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Saturday, March 28, 2009

City loyalty

Pittsburgh is my hometown, and I am proud of that. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to transfer that loyalty, no matter where in the world I live. When the subject of football comes up, I am the first to identify myself as a Steelers fan. I will always have a special pride in things that are uniquely Pittsburgh, from the Original Hot Dog Shop, to the Carnegie Library, to the Point, to all of our awesome bridges.

Still, I think living anywhere for a significant period of time contributes to my sense of identity and, consequently, creates in me a sense of loyalty to the place. I wouldn’t say I developed a sense of loyalty to Rochester “the city,” since I never really explored the community in any in-depth way, but my identity certainly includes the fact that I am an alumni of the University of Rochester. I am very proud of this aspect of my identity, and I will speak enthusiastically with anyone about how great it was to be a member of the swim team, the wonderful open curriculum, and special U of R traditions like Meliora Weekend and Dandelion Day.

Similarly, if anyone asked me about my time studying abroad in England, one of the first things I would say is how grateful I was to have been forced to live off-campus, in the town of Brighton. Initially I was horrified at the prospect of being excluded from “campus life,” since, I had found this so valuable while living at U of R, but the more time I spent in Brighton, the more I fell in love with it. I’m sure that, had I lived in London, I would have grown equally attached to that city, but because I spent my six months in Brighton (when I wasn’t travelling to other parts of Europe, that is), I emphatically asserted afterwards that I was glad to have lived and studied in that town instead of in the big city of London. It gave me a much more relaxing, town-y, “English” experience.

Now I’m in New York City. I don’t think I will ever be able to say I am from New York City, or at least not for the next twenty years or so (I am constantly being called a “tourist” by my NYC friends), but after having lived here for the last nine months or so, I have again developed a sense of rapport with this city.

My first realization of this newfound loyalty occurred when I went to visit a friend in Boston. I had never been to Boston before and was quite eager to explore a new city. Unfortunately, I did not end up seeing much of the city that weekend, as R___ and I mostly went out to eat, walked around Harvard, and hung out at his apartment. However, I did get a general feel for how Boston differed from NYC. The subway system was one major indication. It was so small! Consider this map:

vs this map

Obviously NYC has infinitely more people to cart around, but Boston must be a significantly smaller city, as well, to have so few lines serving such a limited area. And it was tremendously frustrating to have to wait for a train for twenty minutes on a Monday afternoon just to travel one stop!

Another difference that caused me to realize my partiality to NYC was Boston’s lack of resources or, by comparison, NYC’s abundance of resources. On one evening, R___ and I wanted to go buy cookies to eat while we watched football with him and his roommates. Apparently, there was only one possibility within walking distance: a small convenience store located two blocks away. This arrangement alone wasn’t too shocking—if I had wanted cookies at 9p.m., I would have walked to a convenience store near my apartment, too. Even the singularity of our options—one convenience store—I could understand: outside of NYC, it probably wasn’t normal to have three convenience stores within one block of cityscape. What was shocking was the limited number of choices inside this convenience store. The shelves were nearly empty! I am accustomed to shelves bursting with product: fresh fruit spilling out of bins and bright drinks filling coolers jammed along walls. This convenience store looked like it was about to go out of business the next day. We took the last package of Chips Ahoy, grateful that there were even any cookies available, and R___ tested two lighters before finding one that actually worked. As we left, I absently wondered if this was even a 24-hour convenience store or if, had we arrived one hour later, it would have been closed. How unusual, to have cities with bedtimes!

Which brings me to my next trip: Washington D.C. My bus arrived late, putting me into the city at midnight (instead of 10 p.m., when it had originally been scheduled to arrive). My friend K2 met me at the station in order to take me back to her apartment before setting out again to pick up our other friend, K1, from the Reagan Airport. K2 seemed a bit on edge, and when I asked her about her mood, she said she was worried about what time K1’s flight would arrive. Why? Because the DC metro shuts down at a certain time! My mind immediately jumped to how inconvenient my life would become if the NYC metro ever shut down. And to think that I gripe about alternate weekend schedules and limited services after midnight….

To its credit, DC’s metro is incredibly easy to navigate; the next morning, I was able to hop right on and off without any confusion in order to meet my friend Lexi Devourat L’Enfant Plaza (or, as I prefer to call it, Elephant Plaza). Unfortunately, this ease of navigation is also a limitation, as my resident friend K2 tells me that a car is a near necessity to access certain areas of the city, and that one derailed train will disrupt the entire system. Fifty percent of my reason to live in NYC is in order to avoid owning a car! If one derailed train delayed the every other train in the system, NYC companies would have to do away with start times (which may not be nearly such a bad thing)….

