"If I Can Make it There, I'll Make it Anywhere..."

In the 14th Street-Union Square subway, there's a man with Alanis Morrisette hair that wears a black leotard, doing an Usher-esque sideways shimmy and high kicks while shredding chords on his electrical violin.

There's a 3-man calypso band that plays in the 42nd Street station who's cheerful rhythm's are usually accompanied by a delighted, yet slightly inebriated woman who'll dance along on the platform, unconcerned by the fact that her train has come and gone, twice.

I've seen a boy who looks to be no older than 10 years old playing concierto's by Mozart, Dad quietly observant a few feet away, on a keyboard bigger than he is at 34th Street.

And that's just underground...

I spilled half of my coffee the other day while reading in Central Park being startled by an unexpected yell piercing the air, followed by "Thriller" booming so loudly on portable speakers, you could feel the bass vibrating through the wooden benches. A Michael Jackson impersonator/B-boy crew. Go figure.

When I think of New York, I imagine the best of the best. The most talented, the most competitive, the most heart-wrenching battle of the survival of the fittest. People from all over the world come here to succeed; make a way for themselves & give their dreams a chance to take flight. And there are indeed a few who go on to to gain international recognition; their faces on the cover of UsWeekly and a 2-minute chat with Matt Lauer on the Today show.

But more often, there are those who push for years. Never getting that "Oh-so-exciting phone call from a famous director or the accidental notice of a multi-million dollar business executive. But they've managed to become celebrities here. Of the people.

There's a man by the name of Craig Schwartz, more commonly known as "RadioMan" who years ago started riding his bike around town from the Bronx to Staten Island popping up on different movie sets; earning his nickname by wearing a radio around his neck everywhere he goes. Irony should have it that even though he appears to be homeless, he probably gets more onscreen work than the typical struggling NY actor (most recently in the Leonardo Dicaprio film, Shutter Island!).

One fact I've come to realize in my short time here is this: You could have dreams of moving here and opening a knitting school for the blind and thoroughly fail in the attempt. But New York city seems to be the only place on earth where you can get right back up and open a disco-themed knitting school for the blind and take off like a rocket.

Mean Dogs

Here I am traipsing down the sidewalk, on my way to the laundry mat, wrestling with my "granny" cart which has been painfully stuffed to it's maximum...Next thing you know, every single one of my unmentionables has spilled onto the street; a few of them skipping down the road having a colorful conversation with the wind. "How did this happen?", you ask? Simple. Your's truly was running from a DOG. Yes, a 20 pound bulldog that had spotted me from afar and had frozen into "attack" stance, waiting for me; Clint Eastwood style.

Observation: There are a few things that stand close to a New Yorker's heart: food, art, social networking, literature & their DOGS. The only problem with that is the fact that no one would dare think of their fluffy companion as a secret, rabid, flesh-eating killer. Today happens to be the third time in a week, I've been lunged at, growled at, snapped at and near-bitten and like always, the human on the other end of leash, releases a string of, (think high-pitched voice, full of surprise & chagrine), "Ohhhhh, my goodness, I can't believe you (insert dog's name)! He's really very friendly, he'd never hurt anyone!!" Really? Never? Excuse me, but your four-legged friend's eyes have just turned red and he's foaming uncontrollably at the mouth looking like he'd enjoy nothing more than to have a go at me much like how the velociraptors went after that helpless cow in Jurassic Park.

And the thing that puzzles me is that people get pretty familiar with their pet's behavior, right?? Soooo, when your DOG tries to mangle some poor child every time you take him out for a walk, call me crazy, but that's a red flag. And of course you insist on using one of those retractable leashes where your DOG can walk, like, 100 feet in front of you and then, when he goes Planet of the Apes on some unsuspecting pedestrian juggling their groceries, you utterly have no control. Naturally then, when someone like me has had enough and hauls off and kicks your DOG in the face, I get arrested & jailed for animal cruelty... Insert Shakespeare quote: "O, I am Fortune's fool!"

Let the record state: I am not a DOG-hater. I honestly love dogs & much prefer them to cats. My parents got a dog a few years ago and I adore her, like she's my own. But really, the badly behaved dog has the same thing in common with the badly behaved child. One common denominator...eh-hem.

The DOG Whisperer is no joke. I don't even have a DOG and I've watched every episode because it's really that fascinating. Watch it people. Seriously. Because one day, someone might just haul off and do something crazy. And they might be wearing steel-toe boots as well...

