I live in New York. During my first years in the city, I spent portions of New Year’s Eve standing in Times Square, excited about watching the ball drop live with the freezing crowds. By 2010, I decided that was for tourists. I spent that year’s NYE warm and stilettoed at a private/indoor party overlooking Times Square. This year, I’ve escaped the city all together, and I’m spending a low key evening with longtime Illinois friends in Downtown Chicago. I’m either growing tired of New York, or I’m growing old.
Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, I wish you a safe, happy and sexy send off to the New Year!
“Be safe.” Lately, it’s the email and telephone sign off of choice for friends who would usually tell me “goodbye.” It’s September 10, and I live in New York City. Loved ones are afraid of a retaliatory strike against Manhattan on 9/11′s ten year anniversary. Unfortunately, living in New York requires a somewhat constant state of … I won’t say “fear,” necessarily, but it definitely requires an ongoing since of alertness that can, at times, be draining.
I’ll tell you a story. Yesterday evening in Brooklyn, three lanes of traffic stopped at a red light near Fort Greene’s intersection of Myrtle and Flatbush avenues. I was in the far right lane. A bald, 30-something white dude clad in a black leather jacket with an embroidered insignia on its back was in the middle lane. Seconds earlier, a Suburban darted from right to left, cutting off the bald guy to cross to the far lane. This pissed The Shaven One off. Now, he got out of his car, walked over to their window and used his fists to pound it for a couple seconds — startling the shit out of those passengers, other drivers stopped around him, and me. Was he a crazy, road rage-stricken driver? Perhaps. Gun wielding psycho ready to unload? Maybe. When the traffic signal’s glow switched from red to green, no one stuck around to find out. The event was so ordinary, it neither made the news nor conversation with friends. If I tell the story now, it’s slightly funny: Ha, that guy sounds like a nutjob!
Another story. Less humorous. I once saw a dead body slumped in a dark street around 2:30 a.m. At the time, I lived in Astoria, Queens. A late-night yellow cab was shuttling me from lower Manhattan home. Back then, the area between LIC and Astoria was fairly sketchy. (Chicagoans: It was like the region between downtown and Wicker Park when Cabrini was still around.) On that Queens street, a man lay lifeless on the ground. A cop car’s lights flashed cherry red and midnight blue. My cab winded through back roads to get me home safely via another route. Shortly thereafter, I moved back to Manhattan. Upper East Side.
Arriving in the Empire State in 2005, I expected to enjoy a year (maybe two tops!) in America’s largest city. Nearly seven years later, I’m still here. Life is rewarding, but it’s far from easy. As the 9/11 anniversary approaches, much attention and many eyes turn to my city. If you’d like to see a film that captures New York & 9/11 well without whitewashing the experience, watch 9/11 The Falling Man.
In the wee hours of September 11, 2011, Jonathan Briley, an asthmatic restaurant worker, dutifully reported to work at one of the world’s tallest buildings with no reason to assume the day would be unlike any other. At 8:46 a.m., speeding 466 mph, Mohamed Atta slammed American Airlines Flight 11 between floors 93 through 99 of the World Trade Center’s North Tower. Exactly 55 minutes later, trapped on the skyscraper’s 107th floor, a man presumed to Briley leaped from flames and smoke to his death. Based on a 2003 Esquire magazine article, the documentary The Falling Man is about an image of him falling.
According to New York magazine, 2,819 died in the World Trade Center attacks. Of that total, approximately 200 were jumpers. “[B]etween 7 and 8 percent of those who died in New York City on September 11, 2001, died by jumping out of the buildings,” Tom Junod writes in the Esquire piece. If you only count the people who jumped out of the North Tower, “where the vast majority of jumpers came from,” says Junod, “the ratio is more like one in six.” You rarely hear the jumpers’ stories. In the name of decency, they’re often photoshopped from the day’s images — though, there’s nothing decent about not honoring their lives and erasing their deaths.
Mayor Bloomberg shut off our subway system, the MTA, from noon on Saturday. There’s talk of preemptively killing electricity in parts of the city. Across the water, New Jersey’s Governor Christie warned people … and this is a direct quote … “Get the hell off the beach.” Oh, yes he did, adding, “You’re done. Do not waste any more time working on your tan.”
Hopefully all the hype about the storm is just hype, but no one can be sure. The New York Times has a good realtime Hurricane Irene tracker. Given the storm is losing steam at the moment, I’m more worried about boredom than safety. I crave people more than power. If the Empire State incurs minimal damage but the city loses electricity, I’ll need a hurricane party. Flashlights, candles, booze, board games, interesting people, etc. To keep up with me during Irene, Twitter is the best place for to-the-moment updates. Follow me: http://twitter.com/funkybrownchick
Daniel Packard was the most recent guest on my TV show, LATE SEX WITH TWANNA. We had a GOOD time! If you live in New York and you’d like to drop by his theatrical performance at the Museum of Sex, “Live Group Sex Therapy Show,” FUNKY BROWN CHICK® readers can purchase $55 tickets for only $34.50 by using the discount code: IMSEXY.
