I Don't Mind Missing a Record Breaker... No Really, I Don't

New York City in the winter typically sucks. I grew up in Minnesota, where twice they cancelled school due to the 60 degree below zero weather, which was horrible, but generally the cold in New York City sucks. At least the cold in Minnesota is a dry cold, but not the cold in New York. The gusts of wind blow down the corridors formed by the buildings and goes straight down your throat, burning your lungs with it's tiny icicles. It snows in both places. In Minnesota it snows more often and generally starts at around Halloween and continues until April. In New York, the snow is "peaceful" as it falls and people ski around downtown or in Brooklyn for the news cameras or sitting at home listening to jazz or classical music. And then it stops, and turns into a complete nightmare. See, in New York City, there is no place for the plows to push the snow, no front yards or shoulders. Instead the snow just gets pushed into the already covered parked cars or on the sidewalks or most likely right into the pedestrian intersection on the corner so that pedestrians are trapped from crossing the street until they knock down a small pass-through that will eventually wind-up having a river running through it of icy brackish water that reaches your ankles. And all of the pretty white snow that quietly blanketed the city turns into slush and becomes a major headache commute-wise.

This is the reason why I need a vacation by the beginning of February. Due to this, for the past several years, I go to San Francisco for a long weekend the second weekend of the month. This past January was the fourth warmest January in Central Park on record, and at times it reached 60° F. I had a feeling in my bones though. Something said: This will not last; you need to go; get out now! So I did. I packed up two of my friends, and we went for a weekend of mild weather and drinking and boys. Little did I know what I would miss.

In San Francisco, I got some color on my skin, and not from a harsh breeze, but from the sun, which began to warm my skin from the moment that I stepped out of the MUNI. The temperature was gorgeous in the 60s and possibly 70s. But the real pleasure of being away from New York was on Saturday night and all day Sunday listening to the blizzard reports on the TV or seeing the pictures on CNN. In total, 26.9” of snow fell while I was away. Planes were stuck across the world, as there were no planes coming in or out of the Northeast. An additional day of vacation looked to be assured. Although it did not happen, I was happy to be miles away. Unlike the blackout, which was fantastic with the parties in the streets, a snowstorm does not bring people together in the city, instead it keeps them apart. No one wants to leave their apartment and trudge through the drifts and deal with other people. At least I know that I don’t.

In your face, Nor’easter! The best thing about coming back is that I brought the warm weather with me and it’s 57° today.

Avoiding Snowstorms is My Drug.

Bleary Eyed Vacation Dreams... CRUSHED!

As I tend to travel the subway quite often due to the distance between my job, my regular bars and my house, I am assaulted by advertisements for about an hour and a half per day. I am fully aware of Dr. Zizmor's work or "work," as the case may be. I have seen Isobel's before and after pictures for about 10 years or so... she looks like a friend from high school... well the after does... and please allow me to apologize to my friend for that statement. This seems to be an ideal ad for the subway. Imagine walking to the subway through the unforeseen rain or snowstorm with the wind blowing in your face. You get to the top of the steps and hearing the train you make a run for it, because who knows if another will arrive in the next hour. You barely make it through the doors before they close, hopefully not slipping and sliding in the ass-to-elbows crowd. You find a spot and hang onto the pole tightly, trying to avoid any skin-to-pole contact, and you look up and there is Dr. Z, maybe with his wife, she of the big hat, and you say to yourself: You're right Dr. Z, I do look like shit! On the other hand, if that quack thinks that I'm going to trust a fruit acid facial peel that I've seen advertised in the subway, he may be more off his rocker than the imagery of his head floating all omnipotent against a sky blue background and rainbow suggests.

I am also aware of the MANY bankruptcy and immigration lawyers and the many different languages that they speak. I am aware of the schools that teach ESL, the many vocational schools accessible by each and every subway line, and of the School of Visual Arts and the lady with the weird ass dogs. And over the years, a bunch of alcohol that I try to avoid (although I don't always succeed): Bud, Bud Light, Remy, Miller, Courvoisier and even Johnnie Walker.

