Tag Archives: New York City

I met my guardian angel while waiting for the subway

I was running late for work the other day, so late that I must have forgotten to check my pockets as I flew out the door, I didn’t have my MetroCard, it’s usually in my left back pocket, not in my wallet, easy access, you need the easiest access for a MetroCard. It’s like, any sort of moisture on your hands, whatever the plastic material that the card is made out of, it becomes impossible to get a grip on if it’s stuck in a wallet, you’ll be standing there at the turnstile, why isn’t this thing coming out, it’s barely raining, or I’m barely sweating at all, and people behind you are like, “Come on buddy, let’s move it pal, I don’t have all day here man, let’s go …” and you want to be like, “Shut up! All right! Just shut up!” but the best you can muster is a feeble, “I’m sorry, it’s just that, I can’t, my grip, it’s right here, I … it’s … I’m,” and they’re like, “Hurry! Up! Move!” and then the MTA employee gets on the mic behind the box, you think she might defuse the situation, but she’s not on your side, “Sir! Please step aside and let the people through!” and it’s only been what, ten, fifteen seconds so far, you’re not allowed ten or fifteen seconds to try and grab the card that’s right there?

Right, so back pocket it is, which, until now was the most effective strategy, walk through, loose MetroCard in the pocket, swipe, if only that guy ahead of me would just hurry up already, what is he, a tourist, come on pal. But this time it’s my undoing, I’m going to swipe but there’s no card, there’s nothing, I look behind me, there’s a line, I start to panic, I can feel the group conscious start to come down on me, it’s going to be negative, maybe it’s going to be violent, who’s going to turn on me first.

“Hey friend,” who the hell said that? “Need a swipe?” It’s this guy next to me, I don’t know what to say, what’s his angle? What does he want? “No, it’s just that … well, I can’t seem to … I just,” and then he just swiped it. The turnstile screen said go, so I went. “Hey man, that was really … you didn’t have to, I … thanks, just … just, thanks a lot, all right?”

“Yeah, no problem.” And then I turned, I went up the stairs to wait for the train, I always walk to the end of the platform, nobody ever walks all the way down, and so even if it’s a full train, even if it’s rush hour, there’s always a little more room if you head toward the first or the last car. But I couldn’t help but thinking about that guy, was I just his good deed for the day? Does he do stuff like that pretty regularly? Man, I’ve got to buy a new MetroCard, which sucks, because I don’t want to have to get attached to a new one, I used the old one for so long that all of the lettering faded away, it was just a white card with a magnetic strip, which I thought was cool, it was like I owned it, like it was …

“Hey man, you dropped your magazine.” It was that same guy. He was holding a magazine. I instinctively reached back to touch my other back pocket, yep, it was gone, no magazine, and that’s weird too because I’m never losing things out of my back pockets, and now today, twice, first the MetroCard, now, well, maybe I lost the magazine while looking for my MetroCard, that moment of panic, I could feel everybody’s eyes on me, just waiting for me to trip up, sometimes even if you have your card, you swipe it that first time and it doesn’t read, it’s just like, “Swipe again, at this turnstile,” and so you’re stuck, come on …

“Thanks man, I owe you again,” I told him and grabbed my magazine. “Yeah, don’t mention it.” Wow, I’ve got to be more careful I guess, just a little more aware of my possessions, my sense of what’s in what pocket, right? When I got on the train there weren’t any seats, so much for my strategy, well, whatever, maybe it’s just unusually crowded today, or maybe there was a delay right before I got on, so everybody had a chance to walk to the end of the platform, but it doesn’t matter, I guess I really don’t mind standing for …

“Hey man, you want to sit down?” I couldn’t believe it, it was the same guy, what is he, my guardian angel? How did he get on the train before me? I didn’t even see any open seats, there are like twenty people standing in the car, and this guy was definitely behind me when I took the magazine out of his hands. I wanted to ask him all of this, I wanted to freak out, head to the next car and try and give this guy the slip, but the car doors closed right behind me and, yeah, I actually did want to sit down, I’d been rushing this whole morning, everything off on the wrong foot, no coffee, I was exhausted, “Yeah, man, thanks.” And he got up and I sat down and read my magazine. That was really nice, that guy, what a nice thing to do, three nice gestures in a row, this total stranger, what a guy.

