Magic Jewball

On the heels of my recent car-free post, I’ve been reading lately about how the multi-story, suburban style parking structure at the East River Plaza in Harlem is shockingly empty. Now, the shock is on the part of the builder and owner of said parking lot, not of average New Yorkers, I’m sure. East River Plaza is a new-ish shopping center in East Harlem and I’ve been going to the Costco there for about a year, since I started needing large quantities of baking supplies. For a while, Costco was the only tenant but since this was designated as the landing spot of Manhattan’s first Target, I figured I’d be going there long into the future.

Well, to make a long story short, it’s a pain and a half to get there for those of us on the Upper West Side, because anything that involves a crosstown bus in Harlem will inevitably take years off your life. Years spent on that bus. Or waiting for that bus. Or waiting to get on that bus. But it is the only game in town as far as bulk groceries, so I do what I have to do. Today, I headed over there primarily to try the new Target but also picked up a few things at the Costco. In the future, when I need something from Target, I’ll be going back to the one in the Bronx which is a direct shot by subway. Target has a temporary shuttle (it goes till 8/22, a month after they opened) to hype the place but it only took me 1/3 of the way across 116th street, whereupon I waited 20 minutes for a bus, which is crazy in New York, sorry.

But while I was there, I checked out the parking lot which was indeed mostly empty while both Target and Costco were quite busy (there are other stores, Best Buy, Marshall’s, Petco…. I don’t know if they’re all open yet as they were on higher floors and I don’t care about any of them). If you’re wondering, Big Box Stores who insisted on the parking garage, how people are shopping, let me describe the following sights which I witnessed today to you:

• The family filling a little red wagon covered in a blanket.
• The lady walking down 117th Street with a ham under her arm.
• The shuttle, chock full of downtown types.
• The woman looking over the average supermarket size carts at Target in wonder, who said to me, “look how huge these are! They really want you to shop, don’t they?” (hint, if your customer is a person who has never seen a regular grocery cart before, she does not have a car.)
• The large family with each member carrying one bag.
• The innumerable little hand carts.

This all leads me to my letter:

Dear Target,

I have a great idea for all those empty parking spots in your big ugly structure! Why not fill them with shuttles which will ferry us sans-automobiles across 116th St. to all our respective subway lines? It can be every 15 or 20 minutes; I realize 116th is crowded as it is. Then, at night, they can have that whole parking garage to themselves.

You may also want to think about selling little red wagons.

xo
Becca

As for you, lady with ham, I’ll see you on the shuttle.

But you know, I’m supposed to be writing a paper. Plus Facebook seems to just shove these things in your face, doesn’t it? So I was just checking in, because, well, it seems the thing to do in the middle of the night when you should be doing something else. And then I saw it was one of my HS boyfriends’ birthdays today (happy birthday!) and someone I knew fairly well in college (well duh, we’re Facebook friends, doncha know) had sent him good wishes on the day. Right there in my feed: “College Friend -> High School Friend: Happy Birthday!” Weird! How the hell would they know each other? But then I remembered this conversation we’d had when he came back to visit Hopkins the year after he graduated and somehow we got on this topic. I don’t remember if it was, “you went to High School X, didn’t you?” or something similar, but somehow it was discovered that his sister was marrying my ex. This is what happens when you are only 1% of the population. Your college friend’s sister ends up marrying your ex from someplace completely different.

But I forgot about that until this very moment when that wall post brought it all back in a flash. If this were TV you’d see me looking at my computer confusedly and then the picture would go all wavy to Young Me sitting in stunned indignation at the sabbath dinner table of the Kosher Dining Hall. And then we come back to me right here at my laptop gazing at my Facebook feed.

Here’s something I always remember about that ex, though (and I remember a lot of things, believe me). When he got his driver’s license, he drove on over to my house in his beat-up, so old it barely had seat belts, Dodge to show me he could drive, and promptly hit my parents’ car. That’s what bumpers are for! But he was just that kind of guy. Anyway, I went just now to look at the wife of my ex/sister of my friend’s page and what do you know? Her and my ex’s daughter just got her driver’s license this week. The post was “S_____ just passed her driving test! She’d better start saving for a car.” What, no unsafe-at-any-speed mobile to give her?

