Something occurred to me, today, while reading another knitter’s account of how they surreptitiously touch strangers’ knits:
People might think I’m creepy.
Showing posts with label comutating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comutating. Show all posts
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Friday, January 06, 2012
Reading Listening is Fundamental
Before I became an avid knitter, I was an avid reader. My utterly ridiculous commute lends itself to between two and three hours of downtime a day and I’m not the “sit around twiddling his thumbs” kinda fella. I would spend that time reading (or playing my Nintendo DS) and was able to bang out a book or two every week. Now, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t exactly reading the Idiot or Gone with the Wind, I was mostly reading fluffy fiction that didn’t weigh too heavily on my brain (or my bag); ‘escape reading’ I call it. It was a great way to kill the time between work and home, though it still left me antsy and frustrated when the trip took too long. It wasn’t like knitting, where I often hope for a subway delay or traffic so I can work a few more rows; it also taught me the valuable lesson of having a 2nd book in my bag (or, later, queued upon my Kindle) which now has become having a back-up project with me in case I finish what I’m working on. Anyway, I’ve always loved to read and, as much as I love knitting more, I miss it. There are more than a few authors who’ve put out new titles since I stopped reading and I’m sort of anxious to find out what they’re up to. So, how can I get back into reading without sacrificing my coveted knitting time? Audio books.
Monday, November 28, 2011
the Clap
The other day I was on the F train, heading home from work, knitting the 2nd in a pair of socks for the huz, when a woman tapped me on the shoulder to chat. Now, you regular reader(s) of my blog know that this is not uncommon, especially on the train; people women will randomly tap me on the shoulder (on account of my headphones) and tell me one (or all) of the following:
- how much they like/love/are impressed by whatever I’m knitting
- relay a quick anecdote about their mother/grandmother knitting
- how they used to knit when they were a little girl
- how interesting/odd/nice it is to see a man knitting
Well, this woman was no exception, she tapped my shoulder on Delancy Street and talked me up ‘til I got up at 34th and hit all 4 topics; insisting that I was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. Though she used to crochet, she wasn’t very good and couldn’t imagine making a sock with such tiny needles (“especially four of them”)! She was an absolute sweetheart and totally made my day, as random well-wishers tend to. See, that’s the thing: I love having strangers (with whom I’d normally have absolutely no social interaction) randomly telling me how awesome I am; it’s become a bit of a drug.
Thursday, October 06, 2011
Knitting Takes Balls
Last Thursday, I shared a 2 hour car ride to Long Island* with three straight guys; one was a (new) co-worker, the other was his brother-in-law and the 3rd a mutual friend of theirs. Don’t get me wrong, I was mad lucky that the brother-in-law worked close by and offered to pick us up. The two hour car ride, though, was spent with the three of them talking ‘sport’. Now, please don’t misunderstand: I am eternally grateful that I got the ride (and thanked the driver profusely). Had I not been with my co-worker, I’d have been totally screwed; I would’ve had to wait until the trains ran again at 11:30, since I don’t know how else to get to LI from DT Brooklyn. I’m also not complaining that I couldn’t join in the conversation; I was the odd man out. I don’t need to talk and actually am okay with being silent while other people talk around me; I was fine not engaging in the ball related chit-chat.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
an Open Letter to Smokey Josephine
I’m really glad you took such a fervent interest in my knitting, while on the bus the other day. It was really nice to hear how your grandmother had taught you to knit when you were a girl and that seeing me work on my fingerless glove just took you right back in time; I really love hearing stories like that (and you’d be surprised how often I do have people tap me on the shoulder to chat about my knitting). You might be wondering why I gave you a simple ‘hello’ this morning, when I sat down next to you (in the only available aisle seat). It’s not because I wasn’t feeling chatty (I mean I wasn’t, but that’s just because I’m ridiculously anti-social before 7 am); it’s your breath…it’s awful.
Friday, July 22, 2011
R-E-S-P-etc.
This post probably won’t win me Miss Congeniality; it might actually be cause for the Boy Scouts of America to revoke a few merit badges and the ACLU to cut up my membership card.
I was heading home on the bus the other day and people were getting on, at various stops, along 42nd street. By the time the bus had hit 7th avenue, all the seats were taken, which is nothing new; usually, the bus home is packed, with only one or two empty seats. When the bus hit 8th avenue, the bus driver explicitly told the people waiting that the bus was full and it was SRO. Again, this isn’t uncommon, either; at least once a week, there are people standing in the aisle. Well this particular night, only one person opted to stand. He was a heavy set, older man (late sixties?), clearly as affected by the heat as everyone else. What struck me, though, is that he got on knowing there weren’t any seats available and then looked from passenger to passenger with an expression that I interpreted to mean “ok, which one of you is going to stand so I can sit”? I don’t know why I interpreted it as such, he never said that out loud (at least not that I could hear over my headphones), but that’s what my inner Jean Grey picked up. He just looked so…expectant. i won’t lie and tell you that I leapt up and gave him my seat, because that’s not what happened. I’ll admit, I was very tempted to give him my seat; but I didn’t.
I was heading home on the bus the other day and people were getting on, at various stops, along 42nd street. By the time the bus had hit 7th avenue, all the seats were taken, which is nothing new; usually, the bus home is packed, with only one or two empty seats. When the bus hit 8th avenue, the bus driver explicitly told the people waiting that the bus was full and it was SRO. Again, this isn’t uncommon, either; at least once a week, there are people standing in the aisle. Well this particular night, only one person opted to stand. He was a heavy set, older man (late sixties?), clearly as affected by the heat as everyone else. What struck me, though, is that he got on knowing there weren’t any seats available and then looked from passenger to passenger with an expression that I interpreted to mean “ok, which one of you is going to stand so I can sit”? I don’t know why I interpreted it as such, he never said that out loud (at least not that I could hear over my headphones), but that’s what my inner Jean Grey picked up. He just looked so…expectant. i won’t lie and tell you that I leapt up and gave him my seat, because that’s not what happened. I’ll admit, I was very tempted to give him my seat; but I didn’t.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Snatch
I was perusing the message boards of one of the Ravelry groups* I belong to, the other day, when I read a woman’s post about how she was on the 2 train, attempting to master a the purl stitch, when the woman next to her snatched her knitting out of her hands and proceeded to show her how to do it, without so much as a “how do you do”. Furthermore, after her post, there were about three or four other women who wrote that they had experienced similar, if not identical, situations; perfect strangers taking their knitting from them, without warning, and showing them “the right way” to do something!
