Only in New York! (II)

So I'm coming home from an afternoon screening of Star Trek, and on the subway I'm thinking how wonderful it is to tell nice stories and to inspire people and have hope for the future and how if there was an actual Starfleet I might sign up, but how is that different from the US Army? And there are a number of reasons why, because Starfleet is about exploration and not about combat and it'd be nice to have mad skillz and then there's civic duty and also it's good to have a noble cause and then wouldn't you know it, some jerk comes on the train and ruins everything.

As I've said before, it's sometimes hard to tell if a person is homeless or crazy, and in my several years in the city, I've learned it's just best to keep your head down, turn your music up, feign sleep, and in worst case scenarios, switch cars.

But this guy didn't seem too crazy, he was just playing a beatbox very loudly. This is against subway rules, and it's clearly marked on the walls somewhere.

The rush hour commute is mostly accepting it, albeit grudgingly, until the lady next to me decides to take a stand. "Excuse me," she says, politely but firmly. "Can you please turn down your music? It's playing so hard I can't hear my own." [She was listening to an iPod, which is allowed under the rules because of the headphones.]

And everyone in the subway car leans forward imperceptibly, eager to find out if he'll turn off the boombox, or if he's crazy or an asshole.

Turns out he's a little bit of both. Eventually he does turn off the music, but then he confronts the lady. He asks questions that are irrational and don't make sense, but I think his point was, "Hey, I paid my fare. I got the right to listen to my music. I don't bother you about your music."

Except he's wrong, as the lady points out. Her music is inaudible to the rest of the car; his makes it impossible to think about Star Trek.

Now if I was heroic and strong and bulletproof or an undercover cop, I would have leaped to her defense and pointed out how he's terrible at debate, but sadly I'm an unemployed coward with scoliosis. And anyway, the lady was right and in no apparent physical danger.

"But you're the only one complaining!" says the guy. And that causes the tide to turn. The tipping point is reached, as Malcolm Gladwell might say, and other members on the train begin to argue with the guy. A foreign old lady, bald businessman, they all chime in, and I start to regret that my stop is next. In retrospect, I should've stayed on to find out how it all turns out.

Having been in similar situations, I'd imagine this to be the ending: The crazy guy refuses to listen to reason because he is, after all, a crazy, and then some guy who looks like a Dwarf/biker/Viking growls a threat and the perpetrator is cowed into silence. That happened on a bus once when a jerkass yuppie wouldn't give up his seat to a pregnant lady and it was pretty awesome.

So they're futilely arguing (you can never get a crazy person to listen to reason! When will people learn?!) and we're at my stop and I'm thinking how I wish I was Spiderman or something and the guy's boombox is right there on the floor AND his back is to it and I'm right by the door so as I walk out I take it (just like Swiper the Fox!) because when children are bad they get their toys taken away.

Now I'm not gonna steal a crazy guy's boombox, primarily because I'm afraid it would have bedbugs, but also because I don't need one. No, I'm just engaging in a tiny bit of civic disobedience since I can't arrest people for being jerks. And also, it'll really piss that guy off.

So in one fluid motion I pick it up, step off the subway and set it down on the floor. Now ideally, he won't notice until the train doors have closed and it's too late, but I hear someone say something (maybe the lady, who was being too nice for her own good) and I as melt into the throng [thinking strategically that the guy would have to be REALLY crazy to chase after me, lest he lose the train and maybe the boombox], he steps out and grabs the boombox. I descend the stairs to safety, and hear him threaten to break my punk-ass jaw. I don't make eye contact, and refrain from smiling until I'm out of his sight.

On the way home, I keep looking behind me to see if a Hawaiian-shirt clad crazy is coming for me. But mostly, I wonder how the guy and the rest of the subway car are reacting to my unexpected swipe. I'm still really curious if they continued arguing or if he just muttered to himself for the rest of the ride.

In hindsight, this was a pretty stupid thing to do. It's quite a bit more dangerous than making fun of a bunch of kids or smelling a subway car, but I had to do something. Sometimes I get impulsive and want to save the world, and since I'm Kirk the frail and meek, I have to be sneaky and passive-aggressive instead of direct and brave. What would you have done?

Yes, the guy could've had a knife or a gun. Or even just broken my punk-ass jaw. But sometimes we have to take the law into our own hands... Right?

Ugh, Parties.

A lot of stuff I've said Yes to recently has been pretty easy (going to see the final dress rehearsal for Dividing the Estate, which I did last week, or going on a ghost tour of the Merchant's House Museum, which I'm doing tomorrow), but I recently said Yes to something pretty difficult.

We're gonna throw a housewarming party.

The idea of this fills me with dread. It's weird, I know, but it seriously scares me.

What if no one comes? What if they have a bad time? What if they hate the food? What if they steal my things? What if the gerbils get upset? What if they stand on our bed while wearing shoes? These are all stupid fears - we're only inviting a handful of friends that are trustworthy, well-behaved and non-judgmental, but I'm still worried.

I'm frequently uncomfortable with anyone, even people I know and like, being in my house. Case in point, back in St. Augustine I frequently turned away would-be guests from my eccentric and spider-filled studio. Here in NYC, I've had almost no one over to any of my apartments ever.

One-on-one guests are bad enough (though, strangely, Julie came over last night to sketch Cakey, and that wasn't uncomfortable at all), but now multiply it to maybe a dozen people. Madness! And then add on all the hosting responsibilities. Lunacy!

It brings to mind the only party we ever had at my house when growing up. It was my brother's birthday. He was probably six or seven, so I was just four or five. And for some reason (I'd guess because my mom didn't understand the customs of birthday invitations or RSVPs), it was up to my brother to invite all his friends.

I don't know if my brother could really write back then - did he give out invitations? Did he just mention this party? How could these little kids be expected to tell their parents, and for their parents to take them seriously and drive them to this unfamiliar house? How did they even know the address?

I don't know what went wrong, but something did, because only one kid showed up. Just one kid.

Years later, I asked my brother if he remembered that party, and if it sucked, and he tersely replied that yes, he did, and yes, it did.

We never had a party in that house again.

So now we're gonna have a party soon. And seriously, this is probably the most stressful thing I've blogged about all year. Maybe even more so than getting my wisdom teeth removed. Madness.

Strangers on a Train

You normally don't talk to strangers on the subway. It's just weird to do so. When I first moved here, I once tried to strike up a conversation with someone ("How was your day?"), but was received with a frightened, stony silence, so I never did it again.

This morning, an old man near me was reading a Chinese newspaper. I can't read or speak Chinese, but the picture on the front page struck me, because it was of a funeral for a woman that I recognized.

I wanted to ask the old man about it, because I wanted to be sure. I don't know anything about Chinese celebrities, so the deceased could've been some other famous overweight woman with iconic eyeglasses.

This is one of those dumb Year of Yes moments. If I talked to this man, the worst he would do is ignore me. Or speak to me in Chinese. There weren't any real consequences.

On the other hand, if I kept silent, I could just look it up on Wikipedia a little later, but my social anxiety would've won a minor victory.

It took a little bit to get up my courage, but then I tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me," I said, and pointed to his newspaper.

He offered it to me (for some reason, subway etiquette deems it OK to ask for newspapers), and I turned it to the front page. "Lydia?" I asked, and pointed to the main article.

"Lydia." He repeated.

"She died?" I asked, which was kind of dumb, because no one puts up a photo in front of a coffin unless that person has passed away.

"Died," he said.

I thanked him and we rode the rest of the way in silence.

Rest in peace, Fei-Fei. You made many people laugh.