Freak Show

Today I find myself sitting across from perhaps the scariest of specimens I have seen on the New York subway so far.

This man or maybe boy (I have no idea- it was impossible to even tell which decade he was born in) has the longest, most giant dreadlocks I have ever seen. They form a gnarly cascade long past his knees- incredible. And this is just the beginning. His ENTIRE face- every inch of flesh I could see is tattooed. With what design? I can't tell. He also has multiple facial piercings, including this gigantic grotesque nose plug and cheek studs. The perhaps more ghoulish part of him is his ears. He has those gauge holes only they are the largest most extreme ones you could ever witness. His earlobes are like an elephant's, stretched out to down below his shoulders. The wide gaping holes you could see through are only slightly smaller than a baseball.

He has a lady companion with him-a slight, silent Asian girl. She is freaky too, with dreadlocks that almost match her boyfriend's. Not to generalize, but have you ever seen an Asian girl with dreads? You haven't right?

My friend that I am traveling with swears he sees them take drugs right on the train. I miss it as I am trying my hardest not to look at the spectacle that is this couple.

The Blind

This afternoon I see a blind man on the subway platform. He is poking around with one of those skinny white sticks. I have seen several blind people around before and each time I am completely amazed. The city can be scary enough on occasion even with all five senses- one can only begin to comprehend not being able to see anything.

As he shuffles around me I wonder just how he manages not to walk right off the edge of the platform and fall into the tracks below. I worry about myself doing that and I have full vision. How does he know he is even getting on the right train? The 6 train and not the E train? How does he know he is going uptown and not downtown? Well I guess sometimes they announce it but even if you can make out what is being said you are already committed to being on your way.

It is another one of those mysteries of survival.

Orange and Crispy

This morning on the subway I see a mother and baby. I notice the mother right away- she would definitely fit the definition of a “MILF". Young (or at least “young-looking”), long blond hair, and dressed flawlessly- your typical new Manhattan mother. She even had the requisite 3.25 carat engagement ring glittering away on the hand holding her child to her chest.

The reason she stands out is because she has a slightly unusually shaped head and is extremely orange. The head shape is irrelevant in comparison to her alien tan. When I say orange I mean way to orange for New York. In December. Maybe in south Florida would her degree of faux bronze be acceptable. MAYBE. She is radiating, even worse than the typical Staten Island girl shade of tanning booth (no offense to my readers from this very fine borough!)

The issue that is really compelling though is her infant. It too is orange!!!! Just like mom. What- did she take the baby tanning too? Or maybe she passed down her day-glo hue via womb.

I know I have a subway starting problem, I know I do.

Ken

This afternoon I immediately notice a certain man on the six train. He is dressed for success in a crisp navy Hugo Boss suit with silver cuff links and a daringly bright pink tie. His hair is a wavy but short golden blond (very shiny) and his skin (also very shiny) is tanned like he just got back from Grand Bahama. I keep staring at him as I feel like I recognize him from somewhere. Is he somebody famous? A sitcom actor? Maybe a politician? I am notoriously bad at identifying celebrities on the street.

I think long and hard as the train barrels through the various stations on my way home. The man doesn’t notice me staring; all he is focusing on is not making eye contact with the two homeless guys belting out show tunes (quite well I might add) for handouts in the middle of the car.

I ponder him as I run my fingers over and over the “100% Cashmere” scarf I had just bought for $5.00 from a street vendor minutes before. I know I have seen this man before. It is not until he gets off at 59th street that I get it. KEN! As in Barbie and Ken! If the Ken doll was human he would look EXACTLY like this man. A precise personification. If I could revert magically back to my eight-year old self I'm sure I probably would’ve peed myself with excitement.

Now tomorrow I will just need to find his Barbie.

Beautiful Women and a Girl with a Staring Problem

This afternoon on the 5 train home I study an exceptionally stunning girl. Thin but not skinny, tan but not orange and waxy, symmetrical face, long long dark hair, big eyes and small turned up nose that all the celebrities go to their plastic surgeons to get. I find I stare constantly and probably a bit creepily at attractive women on the subway. Does this make me a little bit of a lesbian? Maybe... I just like to look at nice things, especially when surrounded by a lot of not-nice things, like a subway tunnel. I see a lot of models. Not like big-time Gisele Bundchens but plenty of runway models, and B-list print ones. I can always tell right away- always tall, always striking, always dressed in a way that quite hasn’t come into mainstream fashion yet, and usually with a bored, slightly coked-out expression.