Reading these stories, I was absolutely livid beyond words (though not so livid that I didn’t comment on their stories in much the same way I’m about to, here). I can’t imagine sitting on the train or bus, minding my own business, and having some random stranger take my knitting out of my hands, for whatever reason. I really think I’d punch someone if they tried to do that; just out of knee-jerk reactionary, gut instinct. you just don't do that in in New York city; that's how a bitch gets cut.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had people talk to me about my knitting while I’m on the bus or on the train** or even just out someplace***; it’s not every day that you see someone knitting in 2011, especially someone with a goatee. The difference is anyone who ever talked to me about my knitting tapped me on the shoulder or excused themselves for “bothering me”; if they wanted to see what I was working on (like the young lady from this morning), they asked to see it and then waited for me to hand it to them. Even the couple of women who offered advice or pointers didn’t try and take my knitting out of my hands.
Maybe it’s because I’m a guy; I don't think a woman would think about taking something (even knitting) out of a guy's hands (even a guy who knits hands); even when the guy looks like me. maybe it's because, with my headphones and body language, I give off a "don't grab my knitting" vibe; I rarely interact with other straphangers. I mean, granted, my Rules for Mass Transit are a bit neurotic and a little over the top, but they work for me. i didn' think that i'd ever need to add "don't grab shit outta other people's hands", that's one we all learned in Kindergarten, no?
* the NYC Bus/Subway Knitters and Crocheters
** There’s this really lovely woman I usually see on the express bus home who was fascinated when I was making my Wallaby, and every time she saw me she’d ask how it was coming along, until I finished it and showed her the pictures I’d posted online; she was equally fascinated by my CawfeeCozies. then there’s the other lady I see in the mornings who, one day, told me that she enjoyed watching me knit on the way into the city every morning; that it reminded her of her grandmother teaching her to knit, when she was a girl.
***just this morning, I was sitting on a bench, outside my office, when a woman walked up to me and told me how great she thought it was to see a man knitting; that her mother had taught her to knit and would be thrilled to see someone knitting on a park bench. She proceeded to tell me how great a job I was doing on the Cabled Laptop cover I was making, walked away, and then came back and asked me to talk to her mom, who was on her cell! They were both incredibly sweet and totally made my day!
Reading these stories, I was absolutely livid beyond words (though not so livid that I didn’t comment on their stories in much the same way I’m about to, here). I can’t imagine sitting on the train or bus, minding my own business, and having some random stranger take my knitting out of my hands, for whatever reason. I really think I’d punch someone if they tried to do that; just out of knee-jerk reactionary, gut instinct. you just don't do that in in New York city; that's how a bitch gets cut.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had people talk to me about my knitting while I’m on the bus or on the train** or even just out someplace***; it’s not every day that you see someone knitting in 2011, especially someone with a goatee. The difference is anyone who ever talked to me about my knitting tapped me on the shoulder or excused themselves for “bothering me”; if they wanted to see what I was working on (like the young lady from this morning), they asked to see it and then waited for me to hand it to them. Even the couple of women who offered advice or pointers didn’t try and take my knitting out of my hands.
Maybe it’s because I’m a guy; I don't think a woman would think about taking something (even knitting) out of a guy's hands (even a guy who knits hands); even when the guy looks like me. maybe it's because, with my headphones and body language, I give off a "don't grab my knitting" vibe; I rarely interact with other straphangers. I mean, granted, my Rules for Mass Transit are a bit neurotic and a little over the top, but they work for me. i didn' think that i'd ever need to add "don't grab shit outta other people's hands", that's one we all learned in Kindergarten, no?
* the NYC Bus/Subway Knitters and Crocheters
** There’s this really lovely woman I usually see on the express bus home who was fascinated when I was making my Wallaby, and every time she saw me she’d ask how it was coming along, until I finished it and showed her the pictures I’d posted online; she was equally fascinated by my CawfeeCozies. then there’s the other lady I see in the mornings who, one day, told me that she enjoyed watching me knit on the way into the city every morning; that it reminded her of her grandmother teaching her to knit, when she was a girl.
***just this morning, I was sitting on a bench, outside my office, when a woman walked up to me and told me how great she thought it was to see a man knitting; that her mother had taught her to knit and would be thrilled to see someone knitting on a park bench. She proceeded to tell me how great a job I was doing on the Cabled Laptop cover I was making, walked away, and then came back and asked me to talk to her mom, who was on her cell! They were both incredibly sweet and totally made my day!
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Might I Have a Word?
So, as I mentioned in my previous post, I’ve become sort-of addicted to Words With Friends. I say sort-of, because despite the fact that I have eleven games going, with people from almost every facet of my life*, I think it’s a pretty healthy addiction.
When I was a kid, we had Family Game night, once every few weeks (and after dinner on major holidays). Often it was either Trivial Pursuit or Uno, but every once in a while it’d be Scrabble. Looking back, our games probably weren’t high scoring ones; I think we all wanted to put down a “good” word more than we wanted to maximize our points. I know that, for me, it was all about showing off my vocabulary. Winning was a happy accident and fifteen point words were the norm. It’s only now, almost twenty years later, that I realize that other people (read: everyone else who plays the game) are actually playing to win and the best way to do that is to get the most points for each word they put down. Yeah, I know, this seems elementary, but I never put the two things together until CawfeeMate, Breen Lantern and Magenta Sequins started laying down forty and fifty point words; doubling or tripling my score and beating me by one hundred and fifty points or more. CawfeeMate was nice enough to explain to me that while DJIN is a fun word, unless it’s on a double or triple word multiplier, it’s not worth putting on the board.