Food Truck Review: The Steel Cart

You’ve got to check out The Steel Cart, an insanely good food truck roaming about the streets of New York. Seriously, go there for lunch tomorrow, you know, if you live in New York City. Or, if you’re planning on traveling to New York in the future. That’s not too farfetched, right? I’m assuming I have a global audience. Would it be crazy to imagine people reading this review from some faraway land and planning a vacation based around what I’m about to write? I don’t think so. Maybe getting there by tomorrow might be out of the question for you out-of-towners. But seriously, no later than next week, because this place is getting big, and who knows how far that line’s going to be snaking around the block by this time two weeks from now?

Listen, you might be a little skeptical. “When did Rob turn into a food critic?” you might ask yourself. Which is a stupid question. I’ve reviewed tons of food already. I wrote about how much I loved Taco Bell’s Doritos Locos taco. One time I wrote about a day last summer when I ate thirty hot dogs in under an hour. Plus there’s this whole piece about how I like my steak medium-rare.

And I love food trucks. New York City has tons of food trucks. There’s this place by my house that makes some of the best falafel in the world. Oh yeah, I wrote about that also. See? I have tons of food critic experience. Well, maybe not tons, but handfuls. Let’s make those fistfuls. It sounds a little tougher, a little big more legitimate.

Back to The Steel Cart. Like I said, there are almost too many food trucks to choose from. And that’s what I was dealing with, that paradox of choice as I found myself running late for work one afternoon. I was desperately hungry for some lunch, but I only had like ten minutes to grab a bite without risking showing up late, my manager pointing his finger at me, “I told you that if you were late one more time that would be it!”

I couldn’t make a decision. It’s a food truck renaissance out there. You can get lobster rolls, artisanal donuts, Korean barbeque, and that’s not to mention the glut of regular boring chicken-and-rice food trucks taking up prime real estate on every other city block. The choices are endless. But I noticed The Steel Cart standing out from the rest of the pack. I’d never tried it before, but the menu looked pretty cool.

The Steel Cart did not disappoint. It was like a history-altering epiphany of flavor weaved into each bite. I’m talking about your standard fare, your sandwiches, your soups, but everything was done a little bit nicer, each plate assembled with just the right amount of artisanal craft. I tried their Bird of a Feather sandwich. If someone came up to me with a gun and told me to describe it in exactly three words, I’d quickly say, “It’s a chicken salad sandwich! Don’t shoot! Please!” And then the crazed gunman might say, “I said three words exactly!” and I’d be like, “That was three words. Chicken, salad, and sandwich,” but he’d say, “No, you also said ‘don’t shoot’ and all of that other stuff.” Click.

Luckily I’m not constrained by any specific word count, because it’s so much more than just regular chicken salad. As I took my first bite, I couldn’t even begin to pinpoint the onslaught of flavors jockeying for attention from my taste buds. The friendly trio manning the cart explained to me a little bit of what went into their creation: celery seed, agave, green apple slaw. It was so tasty that I couldn’t slow down my jaw to really appreciate each subtle flavor. So I ordered another one.

I actually wound up being really late for work, much later than I had ever been before. But I couldn’t help it. The sandwiches were so good. And these guys make Turkish coffee. They have their own custom kiln or whatever it is you call that copper pot used to brew an individual serving (I looked it up. It’s called an ibrik.) Luckily, I work for a restaurant, and just as my boss was about to give me the boot, I told him that I was out scouting for ideas from some of the local food trucks. He got this insane glint in his eye, like maybe he was going to go out there and steal all the good ideas from The Steel Cart. So when he asked me where, I pointed in the direction of some lame-o chicken-and-rice operation down the block. I can’t believe he bought it.