I also see women that are definitely beautiful enough to be models yet are simply just too smart. Dressed up in perfectly tailored business suits they look like they have fun, sexy sounding jobs in public relations, media communications, or publishing. Jobs that either their good looks or their well-connected daddies got them but their intelligence allows them to be successful at. I guess I stare at them too.

I'll Take A 6 Train With a Side of Tits

On the 6 train home this afternoon there is a girl seated in front of where I am standing. What I notice right away is that her breasts are completely busting out of her shirt. She is not particularly slutty looking, or even has THAT gigantic of boobs. They are simply just hanging out.

Ladies and Gentleman tits are on the menu tonight on the 6 train buffet.

Big and white they are really just spilling everywhere. Her boyfriend, sitting next to her sees me staring straight down at them. He is either a) creeped out because I am a stranger and I am staring b) disgusted and feeling that I am violating his girlfriend by looking there or c) excited by the this fact. However I just can’t stop gazing intently. When she finally stands up and gets off at 59th street nearly every man in the car tries not to look at her breasts- bouncing and rolling with every step.

Only some are successful.

Oh Tranny...No?

This afternoon on the six I take notice of a youngish woman seated across from me. What catches my eye right away is her mustache. Dark and foreboding it crusts around her mouth in ways I have only seen on the most mountain of men. What takes it over the top is that she also has facial stubble- a full blown five o'clock shadow...only it is four o'clock (I got out early today due to the bank holiday). Everything else about her is feminine enough- dark skinny jeans and black ballet flats, the fall uniform of nearly every 24-year old girl here in the city.


Now unfortunately being half-Italian I know first hand of having to remove body hair that is a little...darker. I can also understand when old wrinkly ladies have some runaway stays on their face. But this woman has a very long way to go until her golden years. I try not to look but I really have never seen anything like this.


The thought crosses my mind that she is really actually a man...however after almost a year in this city my tran-dar is quite developed and accurate. Despite the facial hair, she is no guy. This is a different kind of being that I have not been able to classify yet. Not a man, not a woman, not a man trying to be a woman, not a woman trying to be a man...


hmmm

Disfigured

This morning I see a woman that I sometimes see on the 4 train during my commute. She has short styled gray hair, is always in a business suit and appears to be in her 50s maybe. The reason I keep noticing her is that she has a disfigured face. If I were perhaps more talented I could describe it to you in great detail but I simply can’t. I just can’t. I try not to look but I cannot help it- I think I am just trying to make sense of it, trying to make myself feel better about a stranger with a horrific face. Everyone knows you shouldn’t stare at people with a disability or deformation. I feel like it would be much worse though to never have anyone make ever make eye contact with you because they are too afraid to look.

Where are the Men?

This morning on the 6 I am in deep observance of the men around me. Well I always am always in deep observance of men in general but even more so this morning. What has happened to the way men dress? I notice that the man sitting across from me, very attractive, you might even say “strapping” is wearing a pink tie with little blue whales. Little blue whales. Really? When did that become okay? I notice another man a few seats down. He is wearing a light purple dress shirt with white cuffs and a darker purple tie. I mean obviously gay men are entitled to a get-out-of-jail-free fashion pass but these men are clearly not homosexual by the way they both stare down a brunette woman with gigantic breasts heaving out of her blazer who has just stepped into the car.


I know this is New York but I really just miss men being men. Leave the creative fashion expression to the ladies of this city- they got it plenty covered.



On another note...I had a few inquires yesterday to what happened to the "sick passenger" on the E train. Truth is, I don't know. They had them cleared away by the time I finally made it to the platform. Usually though, if someone is killed by being hit by a train it mentioned in at least one of the local newspapers, buried deep in the local section. There was nothing this morning.

People Who Go Between Cars

I have decided that only sketchy sketchy weirdoes go from car to car while the train is still moving. For those who are not familiar with the subway, there is a door on each end of the car that opens up to a little bridge into the next car that is out in the open. You are never supposed to open those doors unless (and I quote the fuzzy mysterious subway loudspeaker voice “In an emergency or else directed by the train’s conductor.”


I mean it is against the rules, it is dangerous and it looks like it would be scary. Yet I see people do it all the time. There is just simply no explainable reason to. And the people who do it are always creepy and mysterious looking. Why would one car be better than another? The only answer to that would be if one car is extremely crowded and the next one is not. But when does that happen? If your car is crowded you can bet that that one next to you will be just as packed if not more. Maybe if someone smells really bad in the car? I have smelled a lot of bad bad human odor on a subway car before but it isn’t usually so terrible it can’t be fixed by going to the other side of the car.