So, I learned strategy:
I also learned how frustrating electronic scrabble is:
All in all, though, I’m loving this game. I like being able to chat with people I don’t get to interact with, otherwise; it’s also makes a nice diversion from knitting straight through my daily commute to and from work and from work itself (where i can't knit). It’s also nice to know that even though certain players continue to kick my ass with 75 point words I’ve never seen, I can occasionally beat them (even if it is only one game out of every ten we play).
send me an invite, but be warned: now that i've got a strategy i'm a little harder to beat...until i get stuck with three I's a Q, Z, J & X again...
*High School classmates, former co-workers from my 1st Mall Job, current co-workers, Blog buddies, Facebook Friends, actual friends, and even friends & co-workers of CawfeeMate
When I was a kid, we had Family Game night, once every few weeks (and after dinner on major holidays). Often it was either Trivial Pursuit or Uno, but every once in a while it’d be Scrabble. Looking back, our games probably weren’t high scoring ones; I think we all wanted to put down a “good” word more than we wanted to maximize our points. I know that, for me, it was all about showing off my vocabulary. Winning was a happy accident and fifteen point words were the norm. It’s only now, almost twenty years later, that I realize that other people (read: everyone else who plays the game) are actually playing to win and the best way to do that is to get the most points for each word they put down. Yeah, I know, this seems elementary, but I never put the two things together until CawfeeMate, Breen Lantern and Magenta Sequins started laying down forty and fifty point words; doubling or tripling my score and beating me by one hundred and fifty points or more. CawfeeMate was nice enough to explain to me that while DJIN is a fun word, unless it’s on a double or triple word multiplier, it’s not worth putting on the board.
So, I learned strategy:
- always save your S’s
- build off the beginning or end of another word to get double the points
- sometimes it’s better to put down a 3 point word on this turn and let your opponent open up the path to the double word or triple letter multiplier
- if you have to swap out letters, it’s not worth swapping less than 5 (see #1)
- get rid of Qs, Js, Xs and Zs as soon as you can
I also learned how frustrating electronic scrabble is:
- QI, JO and XI have to be the most frustrating two letter words on the planet; almost nobody knows what they mean, but everyone uses them to unload those pesky letters that are otherwise impossible to use later in the game.
- The “random distribution” of letters is frequently debatable; I just went through a two week drought where, in almost every game I was playing, I never had fewer that either five vowels or five consonants and at least two sets of duped letters
- there are no two letter words that start with either the C or V
- I have no idea what dictionary the game uses, but I’d love to know how it defines words like JANE, TURFY, and RIAL.
- Some people cheat using other iPhone apps; those people never get a rematch.
All in all, though, I’m loving this game. I like being able to chat with people I don’t get to interact with, otherwise; it’s also makes a nice diversion from knitting straight through my daily commute to and from work and from work itself (where i can't knit). It’s also nice to know that even though certain players continue to kick my ass with 75 point words I’ve never seen, I can occasionally beat them (even if it is only one game out of every ten we play).
send me an invite, but be warned: now that i've got a strategy i'm a little harder to beat...until i get stuck with three I's a Q, Z, J & X again...
*High School classmates, former co-workers from my 1st Mall Job, current co-workers, Blog buddies, Facebook Friends, actual friends, and even friends & co-workers of CawfeeMate
Friday, August 20, 2010
How to Be a Good Commuter (or How Not to Get the Crap Kicked Out of You By a Fellow Commuter)
CawfeeGuy's Bubble Theory: think of your "personal space" as a bubble; a very small, very tight and form fitting bubble. you and your actions should not extend beyond your bubble. this includes smells, so go easy on the cologne/perfume or (on the flip side) bathe.
That having been said...
1. One person, one seat: we all pay the same fare, guys and it only entitles you to one seat; there's really no need to spread yourself out like you're trying to fend off a bear attack and i'm sure you're junk isn't so big that you can't close your legs. if it is i'll be glad to help you hold them up. and ladies, there is absolutely positively no reason to bring more than two bags with you to work (and honestly with the size of the bags out there, i can't even begin to fathom why you'd need more than a pocketbook). if you need to bring enough stuff with you to take up two seats, you should probably find another mode of transportation. and don't get cunty when someone asks you to move your shit so they can sit down; you're wrong and you will be read.
2. Cellphones are fucking annoying: once you swipe that Metrocard, it doesn't matter if you're Donald Trump or Martha Stewart, you're just another schmuck riding a bus and nobody gives a flaming shit about your business. more often than not other folks are trying to nap on the way in to the city and decompress on the way home. keep it on vibrate, in your pocket. keep it brief and low; don't be that guy or that girl that everyone stares at with daggers in their eyes as you yammer away for 20 minutes about last night's Jersey Shore or your kooky Korean nail girl. try texting; you can think of it as aerobic exercise.
3. Headphones are for personal use only: nobody should be able to hear what's being piped directly into your head, regardless of how hot the song is (or how hot you think it is).
4. Save it for the beauty shop: ladies, please shut the fuck up. if you need to chit chat and gossip with your Bus BFF that badly, do it quietly. you are not on the View and nobody wants to hear your conversation, for the entire two hour bus ride; you sound like a yard full of chickens. see #2.
5. Procrastinate on your own time: if you know your stop is coming up, don't wait until the absolute last second to get out of your seat and make your way up the aisle. chances are you're not the only person trying to get off the bus; waiting until the bus has already stopped is too late and just blocks the aisle for everyone else (especially when you're in a window seat and have to move another person out of the way to get out of your seat).
6. Dentist seat syndrome: this previous post pretty much sums it up.
7. Mind the kaboose: sometimes we're forced to stand, on the way home; it's a sad fact, but a fact nonetheless. if you're one of the unfortunate souls who has to stand for the entire ride, while all the people sitting can sympathize with your circumstance, they shouldnt be forced to have your ass in their faces. granted, some people don't mind certain people's asses in their face, but still: it's polite to ask prior to expecting a rim job.