In my writing / creative career, things are going well. Really well. Theoretically, I shouldn’t have anything to complain about. But, I will for a bit because I have to get something off my chest. Winter. Prone to depression, the cold weather, blistering winds and lack of sunny days really fucks with my mood. Inbox emails pile up. I fall behind on projects. I make stupid mistakes. I eat more than usual, and I gain weight. It’s as if my body is forcing its way into a slow, socially awkward lockdown for the winter. I recently read about hibernation. Why? Because, that’s we what geeks do. We have super-intense stare downs with Jimmy Wales while looking up random shit on Wikipedia :) Anyway. Digging online has taught me marmots go into hiding throughout much of September through May. They’re basically like, “Yeah, we’re not down with cold weather shit. We’ll pass.” I want to do that. Honestly, ideally, I’d live in New York City during the nicer months and move somewhere warm during the winters. But, I digress. I actually have a point about online dating for today’s blog post.
Over the years, I’ve tried a bunch of different sites. Match.com, Salon, Craigslist, Nerve Personals, J-Date, etc., etc. Photos trump words. If the guy looks like a douchebag, I won’t bother reading the profile. If his pictures are cute, I’ll click through. Granted, he doesn’t have to look like Gabriel Aubry or Eric Benét. But, I have to find him attractive.
“You need professional dating photos for the perfect online dating profile,” advertises a company called Dating Headshots. They wanted me to poke around their site and let you guys know about their services. Generally speaking, I disagree with them. No, you don’t need professional photos on your online dating profile. It looks cheesy. What’s more? I’d rather a guy look exactly like his image when he shows up, not a glamorized, airbrushed version of himself. But, who am I to knock their service before trying it? Plus, some of you — men and women — ARE fans of headshot pics. So, when Dating Headshots kindly told me they wanted me to try them out and offer all FUNKY BROWN CHICK® readers a 10% discount (your special code: 127287) on Silver and Gold Studio photo shoots, I figured I’d give them a whirl. I originally planned to get my hair & makeup done for the occassion, but I decided against it. I wore the same outfit, hairstyle and makeup from earlier that day. The photographer snapped a bunch of pictures. My favorites were the candid, full-length shots where his only instruction / question was, “Can you walk toward me?” He was cute. So, of course, I strut.
This is winter in New York City. Would I use the images on a dating profile? I’m not sure, but I like these shots — even though the images aren’t drenched in sunshine, and I’m not wearing a bikini. I think the pictures work because they’re simple. No bells. No whistles. No bright colors. No fancy settings. No cropping, touch ups, corrections or other alterations. It’s just me and Manhattan. Surprisingly, I like it! Maybe I’ll survive this “Winter Season” crap afterall.
Pssst! Again, if you decide to try Dating Headshots, remember FUNKY BROWN CHICK® folks get a 10% discount on some photo shoots. Use the code 127287. Contact them with any question. If you do it, let me know and show me your pictures!
Reason #153 on the “Why I live in Manhattan, Not Brooklyn” list: It’s easy to find my way around. If I ever get lost in an unfamiliar neighborhood, a quick Metrocard swipe or arm extended in the air will safely get me home.
I can totally laugh about last night’s TRAINING DAY experience now. But, when I was in the moment — a woman abandoned at an unfamiliar corner in do-or-die Bed-Stuy, alone among men I didn’t know during the pitch black night — I was kind of scared shitless. I figured I’d be lucky if I ONLY got mugged. I’m happy little angels wings carried me safely home without incident. Thank you MTA for hiring a friendly bus driver. Thank you R. Penzo, Jeannette Arrowood and Emily Hanhan for offering Twitter guidance to get me back home! Ah, New York. If anyone needs a walking tour of Jay-Z‘s childhood neighborhood in Brooklyn, I can show you the route. Sheesh!! :-| Have a safe and happy weekend, everyone!! :)
I haven’t seen Andrea since she returned from vacation. How was Columbia? I excitedly text her, accidentally misspelling the country as if she had sunbathed uptown on an Ivy league campus instead of South America. We should catch up over coffee, I suggest.
Strolling, Andrea and I catch up about her travels, each of our love lives, family and other stuff. I tell her I’m grateful for the little things. Sunshine-filled days. Auburn, golden and rust-colored leaves. Fresh air. Living in close proximity to Central Park. Catching up with her, my friend. I also fill her in about a bunch of personal stuff and current challenges. Suffice it to say, life warms my heart as often as it breaks it.