Twitterpated

Ahhh, spring is in the air, and this is exactly why I missed living in a place that actually has four seasons. Now, that being said, when it's 14 degrees outside and the wind itself seems to be in the mood to play a game of freeze tag with me, I could easily drop that number to three, but then I truly believe the first signs of spring wouldn't be as sweet as they are. Granted, I've had it easy this time around due to the fact I've only had to endure two months of winter in comparison to the rest of New York. But two months definitely makes it easier to understand the guy who's whistling down the street wearing shorts and a T-shirt in 45 degree weather. This past weekend it hit 68 degrees and you could literally feel the shot of electricity in the air; people start smiling more, girls pick up their step a bit and guys get a little bolder in their glances...and we're only in March. I have to admit, it's exciting and slightly intoxicating all at once and the best word I can use to describe it is...twitterpated. For those of you who had to go back and re-read that word, I understand. For those of you who're on my same page, I commend your vast and yet peculiar range of vocabulary. Disney, that's all I have to say.

The only heart-breaking aspect is the false alarm effect...as I sit here and write this the day has arrived gloomy & cold accompanied by a incessant drizzle that's not heavy enough for an umbrella but significant enough to make it impossible to ignore. *Sigh* I always did prefer Stormy to Rainbow Brite and deep down inside wanted her horse to beat Starlight during the big race in the thundercloud...But today, I think I've had enough.

Staying Positive

When I was little, it felt like every few years or so, we'd have to pick up and move. And naturally, I hated it. As a kid, life and death hung in the balance of Saturday morning cartoons and Valentine's day cards so moving was of course, a near-apocalyptic event. The moment we stepped into our new house, no matter how inviting the fresh paint smell or spectacular the view outside my bedroom window, I'd find every reason I could, to hate it. And the sentiment would continue until one day, unbeknownst to me, I'd forget to stop hating. I'd start laughing about something with a friend who wasn't so new anymore and suddenly, not a day would go by where I didn't laugh. And then we'd move again.

So, given the fact that so many of us as adults shy away from change and the unfamiliar, I am trying to keep that in mind as the strangeness of my new surroundings begin to melt into the familiar & comforting.

Oh the irony in the fact that I moved here from sunny South Florida where I was sick of the heat and humidity, not to mention all the creepy-crawlies that came with it. "I miss the seasons!", I would say, shaking my fist at any Floridian who claimed that winter and freezing temperatures were a byproduct of the underworld. And right about now, I really miss the heat. Actually, I should mention that it's warmed up quite a bit since I got here; I can leave the house wearing a mere six layers instead the original twelve...

But I shall hold true to those famous words spoken (sung actually) by Annie dashing around the mansion (and new home) of "Daddy" Warbucks...I think I'm gonna like it here...

Adjustments

So...as I'm sure is the case with a few other million people out there, I've just moved to New York; January 14th to be exact. Considering the fact it took me over a month to actually be able to mentally process the MTA subway map, is indicative of how astonishing an adjustment to New York can be.

The thing is, I know that when I'm on the train, straining my eyes to see what stop we're at there has to be another person on there who's as lost as I am. But something I've noticed and adapted to probably quicker than anything else is what I'd call the "New York wall." (I'm a HUGE procrastinator when it comes to stuff like this and I've been putting off writing my first post for a day and a half now. That being said, it's 6:30am and "New York wall" is the best I can do. A few hours later when I've had coffee and pancakes I could easily be truly horrifed at what I wrote and offer a string of witty apologies to my millions of readers and come up with something that's even worse.)

I think the title in itself is pretty self-explanatory but I'll give you my ponderings to fill in any gaps. The "NY Wall" seems to be a behavior that people exhibit while out in the rumble & tumble of everyday life. For the most part, people have perfected the art of looking disinterested, otherwise preoccupied and even bored. A 15 year old kid jumps onto the train loudly reciting his pitch on how buying his $1 candy will keep him off the streets and no one bats an eye. A three person mariachi band stumble into the car and one of them ends up flying into the metal pole because the train is stopping so abruptly and they might as well be invisible for the reaction people give, or lack there of. A mere two hours off the plane, my first day, I'm sitting next to a man wearing a trench coat on the 4 heading uptown; he stands up, faces the window and starts singing, "I'm a Genie in a Bottle" and licks the door. My head pivoted so fast I lost my balance sitting down. I wanted to see who else was witnessing the craziness; someone who could meet my eye and together, we could come to a non-verbal agreement on the situation and relax back into our personal dealings, but no. No one did anything.

So you see, there is something there. And I could go on writing much more on the subject but it is now 6:50ish AND I just remembered this is Daylight Savings...no wonder I'm extra delirious. I'm going to lay back down and dream about my pancakes and coffee. I love breakfast.