8. Metrocard Ettiquite 101: have it ready before you get on the bus, it will really save alot of angry glares, especially when it's raining. have an idea of what your balance on it is versus how much the fare is before you try getting on. it doesn't take MENSA membership to use one, either. if you're at a complete loss, look at the person who got on before you and do the exact same thing.
i know i have pet peeves about the bus, but since i spend about 4 hours of my day on one, i consider myself somewhat of an authority. i'm pretty sure that following these rules will make everyone's day a little better and may save your life one day. see, y'never know when a fellow commuter is gonna snap and strangle you with a circular knitting needle...i'm just sayin...
That having been said...
1. One person, one seat: we all pay the same fare, guys and it only entitles you to one seat; there's really no need to spread yourself out like you're trying to fend off a bear attack and i'm sure you're junk isn't so big that you can't close your legs. if it is i'll be glad to help you hold them up. and ladies, there is absolutely positively no reason to bring more than two bags with you to work (and honestly with the size of the bags out there, i can't even begin to fathom why you'd need more than a pocketbook). if you need to bring enough stuff with you to take up two seats, you should probably find another mode of transportation. and don't get cunty when someone asks you to move your shit so they can sit down; you're wrong and you will be read.
2. Cellphones are fucking annoying: once you swipe that Metrocard, it doesn't matter if you're Donald Trump or Martha Stewart, you're just another schmuck riding a bus and nobody gives a flaming shit about your business. more often than not other folks are trying to nap on the way in to the city and decompress on the way home. keep it on vibrate, in your pocket. keep it brief and low; don't be that guy or that girl that everyone stares at with daggers in their eyes as you yammer away for 20 minutes about last night's Jersey Shore or your kooky Korean nail girl. try texting; you can think of it as aerobic exercise.
3. Headphones are for personal use only: nobody should be able to hear what's being piped directly into your head, regardless of how hot the song is (or how hot you think it is).
4. Save it for the beauty shop: ladies, please shut the fuck up. if you need to chit chat and gossip with your Bus BFF that badly, do it quietly. you are not on the View and nobody wants to hear your conversation, for the entire two hour bus ride; you sound like a yard full of chickens. see #2.
5. Procrastinate on your own time: if you know your stop is coming up, don't wait until the absolute last second to get out of your seat and make your way up the aisle. chances are you're not the only person trying to get off the bus; waiting until the bus has already stopped is too late and just blocks the aisle for everyone else (especially when you're in a window seat and have to move another person out of the way to get out of your seat).
6. Dentist seat syndrome: this previous post pretty much sums it up.
7. Mind the kaboose: sometimes we're forced to stand, on the way home; it's a sad fact, but a fact nonetheless. if you're one of the unfortunate souls who has to stand for the entire ride, while all the people sitting can sympathize with your circumstance, they shouldnt be forced to have your ass in their faces. granted, some people don't mind certain people's asses in their face, but still: it's polite to ask prior to expecting a rim job.
8. Metrocard Ettiquite 101: have it ready before you get on the bus, it will really save alot of angry glares, especially when it's raining. have an idea of what your balance on it is versus how much the fare is before you try getting on. it doesn't take MENSA membership to use one, either. if you're at a complete loss, look at the person who got on before you and do the exact same thing.
i know i have pet peeves about the bus, but since i spend about 4 hours of my day on one, i consider myself somewhat of an authority. i'm pretty sure that following these rules will make everyone's day a little better and may save your life one day. see, y'never know when a fellow commuter is gonna snap and strangle you with a circular knitting needle...i'm just sayin...
Friday, November 27, 2009
Bleeech Friday
this is the 1st Black Friday i've worked in about 6 years and, lemme tell you: never again.
my tradition of taking off, the day after Thanksgiving, dates back to my days in retail. See, for those of you who don't know, i was a retail whore for close to ten years. The Staten Island Mall was my stomping ground, and i worked the corner of a Ma & Pop suit store (where i spent nearly 9 years) and Sam Goody, throughout college and beyond. looking back with the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, smeared with the vaseline of being a corporate/finance drone, i can honestly say that those were good days; the hours were great, the pay was good (well above minimum wage) and i liked the people. Black Friday was the high holy day of retail, which meant a guaranteed open-to-close work day for senior staffers and commission on the sales you made (or those "given" to you by the cashiers). Black Friday set the tone for entire Christmas Season, and its psychotically frenzied atmosphere was a harbinger of the crazy days which lasted till New Year's Eve. it was not at all uncommon for the hours to fly by like minutes, leaving you hungry and thirsty because you'd skipped both breakfast and lunch. it was glorious.
the meaning of Black Friday changed, post-retail. sure i'd haul out the Christmas CD's and start writing out cards, but it also meant i didn't have to work, to make money. joining corporate america meant "paid vacation days" and what better way to use one than to give oneself a 4 day weekend following a bi-annual schlepp to Long Island*? after our 1st Thanksgiving spent on Long Island, i realized that getting home close to midnight and having to get up for work the next day was about as palatable as CawfeeMate's WASP aunt's cooking. There began the tradition of taking off on Black Friday.
Black Friday now took on a new meaning: post-Thanksgiving clean up and Christmas decorating! it was a glorious tradition which went wonderfully smooth, until this year. just like all the previous years, i put my vacation request in on January 2nd and didn't give it a 2nd thought. That is, until K---y, my dimwitted co-worker, came to me in September to let me know she'd be off this week. When i asked her how that was possible, she shrugged and told me that Cunty had granted signed off on her request that day. Apparently, Cunty never put me in for the day; livid does not even begin to explain how i felt.
so, here i am, at work on Black Friday wishing i wasn't. Everybody else in the world seems to be off, but i'm here at my desk (despite the numerous commuting hurdles i had to jump this morning, which got me here half an hour late). it could be worse, though. my office could've had a Door Buster.
