Filed under: 10014, New York City, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street, West Village, West Village Manhattan
Taken May 30, 2015.
Filed under: 10003, 10009, East Village, East Village Manhattan, Hooliganism, Street Justice, Subway, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street
This sullen utterance of revolt was spied and captured at the First Avenue station of the L train after a pleasant, if brief, jaunt into “the city” today. It should be noted neither of the Metrocard machines in the background were 100% functional. The one on the left was not accepting bills. After discovering the card slot seemed to have something lodged in it, I patronized the one on the right. That one was unable to give receipts. As Kurt Vonnegut would say:
So it goes.
Much has been written about the recent subway fare hike. Some of which— such as this, for example— is quite good. I thought about the previously-linked tome while paying $2.75 for ingress to the Crosstown Local. Upon entering the G train I thought about it a little more. You see, something was amiss. However, instead of merely saying something I elected to do something. We’ll get to this shortly.
To preface, I and many others find the recent subway “etiquette” posters amusing. One fellow has gone so far as to create parodies of them. Today when I entered the G I realized we are not only subsidizing all the stuff as outlined in that Medium.com polemic. We are also paying for a “public awareness” campaign that is quite frankly worthless. I had this realization when I eyed a young woman, earbuds in/iTuned out, occupying an adjacent seat with her handbag and using yet another seat as a personal ottoman/footrest.
Here’s the deal, folks: if the subway car is not crowded (and in this case it was not), I am not going to be an asshole about “bag-spreading” on seats. But the “shoes on seats” shit? No. Not just no, but HELL NO.
As if the last winter’s melange of accumulated snow/slush and the archaeological record of accumulated filth it created was not ample enough evidence of exactly what we tread upon every day while pounding the pavement, this should suffice. The subway is already a dirty enough place. Someone has a slice and/or a “cold” and swipes— such “exposure” is pretty much unavoidable. Or at least the “exposure” is understandable. There is no need to make matters worse by putting your feet on the seat.
To illustrate my point I bee-lined over to the “ottoman” in question. I did not verbally engage the person in question. I did not take a photo of her. What good would that do? Instead, I simply rolled out what I call “the butt of justice”. I made a slow motion of sitting down in said seat. Despite not acknowledging my presence in any way, shape or form, she did move them.* Does the story end here? No. It only gets better.
At the next stop (Nassau Avenue) a significantly larger number of people enter. My fellow subway patron saw fit to remove her bag so someone could sit. Good move. A couple of older (50-something and I presume Mexican American gentlemen) followed. One had a guitar, the other an accordion. They commenced to play this song:
I know “showtime” is also something the MTA is asking citizens from which to refrain. It too is ignored. Then again, I rather like mariachi music. I assessed the situation and came to the conclusion that if my fellow subway rider can see fit to occupy no less than three seats (spreading god only knows what on one of them) why shouldn’t these fellows be allowed to infringe upon “subway courtesy” as well? If we are going to establish rules/a code of conduct, it should be applicable to everyone— not just subway “entertainers”— and enforced.
Thus, I dug around my bag and found a dollar. I held it up high. What followed was precisely what I was hoping for; they came over and played music for my personal enjoyment. Much to my space pirate’s/germ spreader’s displeasure. It is pretty much impossible to “tune out” a fellow playing an accordion maybe one foot in front of you. If there is a lesson to be had here— and I suspect there are several:
“Courtesy” cuts both ways.
This was the best use of $3.75 I can recall in recent memory. Thank you, M.T.A.!
*Unlike the first fellow upon whom I tried this tactic. He actually had the temerity to complain I was sitting on his feet. I explained to him that if he did not want someone sitting on his feet, he should not place his feet on a seat. Once we got that whole “this was not an accident” presumption/assumption on his part cleared up— and that I was not going to move— he removed them.
Filed under: 11206, East Williamsburg, East Williamsburg Brooklyn, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street
I went down by a different staircase, and I saw another “Fuck you” on the wall. I tried to rub it off with my hand again, but this one was scratched on, with a knife or something. It wouldn’t come off. It’s hopeless, anyway. If you had a million years to do it in, you couldn’t rub out even half the “Fuck you” signs in the world. It’s impossible.
(Taken January 21, 2015.)
Filed under: 11206, East Williamsburg, East Williamsburg Brooklyn, Gentrification, The Natives Are Getting Restless
I damned near shot beer out of my nose when I read this corker. I do not think I need to explain why: the first line of this tome pretty much says it all. Nonetheless, I do feel compelled to reiterate the “Schwick” is actually not located in Bushwick. It is in East Williamsburg. It would appear DNA.info is not the only one who has has made note of this.
But of course we all know the “Bushwick” brand is much edgier— and by “edgier” I mean lucrative. So they’re gonna roll with it. Geography be damned! Hell, if even Vogue has jumped on the Bushwick bandwagon you know someone fearful of Boca Raton will make the journey to north Brooklyn’s “hinterlands”. What’s more, they’ll consider themselves “brave” for having had the experience.
The Shwick: It’s Bushwick, curated, so you do not have to deal with people outside your age group, race or class!
You know, the very folks who made this community worth visiting in the first place. Who wants that?
Filed under: 11211, 11222, Culture War, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street, Williamsburg, Williamsburg Brooklyn
North 10 Street, 11211
Dobbin Street, 11222
Taken August 30, 2014.
Filed under: 10003, Greenwich Village, Greenwich Village Manhattan, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street
Taken August 16, 2014.
Filed under: 11222, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Street Justice, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street
The anti-Airbnb rhetoric at the Greenpoint Avenue stop of the Crosstown Local continues! I am certain this sterling operation will be pleased that as of midnight, July 26th, service will be suspended for five whole weeks. I imagine this will buy them some (more) time to hire more lobbyists and retool their laughably bad advertising campaign? Maybe they’ll even read this? I can only hope so…
Filed under: 11237, Bushwick, Bushwick Brooklyn, Class War, Culture War, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street
It is fascinating (to me anyway— and not in a good way) when I see sentiments on a sidewalk which echo a snow globe I made not terribly long ago.
Of course now that Greenpoint and Williamsburg have become prohibitively expensive folks have to move somewhere. And with them come selective enforcement…
Filed under: 11222, Crosstown Local, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, Street Justice, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street
Taken July 18, 2014.
Filed under: 11222, GENIUS, Gentrification, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic, The Natives Are Getting Restless, The Word On The Street
The truth hurts.
(Taken July 16, 2014.)