To have a voice in this chaotic world

I often wonder why I wanted to start a blog. Probably because in this loud, crowded world I wanted to carve out a space for my voice. Today was a weird day for me. We are a gay family — two women with a young boy.  Our synagogue sent a general email burst to tell us that a religious hate group — the same group that celebrates every death in Iraq and picketed at Matthew Shepard’s funeral — were coming to protest at our synagogue this morning. Now, let’s think about that. We are a family and members of a synagogue, and today we were having a birthday party for our son. Imagine, the Cleavers (only not so much) with the Beav — we work, we pay our taxes, we are good neighbors, we have the grandparents and aunts and uncles to dinner every Sunday night, we do and give charity, we try to balance career with family, our son’s education and health comes first and his job in life, among others, is to do more for the next generation than we did for him. Why again is anyone protesting my life? My loving family somehow undermines the lives and futures of a poverty-level family without health care and without job training? If I were Republican I could see how my political, social and economic views would undermine that family. But I am a Democrat, willing to pay extra in taxes for universal health care, for prenatal care, for job retraining. And I assure you that amount I pay in taxes every year would shock that family. So, I am a tax-paying (and willing to pay more), synagogue going, hard-working, family woman who loves her partner and her son more than anything in the world. Oh, I am a lesbian. Ahhhhh, THAT’s it. Whaaaaaat?

New life forms on the bus

A gross homeless man is on the bus. Did he pay more? I ask because adult lice should be required to pay something. Fascinating that the smell of the homeless man is so different from taxicab stench. There is perspiration smell and then there is raw sewage smell. As a NYer, no matter how bad it gets I’m not getting off to wait another fifteen minutes for another bus. I would take a cab but I try to limit myself to one unreimbursable cab ride per day (this morning, one appeared right before my eyes and it was a cultural imperative to hop in). I’m feeling a little faint. I wonder if I got into a gross cab, would the smells cancel each other out or would the synergies create an explosive effect. So I decided to sit down. Of course next to the older woman with a urine smell “issue”. I’ll brave it out because my mom z”l wore Depends at the end of her life.  Some woman sat down near the gross homeless man and started looking around for the source of the smell. Helloooooooooo. A few minutes have passed now and she has changed her seat. She and her seat are forever changed. Now a new aroma: sauteed-onion-in-a-plastic-bag smell. A lunch not eaten. A bacterial warfare agent created. A new life and all its complexities. A beautiful moment.  Some of that could be haiku.

Heard on the bus

Heard on the bus: “I’m not on the track team anymore — all that runnin’. I’m  doing gymnastics. My grandma had a stroke and either she is upset and not  talking or maybe something is wrong with her brain now. I don’t know.”  The civilization is rounding the drain.

 

Life in the gym

No scary episodes in the locker room so far today although it could have been the “I have mace, so back off” look [note to any law enforcement personnel reading this, I don’t carry mace], so I wasn’t the person to be near. Then I got this prurient fascination with trying the naked saunter myself, but I wasn’t sure my breast were perky enough and I wasn’t confident of the bikini shave status and really, it is NOT me. But I did want to feel what it was to be cell phone and blackberry free, although I suppose I could hold them between and under my breasts, but that isn’t really what the naked in the locker room “thing” is about. But then again, I did see naked women with cell phones so they probably don’t think they’re naked or vulnerable. These emotions they would feel if fully clothed without a telecommunications device.  As I delve into this, it is more textured and nuanced than I originally imagined. More thought is necessary.

Big 1950s hair curlers being used at the gym. She was not naked, though so I guess that’s ok.

 

 
Ok, so I’m back in the locker room. Another naked woman is walking around. No shock there. But she is wearing a birth control patch. Too much information. Maybe we should all tattoo personal information on our bodies so that strangers can know intimate details. That way we don’t have to scream into our cell phones in public places. We can just strip.

 

More tales from the transit life in NY

I decided to indulge in self-preservation and limit my interaction with humanity. Essentially, I flipped a coin between the bus and a cab. A balance of diffuse humanity (a bus) or potentially pungent, up-close humanity (a cab). Cab won (two-headed coin works every time). Perfectly. Pleasant trip — no odors of any kind (a huge plus), no radio (can never be sure it’ll be soooooothing music) and no speed of light/through stop signs spiritedness. (Now, as you all may remember, I live in a diverse and economically mixed neightborhood.) So as I reflecting on the surprisingly pleasant cab ride, I look out the window and up — and see about six pairs of boxer shorts hanging on the fire escape getting that fresh air scent from drying al fresco (ok, it HAS BEEN RAINING FOR NINE DAYS). So, the morals of the story are (i) give up, humanity always finds you, (ii) pray that when you are selling your already devalued apartment for which you pay hefty mortgage payments, potential buyers don’t look up, and (iii) forget about falling bricks –worry about some stranger’s handwashed (not even scalded in boiling water) underwear coming down on your head.