*When the huz and i had 1st met, we realized that the holidays would be dicey. Both coming from Italian-American backgrounds, the holidays are a big deal to our mothers; in the interest of fairness, equinimity and to minimize agita, we decided to alternate the holidays: Thanksgiving at Casa Del CawfeeGuyMom, Christmas Eve at Chateau CawfeeMateMom, Christmas Day at Casa Del CawfeeGuyMom, Easter at Chateau CawfeeMateMom; the following year we'd switch (despite my mom swearing we spent all the holidays with my in-laws). on the years we'd spend Thanksgiving with the CawfeeMate family, we'd drive out to Long Island which meant leaving early in the morning and getting home late at night (the drive between LI and SI is nothing but bumper to bumber traffic).
my tradition of taking off, the day after Thanksgiving, dates back to my days in retail. See, for those of you who don't know, i was a retail whore for close to ten years. The Staten Island Mall was my stomping ground, and i worked the corner of a Ma & Pop suit store (where i spent nearly 9 years) and Sam Goody, throughout college and beyond. looking back with the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, smeared with the vaseline of being a corporate/finance drone, i can honestly say that those were good days; the hours were great, the pay was good (well above minimum wage) and i liked the people. Black Friday was the high holy day of retail, which meant a guaranteed open-to-close work day for senior staffers and commission on the sales you made (or those "given" to you by the cashiers). Black Friday set the tone for entire Christmas Season, and its psychotically frenzied atmosphere was a harbinger of the crazy days which lasted till New Year's Eve. it was not at all uncommon for the hours to fly by like minutes, leaving you hungry and thirsty because you'd skipped both breakfast and lunch. it was glorious.
the meaning of Black Friday changed, post-retail. sure i'd haul out the Christmas CD's and start writing out cards, but it also meant i didn't have to work, to make money. joining corporate america meant "paid vacation days" and what better way to use one than to give oneself a 4 day weekend following a bi-annual schlepp to Long Island*? after our 1st Thanksgiving spent on Long Island, i realized that getting home close to midnight and having to get up for work the next day was about as palatable as CawfeeMate's WASP aunt's cooking. There began the tradition of taking off on Black Friday.
Black Friday now took on a new meaning: post-Thanksgiving clean up and Christmas decorating! it was a glorious tradition which went wonderfully smooth, until this year. just like all the previous years, i put my vacation request in on January 2nd and didn't give it a 2nd thought. That is, until K---y, my dimwitted co-worker, came to me in September to let me know she'd be off this week. When i asked her how that was possible, she shrugged and told me that Cunty had granted signed off on her request that day. Apparently, Cunty never put me in for the day; livid does not even begin to explain how i felt.
so, here i am, at work on Black Friday wishing i wasn't. Everybody else in the world seems to be off, but i'm here at my desk (despite the numerous commuting hurdles i had to jump this morning, which got me here half an hour late). it could be worse, though. my office could've had a Door Buster.
*When the huz and i had 1st met, we realized that the holidays would be dicey. Both coming from Italian-American backgrounds, the holidays are a big deal to our mothers; in the interest of fairness, equinimity and to minimize agita, we decided to alternate the holidays: Thanksgiving at Casa Del CawfeeGuyMom, Christmas Eve at Chateau CawfeeMateMom, Christmas Day at Casa Del CawfeeGuyMom, Easter at Chateau CawfeeMateMom; the following year we'd switch (despite my mom swearing we spent all the holidays with my in-laws). on the years we'd spend Thanksgiving with the CawfeeMate family, we'd drive out to Long Island which meant leaving early in the morning and getting home late at night (the drive between LI and SI is nothing but bumper to bumber traffic).
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Card Attack
last week I bought the annual CawfeeFamily Christmas cards. got 'em at Papyrus*; $45 for two boxes of christmas cards...crazy, i know...but i love 'em to bits. Sunday, while watching Angie Jolie in Changeling (4 star performance BTW), I sat down with my Superman address book and various random return labels from last year, and wrote out all 30. I was about 15 short. no biggie. tomorrow is another day, and i can still get them out by December 1st. So, last night, I go back to the card store** on the way home, drop another $40 on two different box o' cards*** (plus the little envelope seals, because I'm so over licking envelopes that aren't mint flavored) and hop the bus home. through shear providence, I wind up with a double seat all to myself, and after the last stop, the seat next to me was still empty (nobody likes to disturb the guy who reads while listening to an iPod), so I drop the shopping bag on the seat and settle into my book (Lamb, by Christopher Moore, my favorite writer...this week...get it today on Kindle). an hour later, I get off the bus, where CawfeeMate is waiting to drive me home, and head to La Casa Del Cawfee to puppy kisses and din-din.
it's not 'til I'm in the bathroom, taking my "welcome home whiz" that it occurs to me that I've left the shopping bag on the fucking bus.
30 minutes later I've called 311 who's transferred me to the MTA who's hung up on me; called back 311 who transferred me back to the MTA who told me that the dispatcher of the SI depot wasn't answering the phone and that I should call back in an hour. one hour (a bowl of macaroni with peas, and one episode of Grey's Anatomy) later, I'm back on the phone with the MTA trying to track down the number for the SI depot. finally I get someone who has my cards, but absolutely no predisposition for conversation. the guy tells me that I better come in tonight, because if I don't the bag will be sent to the 34th street depot to the Main Lost and Found, in the morning. in true "CawfeeGuy" fashion, I rush off the phone (totally preempting Heroes) without finding out how late the SI lost and found is open. we call on the way and the guy is like "dude we're here all night", all sarcastic and placating-like, so I tell him "oh ok! I'm on my way" and he's all "great" in the most deadpan straight guy voice I've ever heard. I was instantly embarrassed for being that gay guy all upset over his christmas cards.
we**** get to the depot, which is naturally in one of the worst neighborhoods on SI, and work our way around the garage area. the mechanics direct us upstairs to the lost and found which is just a little window in this big huge room with dozens of portable bulletin boards COVERED in papers. it totally brought me back to the days when I visited my dad at the police station house. maybe it was the "municipal building smell", maybe it was the puke green walls, but it was total déjà vu. anyway, after the guy teased me for a few minutes about keeping the cards and sending them out himself, he handed my bag over and wished us a happy holiday.
I could not believe that the cards made it back to me. I'm pleasantly shocked and surprised! the MTA is totally getting a christmas card, this year.
*the bus stop is directly outside of the Papyrus on 42nd and 9th. in fact, I seem to miss at least one bus, whenever I stop to get cards.
** of course I missed a bus while in the store
*** annoying fact: they're having a sale buy 3 get 1 free and without a receipt from last week's purchase I was SOL. the new cards were just as cute as the 1st batch, though, so i almost don't mind.
