Chivalry
So I was getting onto the subway after work the other day and I was in a particularly bad mood because it was raining and I didn't have an umbrella and I had spent the entire day rushing from meeting to meeting and I was exhausted.
And I just wanted a seat.
A seat.
A place to sit down for the 15 minutes or so that it takes me to get from my office to home, so I could rest my legs, which were still sore from the idiotically long run I'd gone on that morning, and take the weight off my feet, which were aching from the moronically high heeled shoes I'd been stupid enough to wear.
And I got on the train and even though it was rush hour there were four empty seats, gleaming orangely at me from across the subway car, and I was so excited.
And I paused to breathe a (metaphorical) sigh of relief, when all of a sudden, from out of nowhere, an overinflated blonde who must’ve topped the scale somewhere around 250 barreled in front of me and made a bee-line for the empty spot, where, of course, she took up not one but two seats.
Goddamn cow.
But there were still two seats left, and one of them had my name on it and was about to have my ass on it as well, when suddenly, as I was almost within sitting distance, they were snagged practically from out from under me by two guys, two hard-edged looking young guys wearing wife-beaters and gold chains.
"Goddamn motherfucking inconsiderate fucks" was probably the kindest thought that went through my head, followed by "whatever happened to chivalry in this fucking city anyway?" and other little tidbits of that nature.
And yes, I'm fully aware that I had no more right to the seats than they did and that I was behaving like a spoiled twit. Your point?
But then, lo and behold, the closer of the two looked up and saw the pissy look on my face, and in the split second it took me to realize that he hadn't noticed me before and hadn't known I'd been going for that seat, he stopped in mid-sit and offered it to me.
Instantly feeling like the world's biggest asshole, I smiled my prettiest see-I'm-not-really-a-bitch smile and in my nicest see-I'm-not-really-a-twat voice said, "no, that's OK, but thank you."
But he insisted and so I sat down and all the way home my aching calves and sore feet thanked him from the bottom of whatever bottom aching calves and sore feet might have. And when I got off the train I tapped him on the shoulder (he'd gotten a seat across the way by that point) and said "thank you again."
And I thought about it as I was walking home and I realized that every single time I've been offered a seat in a subway car it's been by a hard-edged looking guy in jeans and a wife-beater, or a working class fellow in paint-spattered dungarees and a T-shirt, or hip-hop looking dude with a funky afro.
I have never, ever, been offered a seat on a subway by a guy wearing a suit.
Why do you think that is?
The Manhattan equivalent of a fish tale
Between the time she told me the story two weeks ago, and the time she told the story to a group of our friends at dinner last night, L's necklace, the
re-gift, miraculously doubled in value.
I guess she forgot that she'd originally told me what it had really been appraised at.
Pretentious twit.
The Banker and the Blonde
My friend the Banker began dating someone about three months ago, and she seemed to decide more or less immediately that he was the one for her. I figured this out when, the second time I met her, she took me aside after he’d gone to the bathroom. “Tell me what I need to do to make this work,” she said, gesturing with her head in the direction he’d gone.
I thought that was a pretty bold thing to say, given that he’s one of my best friends and she reasonably could have assumed that it would get right back to him. So many of my female friends tread so lightly where men are concerned, afraid that any indication of interest in a long-term relationship will immediately foreclose the possibility of such. Instead, they dance around the issue, bits and pieces of "
The Rules" floating around in their heads.
Men don’t seem to be that way at all. My significant other told me on our second date that it had been a long time since he’d liked someone as much as he liked me, and on our fourth date that he’d never met anyone like me (I’m reasonably confident that he meant that in a good way). In any case, we’ve been together ever since, so his honesty seems to have worked.
I never did tell the Banker what the Blonde said to me, and they’re still dating. I'd like to think it wouldn't have made a difference if I had.
At least it wasn't cubic zirconia
My friend L (the one whose
ex-husband who made her buy a new bed before he'd stay over her place) recently bought an apartment.
Being a prudent sort, she decided to purchase homeowners insurance to cover said apartment.
