The underground: Letters from a Subway Car

You are standing too close. If I can smell what you ate for breakfast, you’re standing too close to me. You had an omelet with peppers and onions. You are standing too close.

I am not a pole. You cannot hang on me for support. The train does jostle us about and I am the closest thing to you. But, you cannot hang on me for support.

You are carrying a bag. When said bag feels lighter, it’s resting on something. It’s resting on me.

When disembarking please do not follow my steps in a body hugging fashion. If the entire front part of your body is not touching the complete back part of my body, you will get out of the train just as fast. I guarantee it.

There is a difference between being “New York” aggressive and just being a jerk. I’m afraid you are the latter.

Freelancing Has Got Me...

I was enraptured by the way the sun painted me on the sidewalk, tall and thin like a supermodel. I swung my arms, admiring the graceful beauty in the movement of such delicate limbs. I turned the corner. The tall buildings extinguished my magical light and I was stuck between talk on cell phone business suit and coffee drinking newspaper reader for the duration of my commute to the subway. They both took turns bumping into me, as it was impossible for either to hold their bodies straight. They never looked up. 

And so another Monday arrives just as many before and many to follow. My heart may no longer in the game as I let one selfish neck tie after the next overtake me at each stair and around each corner. I have no fight this morning and fall back into a leisurely pace, knowing it will not help with my tardy attendance record. Coffee in hand, dark glasses at the ready I emerge from the dank depths into sunlight that stings rather than warms this time. I am no longer speaking to my commute nor the sun.

These Divisive Times Got Me...

Pooling whatever cash I have, go to home depot, buy out their lumber and garden department, build my own version of a log cabin* directly under the BQE, plant a garden, and live directly off the land - no matter how dirty and urine stained it may be. Whatever money I have left, I will carefully line my mattresses and pillows, batten down the hatches and wait it out in sweet subsistence living bliss. Fortunately, my paranoia is a push over and often loses in a fight with my sanity. I will remain in my apartment for now.

Should you feel the need to flee the grid, I will share my coffee rations with you as we count cars from the front porch, which will look remarkably like a raft.

*I do have construction experience. One summer I partnered in the creation of an ill fated table that more closely resembled a raft. It ironically was taken down by strong rains and hurricane type winds. I take comfort in knowing that it may have saved a small animal float to safety during the great roof flood of 2005.

Spring Fever

It’s another cold and dreary day here in NYC. The morning birds sing promises of spring, but the sun will not cooperate. I have a sinking suspicion the sun is depressed and can not roll out from a fluffy, white bed to face the day bold and proud. 

Transition abound, all this recent change has giving many people a touch of “the depression”, just a touch. If I were the sun, I wouldn’t want to look down on all the frowns, forced down toward their phones, drowning in salt water. Maybe if we all join hands and sing a chorus with the birds, we can convince the sun to come out and dry up all the rain.

A New Yoga Joint in my hood!

After many months, Jaime does yoga and…

1. falls on the floor
2. will never be the same
3. is crippled by sore muscles.
4. is 2 inches taller

Saturday afternoon I set out to cross something off my ever growing resolution list: take a class at the new Yoga. Next on the list is fighting off financial ruin, paying off the credit cards, and disinfecting the litter box at least once a month.

The instructor was everything I wanted in a “spiritual” leader, equal parts hippie, esoteric, nerdy and not in the least intimidating. After a good bit about finding your inner bliss and how not acknowledging the impermanence of things around us leads to disappointment and heart break (too pertinent), we began posing.

I’m not sure if you have ever been in a room filled with people breathing heavily and contorting in tight, organic cotton, but it can be a little distracting. It was very hard to imagine that I was made of clear blue sky and bright, un-blinding light. The poses were another story all together.

I found that when we were called to drop to the floor for “resting poses” I quite literally threw myself to the ground as if bowing awkwardly to the Yoga supreme, most uncomfortably (for both of us.) Other resting poses were publicly awkward, more specifically the happy baby. This pose should not be done in front of anyone, unless they are your gynecologist.  

I had more luck with the standing poses. The Warrior was my favorite and once I thought I “nailed” it, I beamed with pride, expecting praise from the instructor. What I did receive was only an adjustment: legs into basically a split, and attitude into the unhappy baby.

I adore yoga. It is a mental vacation, and one I can afford.

I will leave you with my favorite names for poses:
Downward Facing Dog - Adho Mukha Svanasana
Half Lord of the Fishes Pose - Ardha Masyendrasana
Child's Pose - Balasana
Corpse Pose - Savasana
Happy Baby Pose - Ananda Balasana
Cat - Cow Stretch
Cobra Pose - Bhujangasana

Distraction or Creative inspiration?

Face of a Child/Voice of a Man
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yu_moia-oVI

There is something hypnotic in the way the sport coat sways hip to hip, arm to arm. Must complete my brief. Most complete my brief. Must complete my brief. And then, shock! The cat burglar is a flasher. My entire creative project flashes before my eyes in that moment. The bartender, like my imagination, spins for days and can leap tall counters in a single bound. The 80’s birthed the two back up dancers and this creative project into a mixed up spandex world. I can only imagine they all find true love and disappear into a beautiful future.

Metaphorical

Dear reader, please enjoy this informative link. If your Thursday night took you to similar places we have seen you will be thanking me (please refer to the possible remedies section.)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hangover

Like the strong burst of spring, ever pushing us toward summer, a night out ripped through our sobriety like a lion. Having given us a congratulatory pat on the face (for a night well spent), it feels as though he has just taken the whole thing off. Faceless, aching all over, we stumble weak-kneed through the day, longing for our down pillow.