My Observations in NYC

Today I had to take a trip far, far away to...Brooklyn. Or as I often like to call it, Crooklyn. It was just to Court Street, which is barely a stop away from Manhattan, but it just SEEMS like so....far....awaaaaayyyyy. I'm such a crappy New Yorker. (Are Bronxites even considered New Yorkers? It's not like we live in "The City," which only ever seems to refer to Manhattan.) Going into "The City" from Da Boogie Down B-X always feels like such a chore for me, so having to go to Crooklyn today felt like a downright voyage. I spend waaaaaayyyyy more time in Westchester pretending I have money and class and stuff than in The City. Because, well, it smells. Even the nicer parts smell. And the trains, ugh. And the prices? Blah. And...well, I could go on and on, but I'm getting sidetracked here. Anyway, I met my sister for lunch later on in the great Borough of Manhattan, the most densely populated county in the U.S. of A., so I made a day out of it.

I packed the essentials...a bottle of water, sunglasses (so it wouldn't look like I was looking at anyone on the subway), a nail file, pepper spray, a tattered Harry Potter book that I've already read 17 times. Okay, it wasn't pepper spray, it was Binaca, but I bet it would still burn if spritzed in someone's eyes so it serves the same purpose. And then I was off on my journey. My expedition. My great outing to King's County. Yippee.

Mostly I tried to mind my own beeswax, but I did make some observations while sitting in that subway car for hours and hours and hours. The first observation was noted as I was trying to avoid any and all eye contact and that's why it involves the topic of...TOES. Here's the thing folks, sandals are a priviledge, not a right. If you are one of the chosen ones who are allowed to wear sandals, it should be under the pretense that you GROOM YOUR FEET. I don't want to see crusty soles with grody toenails. Why would you think this was okay??? The elderly are often the biggest offenders on this one, but today I saw a seemingly clean, barely middle aged man in a polo and khakis and sandals with the nastiest, freakiest thick gray damn toenails! I stifled a gag for goodness sakes! Man up and get a pedi, dude, or throw on some loafers! People are so nasty. Anyhoo...

My next observation is about those kids who come on the train with candy and say "Hey yo, Mah name is Blah McBlah and I'se sellin' candy. I ain't sellin' it fo' no basketball team or no football team, I'se sellin' it fo' mahself so I can stay outta trouble. So please buy some candy, I got sour Starburst, Skittles, Peanut M&M's, all a dollah so I can stay off da streets." You've got to appreciate the honesty, I suppose, but as hard as I try to sound refreshed at the startling truth, I can't help but notice these mofos are wearing sneakers that cost at LEAST three times more than my own kicks. Then while he walks away, he plugs up his ears with the headphones to his Ipod. Then I choose not to buy the damn candy, and I consider tapping into this market myself. Kid is clearly onto something.

Thirdly, I firmly believe that Manhattan should not be allowed to have decorative water fountain displays in places where there are no available restrooms. You see the pretty water, you hear the pretty water, you can't find a place to pee. Not nice, Mr. Bloomberg, not nice. I expect you will be speaking to your City Planner about this ASAP. K-thx-bye.

Fourth-WTF is up with the Duane Reades on every effing corner? There are CVS's, and Rite Aids, but no drugstore seems more prevalant in The City than Duane Reade. How did they even stay in business that way?

Lastly, I hate how those pretzel stands smell so wonderful at noon, but by the time 5 pm rolls around, they permeate the air with the smell of burnt dirt. It's revolting. And okay, I don't really know what burnt dirt smells like, but I imagine it would be pretty much like that. The odor gets in my clothes, in my hair, and by the time I get home all I want to do is take an exfoliating shower to scrub off the grime. Maybe two showers if the first one doesn't take. Do Manhattanites become immune to this smell after a while, I wonder?

I noted plenty more than those few observations, but my allergies seem to have become exacerbated by the toxic fumes of The City and unfortunately the sweet fresh Bronx air is, well, neither sweet nor fresh so it's not helping. For these reasons and the fact that I just gosh darn feel like it. I deem this blog post done. DONE I SAY!

Edited to add: I don't HATE NYC, guys, I really don't. I'm just not...built for it. I'll love it forever for it's wide selection of international cuisine, for that alone it can not be surpassed.