**** CawfeeMate came with me and I was really glad because, well, i was going to Scaryville, Staten Island and i don't own a bulletproof vest. also, he's much better at talking to straight men-city employees. I come off shrieky and shrill (if you can believe it). if you want to get something done over the phone or in a restaurant, preferably with an angry black or caribbean lady, I'm your girl. if it involves Joey Bag of Metrocards or NYP Dino, call CawfeeMate.
it's not 'til I'm in the bathroom, taking my "welcome home whiz" that it occurs to me that I've left the shopping bag on the fucking bus.
30 minutes later I've called 311 who's transferred me to the MTA who's hung up on me; called back 311 who transferred me back to the MTA who told me that the dispatcher of the SI depot wasn't answering the phone and that I should call back in an hour. one hour (a bowl of macaroni with peas, and one episode of Grey's Anatomy) later, I'm back on the phone with the MTA trying to track down the number for the SI depot. finally I get someone who has my cards, but absolutely no predisposition for conversation. the guy tells me that I better come in tonight, because if I don't the bag will be sent to the 34th street depot to the Main Lost and Found, in the morning. in true "CawfeeGuy" fashion, I rush off the phone (totally preempting Heroes) without finding out how late the SI lost and found is open. we call on the way and the guy is like "dude we're here all night", all sarcastic and placating-like, so I tell him "oh ok! I'm on my way" and he's all "great" in the most deadpan straight guy voice I've ever heard. I was instantly embarrassed for being that gay guy all upset over his christmas cards.
we**** get to the depot, which is naturally in one of the worst neighborhoods on SI, and work our way around the garage area. the mechanics direct us upstairs to the lost and found which is just a little window in this big huge room with dozens of portable bulletin boards COVERED in papers. it totally brought me back to the days when I visited my dad at the police station house. maybe it was the "municipal building smell", maybe it was the puke green walls, but it was total déjà vu. anyway, after the guy teased me for a few minutes about keeping the cards and sending them out himself, he handed my bag over and wished us a happy holiday.
I could not believe that the cards made it back to me. I'm pleasantly shocked and surprised! the MTA is totally getting a christmas card, this year.
*the bus stop is directly outside of the Papyrus on 42nd and 9th. in fact, I seem to miss at least one bus, whenever I stop to get cards.
** of course I missed a bus while in the store
*** annoying fact: they're having a sale buy 3 get 1 free and without a receipt from last week's purchase I was SOL. the new cards were just as cute as the 1st batch, though, so i almost don't mind.
**** CawfeeMate came with me and I was really glad because, well, i was going to Scaryville, Staten Island and i don't own a bulletproof vest. also, he's much better at talking to straight men-city employees. I come off shrieky and shrill (if you can believe it). if you want to get something done over the phone or in a restaurant, preferably with an angry black or caribbean lady, I'm your girl. if it involves Joey Bag of Metrocards or NYP Dino, call CawfeeMate.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Random Life Lesson #56
yesterday, while on the way home from work, i heard (between songs on my iPod) an announcement in the subway station telling people not to stick hands or bags between the doors in an attempt to stop them. the announcer was very irate about this and stressed that there was no need to hold the train; there's always another one behind it. this reminded me of my own train door story...a few years ago, while on the way home from AIDS Walk NY, CawfeeMate and i had planned to take the subway from Central Park, down to the Village (or possibly Chelsea) for dinner and some window shopping. Thankfully, he is one of those New Yorkers that knows where all the trains stop, start and wind up; which are locals, which run express, which have good air conditioning and the best overhead lighting. he guided us to the nearest subway entrance as a train was pulling in. being the complete opposite in every way, i have no idea which trains go where, but my golden retriever-esque brain flashed the urgent message "there's a train" and i bolted to catch it, regardless of whether or not it was "our" train.
as it turns out it wasn't and with one foot in and one foot out, CawfeeMate grabbed me by my backpack before we were separated. in an instant, the doors closed aroudn the ankle of the one foot which was in, which happened to be wearing a leather flip-flop. after several seconds, the doors opened and i was able to extricate myself from the door. sadly, now the flip flop was stuck in the door. this time, though the doors didn't open and i chased after the train and eventually retrieve it.
the entire affair couldn't have taken more than 30 seconds, but provided a lifetime of lessons, not the least important of which is that i never attempt to hold the doors on a departing train and will never wear flip-flops to the AIDS Walk ever again.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
an Open Letter to the Big Fat Guy With Whom I "Shared" a Seat This Morning on the Bus
1st off i hope you don't mind being referred to as "the big fat guy", but let's call a spade a spade, y'ain't exactly Jack Skellington ain'cha? And no, neither am i, however my 42" shoulders and 34" ass were dwarfed by your 54" barrel shape which took up 80% of the two Nederlander Theater sized seats we were forced to share. i feel a certain kinship to you, especially since i used to be quite a bit plumper; this kinship allows me to address you by the common nickname we have both shared at some point in our lives. the "big", come from fact that you were, easily, 6'3" and that ain't tiny. Anyhoo...
While you had your eyes closed for the majority of our 35 minute trip together (i'm not sure if you were snoring or just breathing phlegmy) i'm sure you must've noticed, at some point, that my upper body was bent at a distressing 45o angle over the armrest, into the aisle. see, that was a result of your elbows jutting out as they rested comfortably on your tool bag. i'm glad you were comfortable enough to either actually or pretend to sleep, 'cuz i wasn't. partly because i was "reaching across the aisle" with my face and partly because, you were giving off the body heat comparable to crematorium furnace and i was sweating like Catholic priest at a Cub Scout pool party.
i guess this is what happens when you get on at the 2nd to last stop of the bus's run and beggars can't be choosers, but tomorrow i hope i'll be able to find a seat next to someone else. Or that you've worked out that you clearly don't want to share a seat and should, probably, sit on the aisle yourself and not give the impression that there's more room than there is. see, i'm pretty sure that most people won't want to be pressed between the window of the bus and a wall oven...