A Stock Market Panic and Melon Man

Due to all the drama that is going on with the economy right now it is always an intense scene outside the Wall Street subway stop when I go home in the afternoon. Even though most of the financial firms in the city aren’t even located on Wall Street anymore the media seems to like to camp out there, probably so they can get the“Wall Street” street sign in their news shot. Every afternoon lately the news trucks with their towering antennas are lined up one by one, white and boxy along the curb waiting for more excitement to happen. I think they fully expect office workers to come jumping out their windows as the Dow plunges lower and lower. You also have your scattering of run of the mill anti-Bush, anti-corporations, anti-rich people, anti-everything nutcase protesters milling about. Today was no different, only magnified because of the historical fall of the markets today. I see people with “Die Greedy Wall Street Bastards” signs, staring down us everyday workers who are simply trying to get home in time for this evening’s back to back Jeopardy/Wheel of Fortune.

Today, being a day of extremes, I notice an even larger crowd standing around at the intersection of Wall Street and Broadway. As I try to elbow my way to the subway stairs I notice what they are all paying attention to. I pause for a New York minute (oh cliché!). A middle-age black man is standing up on a box in the center of the circle, shouting rants about the state of the economy. Not that unusual. But what catches my eye is the fact that he is wearing a black top hat with a giant half-eaten watermelon on top. Is it stuck there by glue? Is it balancing? We don’t know.

And so goes another day.

The She-Man Hair Cut

On the way home this afternoon I observe two women standing on the 6-dressed in denim carpi's and sneakers with their Le Sport bags diagonally across their shoulders, tourists of course. Both of their identical dark hair is cut in that she-man style that unfortunately is way too popular among aging housewives in the Midwest. Not to insult anyone aging, a housewife (surprisingly my ultimate goal in life) or from the Midwest but you know what I mean. I guess I do mean to insult the haircut however- no one should have it- e-v-e-r. I mean the only reason I can see, actually never mind I can 't really think of a reason at all. Many ladies keep their hair very short- this is fine, however there are dozens of suitable styles to choose from that are not the she-man. I look at the two women trying to determine if they are sisters with matching haircuts or lesbians. Though if it were the latter I don’t know who would be the man in the relationship.



This is a shallow post. I make no apologies.

Just Another Afternoon....

On the commute home I rush down the stairs at the Wall Street stop only to be slowed by a woman wearing a ridiculous pastel pink dress that looks cross between African tribal leader and Pretty Pretty Princess. She has her hair all done up in little crazy braids that circle her forehead. Her intricate dress is so long it is dragging everywhere on the ground and getting dirty in the subway nastiness. She is going down the steps in front of me, dress slowly pulling behind her. I could so easily step on it and she would wipe out completely. Isn’t she nervous about that?

It is one of those afternoons that you have to literally fight your way onto the train. The 4 is slow coming into the Wall Street stop and as I wait the crowd of men in suits starts to grow until it finally a big gray mob. It is hot, it is smelly and everyone wants to go home. When the train finally comes it's already packed to the brim like a cattle car but everyone sees the small opportunity for a few people to squeeze in. When the doors creak open the struggle begins, elbows flying and shoulders pushing. Normally I would avoid this mess and just wait for the next train to come; however I had to be somewhere and am running late. I nudge my way on, ribs crushing against the gigantic women in front of me.

The car is so packed that I get off two stops later at Brooklyn Bridge to change to the 6 because of how unbearable it is. As I sprint across the platform into the cool openness that is the 6 train I look back at car of the 4 train I had just left. It is such a squishy mass of bodies that I am very surprised I had come out of there in one piece.

Pregnant or Fat? Pregnant or Fat?

This afternoon a seat finally opens up at 14^th street on the packed 4 train. I leap into it, victorious! I look up and see a woman directly in front of me staring me down- she had wanted this seat too. Too bad. But as I observe her I notice she appears to be pregnant. Oh no- I am that asshole. Of course I would give up my seat to a pregnant woman. However the more I look up at her, the more unsure I am on whether she is actually pregnant or not. She is wearing one of those billowy loose tops that actually make most women look pregnant if they weigh over 105 pounds. I would definitely give her my seat- pregnancy confirmed or not but then I don’t want to insult her by implying I am giving her my seat because she is pregnant if she actually isn’t! Isn’t that the cardinal sin of…everything? Think a woman is expecting when she is just chubby? Do you see my dilemma?