And while she was at it, she decided to buy personal articles coverage for the single decent piece of jewelry she had, a Tiffany diamond necklace her ex-husband had given her.
But first, she was told, she would have to get the necklace appraised. So off she went to Tiffany, necklace in hand. And as she handed it over the counter, she flashed back to the day he had given it to her. The little blue Tiffany box with its elegantly tied white ribbon. The anxious look on his face as he presented it to her.
"I hope you like it," he had said, with uncharacteristic concern. "I had the hardest time deciding what to get you. I was driving the sales clerk crazy."
"I'm sure I'll love it," she replied, as she accepted the box. And she was right. She did. It was gorgeous
"When did you say this was purchased?" the clerk asked, interrupting her reverie.
"Fall of 2003," she answered. "He gave it to me for my birthday that October."
The clerk frowned. "I don't have any record of it. Although it definitely looks like one of our pieces."
L was perplexed. "Hmm," she said. "Maybe he bought it a little earlier than I thought? Maybe the summer of 2003?"
"OK, I found it," the clerk said, after another minute of typing. "You were off by a couple of years. He bought it in December of 2000. Let me just go print this out."
The clerk excused herself, leaving L to face the realization that the necklace her ex-husband had "the hardest time deciding on" and had "driven the sales clerk crazy over" was, in fact, a re-gift, having obviously been purchased as a Christmas present for his previous girlfriend.
Of course, with that discovery any guilt she might have felt about keeping the necklace in the first place vanished entirely...
An open letter to a co-worker
Dear [redacted]:
Please be advised that none of us care how much you paid for your apartment. Nor do we care how many square feet said apartment has. We also don't care which type of Viking range you're going to put into the kitchen, how much your bathroom tiles cost, or that your interior decorator is fresh from doing [insert name of random celebrity]'s place.
In fact, it might be best if you stopped talking about your apartment altogether.
Thank you.
Pigeon update
The
afore-mentioned pigeons still appear to be nesting in the wall behind my building. I see them flying in and out periodically. No sign of progeny yet.
Guilty as charged
This is actually pretty fucking funny.
The cutting edge of fashion reporting
Oh man, I so underestimated the New York Times. I’d predicted that it would take at least until the end of May before the Times’ style mavens picked up on
this trend, which was reported in the Los Angeles Times a couple of weeks ago, and in various Midwestern newspapers earlier in the spring.
But here it is, only the 4th of May, and already the Thursday Styles section includes a
story on the increasing popularity of Crocs.
I’m going to have to seriously re-think my opinion of the Gray Lady.
Expansion of Greenwich Village Historic District
From today's
New York Post:
Five blocks in Greenwich Village were designated landmarks yesterday - protecting their historic buildings from being torn down and replaced by high-rises.
In a unanimous vote, the city's Landmarks Preservation Commission expanded the Greenwich Village Historic District three blocks west. The new extension runs from Perry Street south to Christopher Street, and from Greenwich Street west to Washington Street.
It also created a new two-block Weehawken Street Historic District along the waterfront around tiny Weehawken Street.
The Post doesn't say this, but the designation is the first expansion of the
Greenwich Village Historic District since its establishment in 1969.
Given all the hype about construction along the Hudson River, it's important to note that, except for the new Weehawken Street Historic District, which includes several buildings on West Street just north of Christopher Street, the landmark designation doesn't cover the waterfront. So there's nothing to prevent the construction of additional high-rise buildings like Richard Meier's
Perry Street towers.
Of course, since glass buildings
aren't cool any more, we have nothing to worry about, right?
How to look like a complete douchebag without even trying
From a New York Times
dispatch from Las Vegas on today's nationwide illegal immigrant rights protests:
Regina and Danny Howell of Dallas complained that service was poor at the buffet at the Bellagio Hotel-Casino this morning and wondered if it was due to the protest.
"It took forever to get our drinks," Ms. Howell complained. "I don't know if they're having trouble because of the immigration thing, but it didn't seem like anyone was working."
And you thought New Yorkers were self-absorbed.