Here is the DC metro map, for comparison:

Finally, one last thing must be said about each of these cities’ metro systems or, actually, about their physical structures. Boston’s cars are quaint and homey-looking. They remind me more of old-fashioned train cars than underground subway cars. The cars’ exteriors resemble trolleys, and the train stations are enormous, cave-like places. DC’s cars are a bit more modern, but much more posh, with bright orange, red, or blue cushioned seats. The floors are even carpeted. Additionally, these cars are built to be “handicapped friendly,” which basically means the centers are wide open spaces where there is nowhere to hold on during rush hour. DC stations, however, are extremely similar to Boston’s stations, with high ceilings and smooth gray stone walls. The primary difference in DC is that every station has more escalators than stairways. A city primed for lazy tourists…? NYC’s cars, compared to the subway cars in these other two cities and have gritty uncarpeted floors, are usually dimly lit (unless you are fortunate enough to catch one of the newer ones with the florescent lighting and automated station announcements). They are designed for one purpose: to squeeze in as many people as possible. Moreover, NYC’s subway cars are ten times more advertisement-plastered than either DC’s or Boston’s cars. Although if you want your product to be seen, I guess you have to advertise in the place where most people will see it. The most crowded city in the world’s transportation system is probably prime for that!

So when all is said and done, I cannot help but find myself partial to NYC’s metro system. Ours is the biggest, the most efficient, but also the most complicated. If you can navigate the metro system in NYC, you can navigate the metro anywhere. (Except perhaps in Greece. Any country where you don’t speak the language—that barrier trumps all. Trust me—been there; done that.)

Friday, March 27, 2009

Warm Fuzzies #6: Rainy Day Heroine

There is nothing like a writing-related compliment to brighten up my day. Pair that with a compliment on my athleticism, and you'll really have me grinning. (And if you throw in something about my cooking, you might have my goodwill for life....)

I write the "Daily Running" emails to a group of runners at work, which usually consist of reporting the weather, saying some vaguely motivational thing to inspire people to go out and run, and basically starting the "conversation" for everyone to pair off on their afternoon jaunts. Today, for whatever reason, I was feeling particularly creative. The email went something like this:

Subject: Flaming Friday run

And by flaming, I mean toasty warm (--J___!). 65°F and sunny—we can pretend summer is nearly here!

*Ad*

Sick of all those New Yorkers swarming around you? Desperate to feel ALONE? Your solution is here! Buy RUNNING IN THE RAIN! You can have your very own personalized rainy-day run scheduled for any evening hour, at the low price of $19.99—tax included! Bonus: cold temperatures will be thrown in for free, ensuring that even fewer runners will be out to impede your solidarity. The later the hour, the more alone you can feel! We guarantee you will not pass more than five runners at any one time, and you can go for stretches without seeing anyone (including yourself, if you wear black), which is unheard of in this jam-packed city. Wear earphones, and you can even block out some of that irritating city noise.* Call soon, because the cold dark days are running out fast!

1-800-RUN-RAIN


*Music, earphones, and other equipment provided at additional cost. See store for details. If you can find it…

The reaction that made my day was a response email that went like this:

You are my heroine, both for sending the daily call and for running that long, alone and in the rain. You should save a copy of this e-mail and add it to your resume; you definitely have marketing copywriting skills.

Last Night's Real Run

19.88 miles? In 43 degree nighttime rain? That's close enough for me.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

It better be 20 today....

Today's rainy route is scheduled for 6-9 p.m. in boring old Central Park. Usually I wouldn't do the long run on a weekday, but I really don't have any hope of getting it done this weekend, so it's now or never. Hopefully I won't get dizzy, making so many circles. Luckily for me, I have a baggage man (i.e. superathlete who will first swim and play ping-pong at one gym and then play volleyball at another) to hold my things at the finish line, when I come panting and dripping into Braindeis to pick up my things. (No, they will not magically transport themselves from Chelsea uptown.) I am so grateful to have friends. I can't say I'm nearly as grateful for the impending rain....

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

A Story of Persistence

So if three years ago a guy tells you he’s interested in you, and you kindly but firmly tell him that you don’t feel that way in return, and if he insists that he would rather be friends than nothing at all—even though you offer to extricate yourself from his life, if that would make things easier for him—you would hope that would be the end of the issue once-and-for-all. Even if he repeatedly asks you (“just out of curiosity”) “why you are not interested in him” and “what makes you interested in other guys” and “which guys you are interested in” over the next few years, you hope that he really is just curious, and you try to give him the benefit of the doubt, in spite of your nagging intuition and your even more nagging friends. (“What are you doing? Of course he’s still in love with you! What guy asks those kinds of questions otherwise? Why are you putting up with this? Ditch the leech!”)