Women With Gigantic Engagement Rings

Today on the 6 train home I have too much time to study the large engagement ring of a woman sitting next to me. I find I do this often on the afternoon commute- practically in regards to “stand out” diamonds. It always blows my mind the size of some people’s rings. This woman’s center stone, not even including the rest of the ring had to be at least five carats. I ponder what it would be like to wear such a behemoth on your finger. I have decided even if I marry an extremely rich man I will never, ever wear something that tacky.

I always wonder just how rich these women are. Not rich enough to never have to take the subway apparently. Or maybe they are extremely wealthy like most people in Manhattan and take the subway for its convenience in rush hour midtown traffic. Maybe the woman is just an major diva-type who made her police-officer husband who makes $45,000 take out a loan to buy an engagement ring like that. Or maybe the ring is, gasp- not a real diamond!

One can never know unless you ask. But of course it is never okay to ask a stranger how much their jewelry actually cost and what their life is like. Not on the subway. Not anywhere.

How Many Licks?

This Saturday afternoon, while heading downtown on the 6 train I find myself sitting in the end of the car with a group of three Latino youths. They are talking animatedly about last night’s adventure in their Brooklyn neighborhood and keep referring to each other as “nigga“ in almost every sentence. They are dressed in a trendy 1990s-ghetto-superstar sort of way, with over-sized baseball hats, high-top sneakers with jeans tucked in and bright beaded necklaces. They are not intimidating or even annoying, just interesting. I realize I am wearing a skirt and remember to close my legs. Two of them (along with myself) are completely enthralled in the third’s account of his arrest the previous night and the punishment he received from his ma.

That is some DOPE sh*t mannnn!
Nigga is youse for realz?

I then watch intently as one of them takes his IPhone out of his pocket and starts to lick it.


The youths only pause their conversation when a beggar comes through the doors between the cars. Only super sketch people come through between the cars while the train is moving (stay tuned for more on this subject in a future post). The homeless man announces himself to everyone in the typical manner.

Ladies and Gentleman can I kindly request a moment of your time today, you see I am just
looking for something to eat…..

Blah blah blah. He had a stroke that damaged his liver and kidneys. He can’t work. He has no one to care for him. He isn’t angry or bitter about his situation just hungry and tired. Wouldn’t you please mind helping him?

Out of the corner of my eye I see him go stand next to my boyfriend, who is leaning up against the other side of the car, and stand uncomfortably close to him. My boyfriend squirms slightly but keeps a stone-straight face.

Although he is a bit more loud and piercing than most, I don’t look up. Nobody looks up. Everyone pretends to be reading the advertisement above their seats, a poster with the upcoming fall schedule of an ESL school in Queens.

Parka Man

Lately I have been seeing the same guy in my neighborhood on both my morning and evening commutes. I never see him just standing around- he is always walking, going someplace. He doesn’t look homeless or weird in any way except he is always wearing the exact same thing- a yellow, green and red ski parka and a gigantic fur hat. Like the kind that you think raccoon trappers in 1800s Quebec would wear. Even more incredible is that this is early September I am talking about, with highs near 80 most afternoons.


I do not see him every day, but enough times a week to wonder….Parka Man- WHO ARE YOU?

Two Left Feet

This morning out of the corner of my eye I see a man, in a dress shirt and slacks, moving awkwardly on the 6. He is standing on the other side of the car but I notice him right away. He is swaying and jerking slightly but constantly. Does he have tourettes? Sheltered as I probably am, I have not actually ever seen someone with tourettes in real life. I try not to look but I am nervous and a little intrigued. When is he going to start screaming expletives? Maybe he doesn’t have actually tourettes but is just a crazy person. Or maybe he is on some kind of drug that I definitely don’t know about.


It is only when the train stops and the crowd shifts that I get a better view of him and notice he is wearing an IPod. There is nothing wrong with him after all. He had simply been dancing, slightly swaying in his own little world of mp3.


With moves like that, I certainly feel sorry for his wife.

Untitled

Not too much to report today. This morning I took particular notice to a well-dressed woman in a suit standing across from me on the 5. I only noticed her because she seemed to be staring at me intently (which means she probably was just aimlessly looking at nothing). She was in her early 50s and looked like an executive, clutching her laptop case and blackberry. You know how some people just have that powerful look and you can just tell that they are very important wherever they may work.

Several minutes later I looked at her again and noticed that her eyes were all puffy and she was in fact crying. I wonder how her day could be so bad at only 7:45 in the morning. Maybe she didn’t want to go to work even more than I didn’t want to go to my own job.

This afternoon the same sticky substance that was on the floor of the 6 train a few days ago showed its face again. I wish I knew what it was. Since the spill is way too expansive and to sticky to be soda I have no idea what it even could be. Another 6 train mystery I guess.