While you had your eyes closed for the majority of our 35 minute trip together (i'm not sure if you were snoring or just breathing phlegmy) i'm sure you must've noticed, at some point, that my upper body was bent at a distressing 45o angle over the armrest, into the aisle. see, that was a result of your elbows jutting out as they rested comfortably on your tool bag. i'm glad you were comfortable enough to either actually or pretend to sleep, 'cuz i wasn't. partly because i was "reaching across the aisle" with my face and partly because, you were giving off the body heat comparable to crematorium furnace and i was sweating like Catholic priest at a Cub Scout pool party.
i guess this is what happens when you get on at the 2nd to last stop of the bus's run and beggars can't be choosers, but tomorrow i hope i'll be able to find a seat next to someone else. Or that you've worked out that you clearly don't want to share a seat and should, probably, sit on the aisle yourself and not give the impression that there's more room than there is. see, i'm pretty sure that most people won't want to be pressed between the window of the bus and a wall oven...
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Just Another Manic Monday Tuesday
"my" bus never came.
15 minutes later, the next bus flew past without so much as a Fuck You Asshole.
i have no cash on me and had to pay for my coffee with change from the bottom of my bag.
now i'm sitting here sorting through all the faxes and e-mails i missed from Friday.
i shoulda stayed in bed.
15 minutes later, the next bus flew past without so much as a Fuck You Asshole.
i have no cash on me and had to pay for my coffee with change from the bottom of my bag.
now i'm sitting here sorting through all the faxes and e-mails i missed from Friday.
i shoulda stayed in bed.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Thursday Morning's Are Like...Something Really Bad*...
1. the puppy peed off the pad and all over the floor, at some point during the night.
2. i thought i forgot my metrocard, walked back home, searched feverishly and then found it in my pocket.
3. ran back to bus stop, to watch the tail lights in the distance 'cuz the bus was early. had to walk down to the other bus stop.
4. texting stephen made me feel even worse.
5. my phone is all screwed up; the auto text picks the most random words and strings of numbers. i'm gonna punt it soon.
6. the Man in the Box fucked up my coffee, again and of course i don't realize till i get up to my desk.
7. i'm back up to 189 lbs. yes, i managed to gain 5 lbs since Thanksgiving.
8. the house is a royal mess. halloween decorations are still sitting in a corner in our bedroom and i honestly have absolutely no desire, right now, to decorate for christmas beyond putting up the tree.
*i can't come up with a viable analogy...feel free to come up with your own. if it sounds good i'll add it in.
2. i thought i forgot my metrocard, walked back home, searched feverishly and then found it in my pocket.
3. ran back to bus stop, to watch the tail lights in the distance 'cuz the bus was early. had to walk down to the other bus stop.
4. texting stephen made me feel even worse.
5. my phone is all screwed up; the auto text picks the most random words and strings of numbers. i'm gonna punt it soon.
6. the Man in the Box fucked up my coffee, again and of course i don't realize till i get up to my desk.
7. i'm back up to 189 lbs. yes, i managed to gain 5 lbs since Thanksgiving.
8. the house is a royal mess. halloween decorations are still sitting in a corner in our bedroom and i honestly have absolutely no desire, right now, to decorate for christmas beyond putting up the tree.
*i can't come up with a viable analogy...feel free to come up with your own. if it sounds good i'll add it in.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
an Open Letter to Mother Mothball
You haven't seen me in a while, and quite frankly i'm grateful. We 1st encountered each other last march when i needed to be in work by 6:30 and working 12 hour days. the buses ran differently, back then, and almost everyone would have a seat to themselves (since it was the ass crack of the morning and all). i'd see you, got up like a sassy coed in your varsity jacket, shoosh-shoosh track pants and pigtails. point of fact: it was your pig tails that 1st caught my eye.see, i'd never seen a 70 year old woman with pigtails before and it disturbed me...it still disturbs me . the next thing i noticed was the smell: mothballs. actually, i think it took me several days of sitting behind/near you to realize that the musty basement/eau d'grandma scent was coming from you. i don't know why i was surprised...but i was. perhaps your vintage varsity jacket was the genuine article, perhaps your pants were made from real WWII parachutes, i have no idea. over the next few months, it was all i could do to avoid sitting near you or standing behind you while waiting to disembark, as the scent made my eyes tear and my throat close up. luckily, work got easier and i was able to take the next bus, and have been, till this week.
imagine my surprise to find that you still take the "early" bus, still wear your band-aid colored hair in pigtails and still reek of an old cellar. the schedule may have changed, buy you remain the same. it was like a visit from that hairy lipped, halitosis wielding aunt that you only see at weddings and funerals. my defenses kicked in and again, i gave you a wide berth. sadly with the change in Atlantic Express' schedule, the bus has been packed and somebody is always forced to share a seat with you. luckily, that someone hasn't been me.
anyway, i go back to my regular schedule tomorrow and probably won't see you for a while...hopefully...but wanted you to know that everytime i go into a thrift store, used clothing shop or hardware store and catch a whiff of naphthalene or camphor, i'll gag, wipe my eyes and think of you...
Monday, November 17, 2008
Runaway
i am not a runner. at my best, i'm a "swift walker".i come from people "built for comfort, not for speed"; short, rather stout, flat footed, and fur covered people. if you're picturing a human sized platypus, you're not far off. growing up, i was never the kid expected to win relay races or last more than 3 minutes in dodge ball; on my pee-wee soccer team i was "left defense", since i was built like a little dump truck and kicked like a Rockette. clearly this seems to run in our genes*.
Anyway, if there's one period of time i'd rather not run, it's 1st thing on a Monday morning. Sadly, that's how i spent this morning from 5:36 to 5:45; 1st running after "the early bus"** to no avail, and then walking the 1/4 mile downhill, to the next stop (where four other buses which also go to 34th street stop). halfway down the hill, i saw 3 of the other buses pulling in, so ran down and caught one, just in time. i collapsed in the seat, sweating a priest at the Cub Scout Jamboree and wheezing, with shin splints. by the time i got to manhattan i was cold and damp and limping and cursing my furry little teapot forebears.
what a way to start a monday.