Ah, a typical day on the road to Utopia.

Strangers sharing a sad, life moment

The M4 goes up Madison Avenue past Mt. Sinai hospital. Many people on the bus get out at the stop near the hospital. I am sitting across from a 20-something year old who answered her phone and then I overheard saying that she was on her way to the hospital. As I looked up, I saw her lip quiver and her eyes water. It is odd to share a moment with a stranger — our eyes met as hers welled up and I didn’t look away immediately although I probably should have to give her privacy. She is cupping her hand over her cell phone. Now, she is getting off the bus at “the stop”. Life.

Remembrances

I  think about my mother all of the time but most especially around my son’s birthday. She died when he was six months old. My mom was a woman of uncommon strength with a deep concern for humanity. She believed in the American dream — opportunity for all who wanted a better life. She was a product of the American dream. Mom loved a good protest, voter registration drive or a lively dinner time political debate with family and friends. She believed that people could do small acts to heal the world. I remember thinking that I was glad she didn’t live to see the Iraq invasion. And I knew her pride in this country would have soared if she were able to vote in the Clinton-Obama Democratic primary. She, like me, would have been torn by the choice but thrilled that such a choice were even possible. And once Candidate Obama became President Obama, she would have cried at the ability of our nation to see past old prejudices.  And then she would worry about his safety. And then she would want to scold him for smoking. And she would be grateful for the opportunity to set a new course for our nation and the world.

Mom would not “get” blogging or twitter. She would say, “get up from the computer and see the world and do things”. And she would rail against the dangers of typing on those raspberry gadgets while walking on the street. (She was never good at names or idioms). I would say, “BLACKberry, Mom!!” And she would wave me off with a quick retort, “DEEEtails”.

Beauty

I would just like to say that there is a woman with a gorgeous, fit body at the gym. I am tempted to ask her how much time she works out a day, although some of it is just her genes. Beauty like that is an accident of nature.

More tales from the transportation system

I am the poster child for tough personal space laws. Here is why::

Reason no.1: There are three adolescent girls, with clearly a lot of their parents’ disposable income for their every whim, chatting loudly, gesticulating wildly and clearly talking about the sandals of the women on the bus in Spanish. Since my Spanish is not the best, I had to rely on eye contact and glances, etc. as the basis of my suspicions. Based on the shopping bags were from stores that made me think their parents were diplomats or ex-pat business people. Good that they are being taught values by having to ride the bus.

Reason No. 2: Elderly man and woman struggle onto the bus, all seats are taken and no one gets up (I already standing). Then, someone gets up to exit the bus and a too-well-groomed-but-my-shoes-are-not-quite-right-so-it-is-obvious-I-am-wearing-my-entire-net-worth-on-my-body woman listening to an iPod takes the seat. Is there a crisis intervention counselor on the bus? Fortunately, she notices what is happening around her and gets the f+++ up. Did you know that there are bridge crossers on all major bridges leading into Manhattan? It is because sometimes people freak out and can’t drive across a bridge. We need Bus Rangers to get everyone to their respective destinations. Ok I need my very own Bus Ranger to protect the humanity that surrounds me from my going postal.

Reason No. 3: the stupidest phone conversations since the beginning of time. This is one we can all understand, I think.

Reason No. 4: a guy made a clearing his throat noise with a hint of future, actual spitting action. In fact, he didn’t do anything with it outside his mouth although the imagery is making me sick.

More bus stories

Things noticed on public transportation:
Many men have bald spots. Everyone is talking on a cell phone or has an iPod. Jean jackets are being worn by people of all ages. If a couple is dressed casually, the man is way more sloppy, unless both are doing the grunge/fishnet stocking thing and then the girl looks like an alien. People don’t look in the mirror before leaving the house. It is too early to wear sandals. Clothes in store windows are not for human use. No one smiles when walking and no one strolls — not even the retirees. Some men shouldn’t wear English cut (two vents) or Italian cut (narrow; no vent). They should stick with two button, single vent. Who thinks it is a good idea to sit on a city street while waiting for the bus? Some people should not eat calzones in public.