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 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 90: Poetry, Underground

I don’t have regular occasion to say this, but some days, God bless the New York subway system. Just when I was thinking that today’s Something New would have to be a random fact I pulled off the Internet, I ran into Bill Keys as I was transferring from the 4 to the L at Union Square. 

Mr. Keys, who calls himself a poet/performer/educator, types on a 1917 Corona typewriter and composes spontaneously about any topic requested. His sign reads, “Poems While You Wait.” You know, a little bit like this concept, minus grungy-sexy mid-’90s Ethan Hawke. 

“I wrote a poem about the path of a corn dog from the mouth to the anus,” Keys said. “I made it really sexy.” 

I guess the word ‘sexy’ can be subjective. As he put it, his customers were two guys “with their horns up.” 

He also wrote a poem about erotic breakfast cereal. I didn’t quite get whether the cereal itself was erotic or if the act of eating it was erotic. 

Bill has no formal training in poetry. It just, he said, came naturally to him. 

Day 82: Twerking in the subway (Miley not included)

I grew up in New York City, and though I’ve spent most of my adulthood elsewhere, I have been living here again for more than a year. So, one might expect that at some point I’d have seen a nearly naked man twerking in the subway. This was not the case.

Until today.

I know neither the name nor preferred gender identity of this performer, so in my head, I’m using the masculine pronoun, but calling him “Miss Union Square,” because that’s what came to mind. I think you’ll agree it’s an apt moniker.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKRLfN0r6tk&feature=youtu.be

Bonus: Check out the bewildered looking child. And the shoes. Miss Union Square’s, not the flummoxed kid’s.

Day 78: Paul Blart: Subway Cop

After getting off the bus from DC (go, Greyhound), I headed to the subway and, of course, my suitcase handle got stuck on the turnstile, trapping me in the middle of the damn thing. Exasperated and unwilling to pay a second fee, I hauled myself and my suitcase over, and kept on my way. 

And then, because apparently I did something to offend the gods today, I was stopped by a cop. On a Segway. With a siren. 

I’ve seen these before, but have never actually had to talk to one. And, you know, it’s a cop. It probably behooves me to show some modicum of respect, which isn’t easy to do when the guy is zipping around on a standing moto-scooter. Here’s the conversation:

Officer: What happened? Why didn’t you pay your fare?

Me (in my head): Really? I’m supposed to take you seriously while you’re riding that thing? 

Me (out loud): I did pay my fare (holds up the Metro card still in my hand). My suitcase handle caught on the turnstile and I got stuck.

Officer: Okay, I believe you. 

Me: Thank you. 

The man was doing his job and he was relatively polite, but let’s just all agree that no one looks less ridiculous on a Segway. Well, unless he’s on a donkey, maybe. And bike cops, those are kind of funny… Also, no one who isn’t hitting a three-point jump shot or kicking a goal should ever be taken seriously while wearing shorts. 

 

 

 

Day 62: Too Many Zooz

It’s not uncommon to hear music walking through the subway station. You can find some infomration about that here. It’s a little uncommon, however, for music in the subway station to draw a crowd. This is New York. We don’t have time for your shenanigans. We have our own. My shenanigans are more important than your shenanigans, motherfucker.

But there are exceptions. Like today, walking through the station at Union Square, I came across this:

This is Too Many Zooz, described on Facebook as an “NYC based, 3 piece experimental brass house band.” Okay, not overly descriptive, fellas. Also, what does “too many zooz” mean? Are there, in fact, too many zoos? Free the animals! (Blame the wine, sorry).

I’m one of those people who can’t identify musical genres to save my life (that might be a good new thing for me to learn), so I’m not entirely certain what is meant by “brass house” (there was a saxophone, that’s brass) or “dance-a-thon” (“They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?” music, but this was pretty damn catchy. For a few minutes. I don’t think I’d really care to listen to a full album of this style music, but it definitely brightened up my commute.

Sadly, however, no subway performers thus far have beaten midget Michael Jackson, as YouTube calls him. I saw him at Herald Square in 2006, right after I took my GRE’s, and he was fantastic.

But Too Many Zooz was pretty good as well.