Posts tagged New York
Posts tagged New York
“That Sinking Feeling,” part 1 in a series of vignettes/flash fiction about New York City.
Nothing ever happens quite the way it is expected to out here. Take subway watching: the metallic, caterwauling arm of the working world and those finding the overwhelming affluence of the Upper West barely—or entirely—unavailable, it rattles into the station opposite the idle car downtown commuters find themselves in. With a jolt, this resting train to Midtown and beyond runs the opposite direction, and it’s like falling out of a dream, waking up twitching and confused in the same place they were before distracted by their own slumber.
This feeling happens all the time, every day, to everyone far more than once. This city is flooded with that frenetic continuity, like water rushing to the necks of everyone brave enough to go outside until they are wading into a riptide, forgetting to breathe as they try to salvage cases full of bad memories, old habits and the vaguest glimmer of survival like a couple of dimes in a Financial District gutter.
This pristine, gray monolith has been ransacking youth and anyone with a penchant deep enough for desperation or a bump of coke since it clamored up from the shambles. It’s been housing petty miscreants and the “undesirables” ever since people of the world heard that Lady Liberty said something about huddled masses.
Huddled, though, implies a flock-like travel between its denizens, but if it’s one thing that it teaches them, it’s how to be lonely and how to live off it—similar to how it forces people to think smart about where they’re getting their next beer. There’s something about that deadening skyline—a bombardment of light and faint sounds someone could recognize even while trapped in the wilds of Jersey—that inspires the most primal bouts of lust and happiness as it’s slowly shrouded by an impending winter, and the streets and residents grow colder than a dead man dropped into the gaping mouth of the Hudson with a poisonous melancholy.
People here, though, have that one saving grace: They dream. Sometimes they get stuck—and some never get out. Sometimes they don’t sleep long enough, sometimes they don’t remember when they wake up, and ultimately, it’s part of that lonesome walk into the riptide holding ratty suitcases over their heads, but they still dream. Dreams in New York usually start when the sun sets and doesn’t get into REM until about 11. These are the kinds of dreams that quicken and become more tangible like the daylight itself. It all ends so abruptly, like the kind of nightmare that stirs the sleeper awake in a cold sweat, but something about it leaves them in a pleasant euphoria bereft of context. It’s fragmented, and the only reference point is falling out of a taxi, the neck-high floodwaters pushing someone out into the street, clutching a fistful of crumpled $1s and slurring about “having everything.” Of course they always have everything, even things as unattainable as the Upper West. If it is to be had, it’s here—if only just in a falling dream.
By Megan T.,
So lots of people started following me this month and now I have 330 followers and have yet to do a giveaway.
I was thinking and thinking and thinking until it came to me: Only In NYC.
Now I have a question for everyone:
If you had a friend visiting NYC and could bring you back only one reasonably-priced item (shippable food counts), what would you ask for?
Every time I want to get raging mad at the New York MTA, I think about the time I waited for Muni for an hour in the dark during a HARSH rainstorm despite the fact that NextBus said it would be there in three minutes.
Did I mention I lived five stops from Balboa Park, so that literally meant they just never released an M train for an hour+?
Someone at Macy’s Herald Square just shouted “Justin Timberlake!” That person they were referring to was not actually Justin Timberlake.
I fucking hate tourists.
Hey, guys. Don’t mind me. Just making a reference post for days when I feel like going out/taking my visiting friends somewhere/trying something new/Becca and I’s foodporn blog, etc. But if you wanna click on the links to the pages to look at cool menus and see pictures of excellent foodporn, that’s cool, too.
More to come soon. Anything to add, followers?
The best part about living in a Latin@ neighborhood is that all the non-Latin@s know Spanish, too. So when I’m sloppy and ordering food at 4 a.m. in slur-y Spanish, it’s not a problem. They can’t answer me, but they sure as hell know what I’m saying.
Sometimes I shock myself when I remember I live in the greatest city in the world.
Frigid days in Manhattan are practically made for soul-warming foods like ramen. The Michelin-recommended Ippudo brand has been on my list of places to try for some time, and two weeks ago I finally got the chance to see what all the fuss was about.
The word “silky” came up repeatedly on the menu, describing their special ramen broth. After my first few spoonfuls, I was actually a little underwhelmed. The broth was simple, not silky. As an adjective though, silky is a subtle quality and the more I got into my large bowl of pork belly ramen, the more I began to see (taste) what they were going on about. It doesn’t bombard your taste buds. The flavor and texture of the broth grows on you. The essence of many pork bones lives in that mysterious, cloudy broth. You need to taste it repeatedly to realize that it is light without being watery, flavorful without being oily. Silky, as it turns out, was totally accurate in describing this terrific bowl of Japanese soup. When you add to that a few slices of fatty pork belly, mushrooms, seaweed and scallions, my Ippudo meal was filling and hearty and lived up to the reputation that preceded it.
See, this is the one on New York. NOW GO. PORK BUNS AND RAMEN AWAIT.
Dear Virgensita and the Big City,
Please drop all the hateful conservatives into the craziest part of NYC so they will see that they are not the only people who matter. Please show them what it’s like to have your humanity tested every day, and to not have everyone pander to your stupidity all day—let alone give even one iota of a fuck about you or what you think. Show them how infinitesimal their existence is in this universe.
I just want to buy tickets now. Release schedules and put them on sale. I’m dying and just want to buy Kings vs. Rangers tickets at Madison Square Garden because I don’t live in California anymore, and I need to see the Kings whenever possible. Don’t do this to me. I thought we were friends. The lockout was enough. Stahp.