In mid-January, the Bahamas Ministry of Tourism blitzed the subways with a widespread campaign, taking over an entire car with advertisements to lure New Yorkers to their islands. I went to the Bahamas once, as a senior in college. We stayed on the island of Grand Bahama with all the rest of the college Spring Breakers. I met some interesting people. Coming from the small liberal arts college that I attended, I was in the dark on how other men in college/university behaved and acted. On our first night there, one of my female companions hooked up with, by most simplistic definition, a frat boy. He and his friend came back to our hotel room, where I had retired for the evening. This could be classified as rare, but I had learned the lesson of Spring Break in the Bahamas fairly quickly. It is an island of bars and casinos filled with straight college guys and women who drink until they hook-up, throw-up or pass out. The college guys did not have to work very hard to get lucky with the ladies, and this little homo could not fulfill their needs and could not find the secret homo hangout either. Thus, bored, I had retired to my hotel room to get myself drunk and pass out listening to the ocean.

When my friend arrived with her trick and his friend in tow, I was buzzed and half naked in the living area, on the sofa bed. She introduced the trick's friend to me and then walked into the bedroom with the trick at her heels. His friend, a tall man with a ex-football player's build and a limp, sat down in the chair beside the bed that I was planning on passing out in shortly. We then proceeded to make small talk. He asked what I studied and I replied. I asked in return, and was told that he was in Gynecological Studies. "Oh yes, ha-ha. Good one. Excellent joke, sir." He followed up this bon mot, with the truth that he had dropped out of school years ago and that he had come down to the islands with his best pal to get drunk and bang chicks (that is the polite version of it, his version slurred something which was related to his "studies"). He soon grew tired of the whole sitting, chatting and drinking at once thing, and relegated himself to sitting and staring at me. When he made a move toward the bed, I was not sure if he was going to throw-up, pass out or expand his studies to other organs, but his friend had finished with his own studies in the bedroom and came out at this moment. They left, and my friend and I laughed about the whole experience, agreeing that it was weird, and then promptly passed out.

The rest of the week contained more boys talking about the girls that they were sleeping with and my two girlfriends hooking up with them. We did have some fun going out to the beach and to restaurants, but it wasn't my idea of a fun vacation, mainly because I could not go out and make friends with anyone. So, although pretty in places, the Bahamas are not my idea of a vacation dream.

However, the ads were enough to fantasize about anywhere other than between the larger man taking up his seat and most of mine and the lady who keeps slapping me in the face with her purse. Those pictures have become my little vacation from my morning commute. Of course, leave it to the MTA to ruin my mini-vacation. One of the methods used in the campaign is to give tips on vacation-esque activities that you can do on your commute, which is, of course, not nearly half as fun as the real thing, and that's why you need to come down to the Bahamas to enjoy the authentic activity. These are activities like "Fly-fishing" and lounging on a hammock, as you can see in the article on CNN. Honestly, who's going to attach their cell phone to their scarf using, I believe the term used is, "sticky substance" and then throw it onto the tracks! First of all, I've left the house with my scarf this winter less than five times. Second, I doubt that most people are going to be tossing their phones onto the tracks, adhered to a scarf with sticky stuff or not. In a city where phones are essentially people's lifelines to their jobs and are quickly replacing home phones, that's just silly. Not to mention the fact that a lot of people have the latest and greatest technology, which is usually expensive. The deductible on my phone alone is $115.00, which makes me wonder why I'm paying for the whole insurance thing. On the other objection, the people inspired by the ads to lie down across several seats, are the same people who are inspired to do that without the ads. And if the MTA is going to seriously object to that ad, then they need to enforce the regulation that the ad suggests breaking instead of letting it slide.

So, please don't lock me behind the sliding doors without this brief respite, or else I will have to fantasize about getting a fruit acid facial peel or filing for bankruptcy, while trying to avoid looking at the guy peeing at one end of the car and the crazy lady looking at me as she inches her skirt up her thigh.

Vacation Imagery in the Subway is My Drug.