I refrained from telling the story about S____’s father’s big driver’s license moment in a comment. Particularly since I’ve never met this woman and how many people do I really want to freak out today? Besides you people, of course. But this, my friends, is why you do not need big round numbers to tell you that you are old. Also because the below event, which seemed to be way in the future when the episode came out, is today.

Luckily, just like Lisa, I haven’t aged a bit.

This could be my most inspired song choice ever. Just for a treat, link goes to full song on YouTube.
The Normal – Warm Leatherette

I meant to make special mention of my 5,000th comment and to toot the horn (so to speak) of said commenter except… it was me. Whoops. I mean, go me! What are the odds? But then I realized that 5000 = 5001 in Canadian, what with our poor exchange rate and so…. Woot! Go, Deas! You were my 5,001st commenter! Your prize is: a gorgeous program from Wimbledon and some delightful Canadian chocolate. Oh wait, did you think I’d be sending you that?

Hahahahaha, that would be ridonculous to expect Deas to send me that, wouldn’t it? Except she already did and for no reason except that she’s teh awesome, as we say in the US with our lesser educations. I mean, look at this bounty!*

*there was no Bounty. But look at the Coffee Crisps!

How classy does this program look? Even the tennis is fancier in England.

And you can’t see from this angle, but this thing is like a book, with big glossy pages. It is seriously stunning, like the sun shining on Centre Court. Which never happens but you follow me, I’m sure.

Here are the three best aspects of receiving this in my mailbox today.

1. I was really hungry and desiring of chocolate (but that could have been any day, admittedly).
2. The heatwave just broke and so I did not find a chocopuddle at the bottom of said mailbox.
3. I sort of knew Canadian food items would be coming but I had NO IDEA there would be a Wimbledon program! I was so excited that I clutched it to my chest and hugged it. I’m a little embarrassed about this, so let’s just keep that part between us.

Anyway, xoxo and thanks so much, Deas (and Mr. Deas, who I assume toted it home). I owe you 5,001 expired Metrocards!

And to the writers of my 4,999 other comments (if you’re wondering why the comment count is higher, it counts crazy spam comments, too), thank you all for being the other half if not more of this blog! Because if a post is published in the forest and no one comments… the computer is probably being eaten by monkeys.

Title is the slogan of Canada Post and means, according to the handy Queen’s English provided, “From anywhere… to anyone.” Which could also be the slogan of this blog. Or Measles/Mumps/Rubella.

It is true, I will use any excuse to link to this exciting Canadian artist.
Loverboy – Turn Me Loose.

Sometimes I forget that as a car-free American, I’m unusual. I totally tune out car commercials and people’s online discussions over things like handicapped parking spaces and road rage. I don’t really encounter these issues. I actually enjoy public transportation. Well, mostly. It is hot in the subway this time of year and on those days when the bus or subway stops for no particular reason and you are mashed against other humans with no idea of when you’ll reach your destination, well, I think about cars. But then I also think about traffic and gas prices and having to watch the road ahead of me instead of my app or my book. I think about getting lost, which I always seem to do while driving. That moment of panic as you wonder if this is your exit, with no bus driver to ask. And flat tires and roadside breakdowns. No thanks!

I was already planning this post when, while discussing a possible excursion of mine to an area a few states away, North of the City asked me, “have you researched the transportation there?” Well, of course I have researched it. Down to every possible permutation. Greyhound or Bolt Bus or Chinatown bus or regional rail? Which is the cheapest? Which is the fastest? Which meets up with the local bus of a city in which I have spent no more than five minutes of my life? Researching local buses is by far the most complicated yet interesting part of any trip I plan, in any state or country. The websites of local bus networks are meant for locals and they read that way. Even my own Metro-North site organizes its local trains by “East of the Hudson” and “West of the Hudson.” If I told you to meet me in Croton or in Hawthorne, how would you know which of those to choose? This is what you’re up against when you plan trips by public transport.

But I love doing it. I love the challenge and the planning and the novelty. And then, of course, you have to do the whole process again for the way back. That’s the most important part, really, and I discovered that two decades ago in college, planning a trip to a mall in the suburbs of Baltimore. I loved malls and the one in White Plains, where I grew up, was easily accessible by public transportation. The Bee Line, Westchester’s system of buses, has actually won awards for its coverage and organization. And then I came to the Baltimore area where things weren’t quite so good. I remember phoning the Capital Center in Landover and asking them how to get there by public transportation so I could see the Rangers play. “You can’t,” the guy said to me matter-of-factly. “I mean, you could take a taxi here, but no cab would come pick you up.” That sort of stunned me. How could there be a place not accessible by public transportation? That’s when I became a Baltimore Skipjacks fan. You could get to the Baltimore Arena easily on the #3. You still can, even though the Skipjacks left long ago and they keep talking about replacing it. The Cap Center is gone, though, replaced by an arena that is situated on top of a transit stop. Ha!

