Subterranean MTA Blues

A while back the MTA came up with a cost-cutting measure (though I'm not exactly sure how this saves any money) of requiring subway toll workers to abandon their booths and provide customer service on the platform, answering questions, etc. I was opposed to this idea at the time because I think it's unfair to so drastically change people's job descriptions after they've been hired. Now it's been implemented in some stations, including my home stop of Bergen St. in Brooklyn, and I still don't like the idea, but for a different reason: they are the absolute worst customer service people I have ever seen. We had one guy for a long time who looked like he was terrified of being asked a question, and he avoided making eye contact with anyone so that he wouldn't have to. I saw him every day for three months, so I kind of wanted to say hi, have a nice night, but he was always staring blankly ahead, shifting on his feet. Then he disappeared one day, to be replaced by a woman who literally hid behind a pole and talked on her cell phone the whole time. The new guy, though, he's got potential - he actually watches the customers as they exit the train, and he looks like he'd let you ask him a question. But we'll see. It's only his first day.

Um.

Last night my yoga instructor (and yes, I am now officially obsessed with yoga. I realized if I just gave up this stupid writing thing, I could be doing yoga for, like, four hours a day!) said the following. And I quote:

"Feel the beautiful flames shooting from your buttocks!"

In the Mood For Love

Oh, criminy. New York City is creating its own brand of condoms. That Mike Bloomberg, he's never one to miss a marketing opportunity, like the ill-fated parternship with Snapple that resulted in the world's largest popsicle turning into the world's largest soupy mess melting all over the streets of Manhattan. But condoms, now, that's out-of-the-box thinking. I wish I could have seen the shit-eating grin on Bloomie's face when he announced that one. For some reason these condoms are color-coded to match the various subway lines (4/5/6 green, A/C/E blue, etc). I know people pin a lot of identity on their subway lines and all, but I feel like there are times when people should be thinking about other things besides civic pride. If they wanted to stick with the New York theme, why not print pictures of skyscrapers on the condoms? The Empire State, the Chrysler Building, that other building with the nice roof that I never know what it is... They're the perfect shape, the metaphor is hardly a stretch, and as a bonus, it's super classy - evoking a golden age in New York's storied history.

Y is for Yoga

Well, Lazy McGoo is back. I knew it had been a long time, but glory be, I didn't realize it had been almost two months! So sorry, friends. It's because in my mind I'm always writing blog posts. It's also because all I ever want to write about is my adventures at the Y, and I've been incredibly negligent of my exercise routine. But, with new years come new commitments to not turning myself into a bowl full of jelly, so I'm back at my favorite place. And today I did something new: Yoga.

I've taken a couple of yoga classes before (like, literally a couple), and when I was dancing we did a lot of yoga poses to stretch and work on our alignment and such, but practically speaking, I am a total newbie. So I went to a class called "Flow Yoga," which is basically a nice way of saying "Yoga for the Inflexible and Infirm." And I left feeling like my body might dissolve into a sludgy liquid. My legs trembled, my hips felt like they were about to separate from my body, and my lungs felt kind of like someone had taken a metal rod and opened up a little extra space in there -- good and painful at the same time. I have a lot of work to do.

Timber!

I work on the Lower East Side, in the area known to some as Two Bridges (between the Manhattan and Williamsburg Bridges), which is basically the eastern edge of Chinatown. It's one of the less polished places in Manhattan, with a lot of warehouses selling food to Chinese restaurants and sports equipment wholesalers and the like. On Thursday I was running an errand during lunch, and, walking up Essex Street, I passed the remnants of a huge branch, maybe a foot thick, cut up and left on the curb. But when I looked around, there were no trees, certainly no trees big enough to sport this large branch. I considered it vaguely mysterious, but it's the type of neighborhood where mysterious, inexplicable things tend to appear. Now I realize it was a harbinger.

When I finished my errand I returned along East Broadway, walking next to Seward Park. As you may or may not remember, Thursday was an exceptionally windy day (and eventually rainy, too) -- it was one of those almost literally breathtaking winds. So anyway, I was walking along the border of Seward Park when I heard a cracking sound, which, of course, I ignored. Until a few seconds later, when a huge, ten-foot branch crashed to the ground behind me! It actually fell inside the park fence, but it could just have easily fallen on my side and beaned me in the head, could it not? New York is such a dangerous place! Because of the trees!