*Squirt's nickname on her basketball and softball teams is Dead Man Walking. if you want a fly ball caught or a 3 pointer sunk from mid-court, she's your girl; if you want a base stolen or fast court action...um...try some other little girl.
**not my usual 5:59 bus, but the one right before it, which gets me to my desk by 6:45 as opposed to 7:10; one of my co-workers from my old department is out today and tomorrow, so i'm covering his desk as well as doing my usual work, so i wanted to get there early.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Tuesday Morning Revelation (for Those of Us Who Are Behind the Times)
Wikipedia has printable versions!
now i have something(s) to read on the bus (which has been taking 2 hours, lately, to get from Midtown to Staten Island).
now i have something(s) to read on the bus (which has been taking 2 hours, lately, to get from Midtown to Staten Island).
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
an Open Letter to...?
as you know, we've been taking the same bus from Manhattan to Staten Island, for the last 3 years; it's true that we don't see each other every day, but usually once a week, at least. whenever you see me you're incredibly chatty; you've told me about your own children (the cop and the teacher) and your ailing husband's failing kidneys. last march, and this past week, you seemed genuinely concerned about my job. you always ask after my husband and our dog; last year, you were so very interested in the plans for our wedding and offered tons of advice (about everything from the favors to the menu) and your own supportive opinions on gay marriage; in fact i'll admit i was moved by your outrage, on monday, when i told you that we were going up to canada to get married "for real" and then explained that last year's affair was not recognized by the state/federal government. you're pushy but delightful, in a very Jewish Mother (for that is what you are) kinda way.
oddly enough, despite the discussions we've had and the hours we've spent together, standing on line and then riding the bus, i have absolutely no idea what the hell your name is.
you told me once, three years ago, and i promptly forgot it (not realizing that we'd talk more often than i talk to my own mother) and now i feel like an absolute idiot because you know my name and my husband's name and even my dog's name. i've come to think of you and refer to you (to my friends and family) as the Big Haired Blonde Lady from the Bus (you're something of a low-level celeb in my small circle) or sometimes Maude or Stella (since those names seem to fit).
So, i hope i don't offend when i just say Hi or Howyadoin when i see you; it just seems more appropriate than calling you by the name i think you should have.
oddly enough, despite the discussions we've had and the hours we've spent together, standing on line and then riding the bus, i have absolutely no idea what the hell your name is.
you told me once, three years ago, and i promptly forgot it (not realizing that we'd talk more often than i talk to my own mother) and now i feel like an absolute idiot because you know my name and my husband's name and even my dog's name. i've come to think of you and refer to you (to my friends and family) as the Big Haired Blonde Lady from the Bus (you're something of a low-level celeb in my small circle) or sometimes Maude or Stella (since those names seem to fit).
So, i hope i don't offend when i just say Hi or Howyadoin when i see you; it just seems more appropriate than calling you by the name i think you should have.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Y'Gotta Get a Gimmick*
*this is probably the most un-PC post in the history of my blog, but i feel compelled to write it. i apologize in advance to anyone i may will offend.
i've been noticing the homeless alot more lately; not that it's difficult, mind you, when 95% of the homeless i encounter seem to be auditioning for America's Indigents Got Talent. every down-and-outter i see (on my way to, or home from, work) has either a song they're singing (Friday's Karaoke Guy, outside of Macy's), an instrument they're playing (the F train's Saxophone Guy and Little Mexican Man with his Guitar), a dance they wanna share (the 34th Street/Broadway Breakdancing Alliance) or a role they're playing ("I'm homeless, hungry and broke; i've been looking for work since 7am..."). Not even a dyed in the wool new yorker can pretend nothing's happening when (Lying in the Gutter but Looking at the ) Star Search is being performed 3 feet away in an enclosed space...but don't think i haven't tried...
see, the other thing i've noticed is that the singers, dancers, orators and musicians do much better than the guy with a coffee cup and a cardboard sign ("will leave you alone for spare change"). i guess it really is just me, but other New Yorkers are willing to part with their hard earned pennies and nickles in exchange for some low-level entertainment and a feeling of "giving back". the more i hear, the less i wanna give; i just wanna be left alone during my commute. i have an iPod thankyouverymuch; don't wanna hear "Nature Boy" on the sax, or "Blinky the One-Eyed Paraplegic sings the Billie Holliday Song book" and No, Paco, i do not want to buy your cd. maybe i'm a hard-hearted bastard or a cold hearted snake, but combining dinner theater and strap hanging is not a good idea. i only open my pocket to "legit" entertainment: fabulous pre-op trannies lip synching Kylie Minogue tunes, without knowing the words.
i've been noticing the homeless alot more lately; not that it's difficult, mind you, when 95% of the homeless i encounter seem to be auditioning for America's Indigents Got Talent. every down-and-outter i see (on my way to, or home from, work) has either a song they're singing (Friday's Karaoke Guy, outside of Macy's), an instrument they're playing (the F train's Saxophone Guy and Little Mexican Man with his Guitar), a dance they wanna share (the 34th Street/Broadway Breakdancing Alliance) or a role they're playing ("I'm homeless, hungry and broke; i've been looking for work since 7am..."). Not even a dyed in the wool new yorker can pretend nothing's happening when (Lying in the Gutter but Looking at the ) Star Search is being performed 3 feet away in an enclosed space...but don't think i haven't tried...
see, the other thing i've noticed is that the singers, dancers, orators and musicians do much better than the guy with a coffee cup and a cardboard sign ("will leave you alone for spare change"). i guess it really is just me, but other New Yorkers are willing to part with their hard earned pennies and nickles in exchange for some low-level entertainment and a feeling of "giving back". the more i hear, the less i wanna give; i just wanna be left alone during my commute. i have an iPod thankyouverymuch; don't wanna hear "Nature Boy" on the sax, or "Blinky the One-Eyed Paraplegic sings the Billie Holliday Song book" and No, Paco, i do not want to buy your cd. maybe i'm a hard-hearted bastard or a cold hearted snake, but combining dinner theater and strap hanging is not a good idea. i only open my pocket to "legit" entertainment: fabulous pre-op trannies lip synching Kylie Minogue tunes, without knowing the words.
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