walk away from a new experience with more questions than answers. I think figuring out the questions is just as important as knowing what the answers are. That said, if anyone would like to share any relevant knowledge or recommend resources for learning more, please do so.
Day 98: I Heart Free Art
That’s Ibrahim Siddiq’s email address, and since he was passing out cards on the subway, I don’t think he’ll mind my sharing it here.
I swear, I could have created a whole blog just about interesting performers and artists I encounter around New York. I’m sure someone else has. Hell, the MTA has a site for it.
I encountered Ibrahim on the 4 train this afternoon, somewhere between Grand Central Station and Union Square, as he performed some of his rhythmic poetry, asking his fellow commuters for not only monetary donations, but gifts of good will — a smile, a handshake, applause — as well.
“This is New York,” he joked, or maybe didn’t joke, “we’ve forgotten how to be nice to one another.”
He is the artistic director of The Artist Collective, an effort to offer free workshops and open mic nights around New York. I didn’t have a chance to speak to Mr. Saddiq, so I’m not certain whether the Collective is more of an individual effort, but the point is that he is trying to bring a little more poetry into our lives.
Nothing wrong with that.
Day 80: Le Petit Prince
It’s been years since I read Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s “The Little Prince.” At this point, all I can remember are the quotations that found their way to so many high school yearbooks:
“The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.”
But although my memory of the book is scarce, I have a feeling of affection for it, so tonight I made my first visit to the Morgan Library to see the exhibition of Saint-Exupery’s drawings and early manuscript pages. The tale by the French author was written during a visit to New York in 1942.
In addition to being an author and illustrator, Saint-Exupery was also an aviator. He flew with the French Air Force, surviving a crash in the Sahara. This experience inspired the role of the narrator in his famed novella. Art imitates life.
But here is the strange part. The book ends with the Little Prince disappearing into the ether. In 1943, Saint-Exupery returned to active military duty, and on July 31, 1944, he departed from an airbase in Corsica and was never heard from again.
The last line of the book:
Send me word that he has come back.
Day 70: The park where the mayor lives, and broccoli tea
Yes, I said broccoli tea. We’ll get to that in a minute.
So, the weather was lovely and Spring-ish today (a temporary reprieve, I hear, so don’t put those winter coats away quite yet, New Yorkers), and this afternoon was an opportune time for a walk. This city offers plenty of opportunities for to do and see new things, even for a native like me. Especially if said native lived elsewhere for nearly 15 years. I might have technically grown up in New York City, but there’s so much I either haven’t seen at all, or haven’t seen since I was a kid.
Case in point, Carl Schurz Park, next to Gracie Mansion (no, I did not see Bill Di Blasio). I think, I think my friends and I used to go there in high school to drink Red Dog and Boone’s Farm (or in my case, root beer, because I’m kind of square. Also, in the spirit of responsible adulthood and covering my ass, teenagers should not drink). Regardless, it’s been at least 15 years, so a visit falls within the guidelines of The Something New Project.
(This photo is from NYC.gov because my iPhone has decided to be insanely slow at sending the photos to my computer. Thanks, Apple).
Here’s the thing: As you can see from the publicity photo, it’s a very pretty park with steps and benches. There are trees and a dog run and a nice path along the water. But, seriously, it’s the East River. Who wants to gaze out at the East River?
Look, I just moved from the West Village to the Upper East Side of my childhood, so I might be biased, because the West Village is amazing and the Upper East Side is not, but Carl Schurz Park doesn’t compare to, say, Hudson River Park or Riverside Park (where I also haven’t been in decades and must go).
Tell me, New Yorkers, is it just me or is the West side so much better than the East side? I’m gonna start a Sharks/Jets style battle. Everybody start snapping your fingers.
As a bonus, on the way home I stopped in a health food type store, and they had broccoli tea.
“What?” You’re saying, “Broccoli tea? That’s crazy!”
And it is crazy. But it’s real.
Who knew this existed? And the real shocker is that it’s actually pretty good. I mean, you have to like broccoli, because it definitely has that taste to it, but this stuff is pretty decent. And honestly, how much more smug and superior can you feel than drinking a cup of broccoli tea? If you drink this after doing bikram yoga (on my list of new things, totally dreading it), your head will swell to the point of explosion.
Which would be new, but then I wouldn’t be able to finish the project with my brains erupted to Kingdom Come. So, you know…
Day 68: The scourge in Times Square
Sometimes, in order to accomplish a goal, one must do things of which one is deeply ashamed, and from which one derives no pleasure.
As I’m quickly learning, trying to learn/see/do something new every day is a pretty daunting undertaking. I explained at the beginning of this venture that most days would not be impressive or grand, but… I kind of feel like I’m letting folks down a little.
Now, unfortunately, I can’t really increase the amount of grand here, but… I can at least try to amuse, even if it is at the expense of my dignity. Thus…
Yes. Yes. Well, I feel dirty and ashamed right now. But I want credit for copping to this shameful horror in the name of achieving this dubious goal of mine. And for posting a no makeup photo. Seriously, even I know I generally look better than this picture, and I have the self-esteem of a head of cabbage.
Not only was the the first time that I intentionally had my photo taken (or took my own “selfie” because no way was I letting the dude in the Cookie Monster suit hold my phone) with any of the shockingly creepy Disney/Sesame Street/cartoon characters walking around Times Square, this was the first time that any native New Yorker, at least native New Yorkers of sound mind, has done this.
Okay, that last statistic has not been confirmed, but I feel like it’s a pretty safe bet.
The Something New Project 