But back to the malls. I found that this mall (and I honestly cannot remember which one – White Marsh? Hunt Valley? Who knows) could be reached by bus and I planned my trip. Except somehow, I missed that there was only one bus in the afternoon that returned. Naturally, I figured that out after I had done my shopping and needed to get back to school. And then, and then, I had to go to the ATM and withdraw $40 which was what the cab cost to go home. That may not seem like a lot now, but back then, I had so little cash in my account that I usually couldn’t even use the ATM because it only dispensed twenties and I never had $20. I think I used my credit card to take a cash advance. The only way I could keep from mentally berating myself all the way home was to tell myself that it was a $40 lesson. The lesson was, always plan the way back, too. And I always do now. It seems pretty cheap if you average it over the years that it has stood me well. Good as gold.

I also learned to stick with Owings Mills or Mondawmin as far as malls went. In Mondawmin, which was the closest mall to campus, I was the only white person I ever saw. I remember thinking, “do no other Hopkins students know there’s this mall right here?” And you could take the bus or the subway, a rarity in Baltimore. Weird! Once, on the bus, in which I was also always the only white person who got on west of Hampden, I was walking down the aisle to get to my seat when a guy I had passed sitting in front called out, “I got jungle fever!” Later, I starred in the Baby Got Back video.

Anyway, I may still take this trip, it’s not been decided yet, but either way, it was fun to plan. The way back, too.

Stan Ridgway – Stranded

I’m a bit late with this post, that is, I meant to write it this morning where it could have basked in its anniversary moment. But I was busy with six hours of classes and then the library so I could avoid buying a book which is available there free online. And that’s as it should be, because that’s what I chose to do and this is the day I let the world know about that decision. A year ago today, I gave my notice at work after thirteen years at the company and sixteen in the business. I really chose it because it was the only day with sufficient advance time to the day I wanted to leave that had everyone I needed to tell not on vacation. Summer is hard. And it wasn’t a Monday so I couldn’t worry about it all weekend. But I liked that it was Bastille Day, the day the prisoners were freed from their chains. A year later, I realize that if I had chosen July 10th or 15th, I never would have remembered. It was because I saw that it was Bastille Day on the news this morning (naturally, there were deals to be had at French restaurants; that was the angle) that I suddenly recalled it.

I’d like to say that it doesn’t feel like a year but in fact, it feels like ten years. I barely remember what it’s like to lead a 9 to 5 (or 9 to 7, really) life or to answer to a boss or to care whether music is selling or what’s #1. If it weren’t for Facebook, I’d scarcely even remember the people. It seems like such a long time ago and worlds away from the way I live now. I’m hesitant to give a full on status report when it’s not really a year since I left (that’s in about five weeks) but suffice to say, I am thankful every day for the opportunity to do what I am now. In fact, I decided to stay on another year (I was supposed to finish in May 2010) because, quite frankly, this is like a vacation and who wants to go home? Also, because I feel like I just haven’t learned enough and am not quite prepared to start a new career. So onward we go to May 2011. Money will be even tighter and we’ll see just how far I can take a bag of dried beans. But it will be worth it, I know. Even if I lost everything today, it would be worth it. It’s just that good.

The funniest part, to me, is that I’ve always hated school. I used to say, after I was working, that my worst day at work was better than my best day at school. But maybe like youth, school is wasted on the young. When you’re an adult and you get to answer only to yourself and study things you like with other people who love it as much as you do and professors who are passionate about it, too, I mean, how much fun could putting together a spreadsheet for The Man be in comparison? Well, no, I still love spreadsheets. That’s a bad example. But I do remember calling Sarpon and crying to her on the phone on the night of the 13th that I was making a giant mistake and what the hell was I doing? I can’t remember anything she said but I do know one thing for sure: she was right.

I hope when the next stage comes along, I remember this part well. I have a feeling I’ll really miss it. Except for the beans.

The Plimsouls – A Million Miles Away