Intriguing.
Showing posts with label nyc. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nyc. Show all posts
August 28, 2011
August 27, 2011
PDE
We were in the subway station at 8th Ave. and 14th St., heading north on the blue line. There were a bunch of bronze sculptures around, many of which reminded me of the Monopoly guy.
Nice, I guess. Not great art, but I appreciate the effort to make the drab, dirty subway stations a little more interesting. WAIT. Isn't she straddling him? Isn't she totally straddling him while reading a book?
Yes, she IS! I wonder what book she's reading to him. Naturally, let's take a closer look.
Oh my, Mr. Monopoly! Your erection is showing!
Yes, it is definitely, undoubtedly showing. That's a PDE, my dear. And right in the middle of the station! However did it get by the authorities? I love it.
Unrelated, but very cute:
Nice, I guess. Not great art, but I appreciate the effort to make the drab, dirty subway stations a little more interesting. WAIT. Isn't she straddling him? Isn't she totally straddling him while reading a book?
Yes, she IS! I wonder what book she's reading to him. Naturally, let's take a closer look.
Oh my, Mr. Monopoly! Your erection is showing!
Yes, it is definitely, undoubtedly showing. That's a PDE, my dear. And right in the middle of the station! However did it get by the authorities? I love it.
Unrelated, but very cute:
April 28, 2011
Pigeons. In trees.
I was sitting in this park the other day, eating a bagel, and I found myself staring at a tree. Something wasn't quite right.
There were plump, blobby-looking pigeons in the tree! I know! My brain had registered the strangeness before I was even aware of it. Buildings, utility wires, fire escapes...all natural places for city-dwelling pigeons to be. But trees? How odd.
There were plump, blobby-looking pigeons in the tree! I know! My brain had registered the strangeness before I was even aware of it. Buildings, utility wires, fire escapes...all natural places for city-dwelling pigeons to be. But trees? How odd.
April 20, 2011
Being there
I know that some people are never late. In fact, I am well-acquainted with two of them—lovely people who effortlessly manage to arrive a few graceful minutes early to anything and everything, unhurried and unharried. Although I make an effort to be on time and usually succeed, I am definitely not one of those people.
My tendency to be late is the result of two things: chronically underestimating the time it takes to travel from one point to another, and an unconscious dislike of the "wasted" time spent waiting for things to begin (on some deep level, I must think that the ideal arrival time is three minutes till). At this point I am pleasantly early about 40% of the time, punctual or just a couple of minutes late 40% of the time, and definitely late 20% of the time. I'm proud of this, but it requires constant effort and a bit of self-trickery.
And it also requires the occasional hustle. Last week I had a doctor's appointment at 2:30 pm, for which I left plenty early. I took the bus down Lexington, got off around 60th, and walked to 2nd Avenue.
Only to realize that my doctor's office isn't actually on East 60th, it is on East 37th. Whoops! In my defense, the streets look remarkably similar—they are both on the north side of a large traffic-related piece of infrastructure (the Queensboro Bridge and the Midtown Tunnel, respectively)—and I had mixed up the visual memories of the two blocks. He's a specialist, and I've only been to his office once.
But however understandable the mistake was, it was 2:18 and I was 23 blocks away from where I needed to be. I usually walk a block per minute. I had a problem.
My solution was to walk two blocks and run two blocks, and at this rate I managed to arrive, a bit pink in the face, at 2:32. Not early, as I would have liked, but not terribly late either. A borderline case. To get a sense of what I looked like, running in my non-running clothes while clutching a tote bag and a large umbrella, just imagine a penguin in a sack race, and double the awkwardness. Yep, I was that graceful.
Looking at these pictures is reminding me that 2nd Avenue on a grey afternoon is not a pretty sight. Bleh. Spring, where are you?!
My tendency to be late is the result of two things: chronically underestimating the time it takes to travel from one point to another, and an unconscious dislike of the "wasted" time spent waiting for things to begin (on some deep level, I must think that the ideal arrival time is three minutes till). At this point I am pleasantly early about 40% of the time, punctual or just a couple of minutes late 40% of the time, and definitely late 20% of the time. I'm proud of this, but it requires constant effort and a bit of self-trickery.
And it also requires the occasional hustle. Last week I had a doctor's appointment at 2:30 pm, for which I left plenty early. I took the bus down Lexington, got off around 60th, and walked to 2nd Avenue.
Only to realize that my doctor's office isn't actually on East 60th, it is on East 37th. Whoops! In my defense, the streets look remarkably similar—they are both on the north side of a large traffic-related piece of infrastructure (the Queensboro Bridge and the Midtown Tunnel, respectively)—and I had mixed up the visual memories of the two blocks. He's a specialist, and I've only been to his office once.
But however understandable the mistake was, it was 2:18 and I was 23 blocks away from where I needed to be. I usually walk a block per minute. I had a problem.
My solution was to walk two blocks and run two blocks, and at this rate I managed to arrive, a bit pink in the face, at 2:32. Not early, as I would have liked, but not terribly late either. A borderline case. To get a sense of what I looked like, running in my non-running clothes while clutching a tote bag and a large umbrella, just imagine a penguin in a sack race, and double the awkwardness. Yep, I was that graceful.
Looking at these pictures is reminding me that 2nd Avenue on a grey afternoon is not a pretty sight. Bleh. Spring, where are you?!