Walking down 22nd Street in Chelsea, I noticed two guys surrounded by a cluster of paint cans, standing at the end of the block. I quickened my pace, giddy with anticipation. Nothing about the pair suggested they were house painters, no, no, these were artists through and through.
“Wow, what did you paint!” I asked, my curiosity trumping my Jaded New Yorker self. Hey, what artist doesn’t love talking about their work, right?
They smiled, pointed up, “We just finished.”
Giant cameras strapped around their necks, binoculars clipped to their back packs, they walk in pairs or groups, all attired in sensible footwear. The tourists of New York City are easier to spot then red cardinals contrasted against green leaves. But there’s a certain group of New York locals that bare the above description as well. They share a hobby you’d never expect to find in the concrete jungle: birdwatching.
Bird watching in New York City? Does that mean covering yourself in birdseed and waiting for the throngs of pigeons to descend? Read More
Looking at the two of us, you might’ve decided, “He’s a douche bag and she’s a dumb blonde.” You’d have been at least half right. We had nothing in common on the outside but everything on the inside.
The table cloth of our first date might as well have been a red flag. He suggested a little French bistro on the Upper West Side and I was intrigued. Who was this man and who did he think he was, suggesting dinner on a first date? It’s 2016, no one does that! He must be a romantic!
It’s that time of year. Every May, after the last white cherry blossoms blow off the trees, men in white hats blow into New York City. Expect seamen jokes from every media outlets and most ladies in Times Square. That’s right folks, it’s Fleet Week NYC. The ships arrive today and stay through Memorial Day.
Expect to hear that phrase a lot this week. What is it about men in uniform? Especially the sailor suit that harkens to what two year-olds wear to weddings? I have theories:
There are two types of people in New York City: those who have read Harry Potter and those who missed out on the most magical cultural phenomenon of the new millennium. The former pity the latter occasionally lug their giant hard bound copies of Deathly Hallows onto the subway because nothing makes a commute go by faster.
If they find themselves in a group of like-minded individuals, the topic may very well come up. Especially after a butter beer or two. What’s your favorite book? Can you believe what JK said about Ron and Hermione? And my personal favorite: What if New York City was Hogwarts? How would you sort the boroughs into Houses? Questions as open for debate as election season. Read More
I had the best commute of my life last week. That is an insane sentence, I know. But 100% true.
In NYC commuting means smooshing yourself in a sardine-packed subway or watching the meter tick higher and higher as you sit in a taxi in stand still traffic. When I worked an event on Ellis Island, however, commuting meant boarding a ferry and enjoying the journey to work like a sightseeing tourist.
There’s a little tramway that runs next to the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge. A little red tram car runs across it, from Manhattan to Roosevelt Island, several times an hour. I heart this tram. Oh course I do! It’s my favorite color! It let’s you rise about the city! It’s the best of public transportation (tramsportation?)!