But then he comes to visit you, and he doesn’t just stay for a weekend; exactly five days before he is scheduled to arrive, he informs you he’ll be staying for an entire week. Fine. If you paid for a ten-hour bus trip and had the time to spare, maybe you’d want to stay for a week in New York City, too. Of course, you might not be nearly so keen on staying so long if you knew that your host would be at work 80% of that time, but I suppose there is a lot to keep a first-time tourist occupied in the Big Apple, so perhaps this guy figures he can successfully occupy himself for the entire week.

However, if on the third night of his stay, your visitor throws himself facedown on your bed and confesses in an agonized voice that he wants to kiss you, what would be your logical conclusion? Regardless of whether you deem him still hopelessly in love with you or simply overcome by lust for your irresistibly attractive body (because you can’t help but look unbelievably hot in your men’s sweatpants, free Kraft Macaroni and Cheese T-shirt, and glasses), you have to choose some sort of reaction. Some people may demand that he leave, deciding that the awkwardness is too much to bear. You don’t want to be a bitch, though. In a way, you can sympathize with the guy; you’ve been in that sort of position before (although you’ve certainly never told the non-reciprocating object of your affections that you wanted to kiss him, and certainly not while staying with him in his apartment). So you perform a sort of conciliatory pat-on-the-back I’m-sorry-you-feel-that-way speech, complete with apologetic smile and intentional three-inch addition of personal space. And hopefully that’s the end of the situation.

But no, he brings it up the next night, wanting to know what your reaction to his proposition/request/confession was. In irritation, you wonder: wasn’t it clear when I didn’t jump on top of you and start sucking on your face? But instead you reach deep inside for those reserves of patience usually saved for small children and irritating customers and explain to him that he was right in not trying to kiss you, because you have not changed your opinion, that you thought this subject had been resolved three years ago, and that your feelings have not changed. Now, you are positive, the issue is closed.

But no! The next night, when you are reading yourself to sleep, he comes into your bedroom and announces, “I am going to do something really random.” Being your witty self, and knowing how he would probably be watching television at this time of evening were he at home, only he can’t because you don’t own a television, you ask, “What, read a book?” And then suddenly, he’s standing looming over you, zeroing in on your face. Logically, your mind flashes back to the previous nights’ conversations and goes, ”WTF???” and you instinctively duck, burying your head in your arms until, in a hurt voice, he says, “Hey, I was just going to kiss you on the forehead.” Really. On the forehead. Obviously you should have known that, because there was a billboard, “Don’t worry—he’s aiming at your os frontale, not your oral cavity,” flashing overhead the whole time, which you somehow managed to miss.

So now it’s over, right? One would think that this must be enough humiliation for him. It would certainly have been for me. I mean, the first rejection three years ago would have been enough for me to put the brakes on, but then maybe I give up too quickly. (Perhaps this is also why I’m still single. No peanut gallery comments, please.)

As you may predict from the pattern thus far, however, the story has not yet ended. In he comes, ten minutes later, after you’ve shut off the lights and buried under the covers to hide from the world and all that has transpired.

“Are you awake?”

“Yes.” You grudgingly emerge from your safe blanket haven.

“I just wanted to say something about the kiss thing.”

Why? “Okay.”

“I know you’re probably worried I’m trying to date you or whatever, but I’m not. I just . . . I just wanted to see what it would feel like, you know?”

You what?

“I was curious.”

You let the silence build. What are you supposed to say? He was curious? This sounds more like a cop-out than anything that has been said or done thus far. It’s one thing to try to “make a move” on a girl, or to even ask permission to make a move. It’s another to “raise the issue of making a move” and to then try to say you were only interested in “seeing what it would feel like” if you had done it. What does he think this is, Bill Nye the Science Guy? We are not friends with benefits. You don’t kiss a girl because you are interested in what it feels like.

So, the lessons to take from this story are:


  1. If a girl says she’s not interested, she’s not interested. Really.
  2. If a girl says she’ll be your friend, she will be your friend. But don’t push the issue any further. Please.
  3. If you try to kiss someone and fail, don’t make excuses two days later. Just drop the subject. We’ve all experienced this mortification, so we all understand the desire to justify ourselves.
  4. If you think you’re immune from showing up on this blog, think again. The good, the bad, and the ugly—it all has a chance of appearing here. Again, comments are welcome!