Go check out The Steel Cart. Sometimes they’re in Brooklyn, sometimes in Midtown Manhattan. Like most of these mobile operations, you kind of have to rely on good luck like I did, or you can follow them on Twitter and find out where they’ll be. It was great. I can’t wait to try out their other sandwiches. And hopefully they see this link, they read it, and they send me a box of sandwiches, just like Pepperidge Farm did when I wrote about how much I love Milanos.

Biking in the rain

I just got caught in the rain, big time. It’s one of these weeks where it’s raining every day, and if it’s not raining, it’s constantly just about to rain, the sky is gray and the wind is blowing, it’s an ever-present threat. And I guess it’s good, you know, for the environment, for my garden. Every day I try to make a point to go outside and hose down the plants, but even when I do it, I’m probably not out there for as long as I should be. I keep meaning to buy a sprinkler, but it’s been so rainy lately that, one, I don’t really have to, because nature is taking care of it, and two, I don’t want to leave the house unless I really have to, because it’s so gross out.

So today I went to meet one of my friends downtown for lunch. The sky was cloudy but for some reason I was optimistic, like come on, it already rained yesterday and the day before. Today is going to be different. I rode my bike. I love riding my bike. I always know exactly how long it’s going to take me to get anywhere. I don’t have to worry about the subway being late or not paying attention and missing my stop.

And it was fine, I made it downtown fine. But after lunch I headed out to bike back home and it was starting to rain, just a misting so far, so I was like, OK, I better book it before I get wet. And that was stupid, because I started getting wet immediately. A lot of the time I’ll travel with this emergency biking-in-the-rain outfit, some waterproof pants, a couple of plastic bags to wrap around my backpack. But I didn’t have anything with me today.

Still, I should have just gotten off of my bike and taken the subway. It’s totally acceptable to bring your bike on the train. But it’s just such a pain in the ass. First of all, if it’s raining out, everybody’s going to be looking for shelter underground. Time to get off the streets and get back inside. And so the normally crowded subway system gets even more crowded. And I have my bike with me. Do you know how difficult that is, trying to maneuver not just yourself, but also a huge bike through a crowd of wet people?

It’s like, what’s the correct way to get your bicycle through the turnstile? I have no idea, so I just pick it up and kind of shove it through which, depending on my angle, depending on how many people are simultaneously trying to come and go, it might work or it might not. It might get stuck, and then I’m causing a little traffic jam, and then people start yelling things, not the people immediately behind or in front of me, no, that would be a little too confrontational. But the people two or three back, safe enough to lob whatever insults they want without any fear of repercussion or altercation. They’re like, “Move your bike asshole!”

And also, whenever it’s really wet out, I have such a hard time getting my Metrocard out of my wallet. For anybody not familiar with the New York City subway, the Metrocard is a credit card shaped piece of plastic that holds money for passage. I don’t know if I’m the only one who experiences this problem, because I’ve never even really consciously thought about it until I started writing this out, but it’s impossible to get a grip on it when it’s wet. And my wallet, it’s like I need to use the tips of my fingers to pull the card out. And I can’t. And I have my bike. I’m just standing there at the turnstile, “Let’s move it jerkoff!” shouted at me from every direction.

Getting the bike on the train, it shouldn’t be a problem, but again, when it’s raining, the platforms are jam-packed. So even when the train eventually arrives, what am I supposed to do, push people out of the way so I can take up three spots, one for me and two for my bicycle? Everybody’s crammed in, wet, cold, and they see me standing there occupying all that space, I can just hear them screaming in their heads, “Way to go, jerk!”

So I toughed it out and rode my bike in the rain. It didn’t let up until I was like three quarters of the way home, but even if it’s not directly raining, all you need to make the ride really inconvenient is a layer of rain on the street. Your tires will constantly splash it up along your back, in your face, soaking your feet from underneath. It’s not pleasant. But whatever, I’m home. I have to leave for work in like half an hour. I guess I’ll bike, because if I wanted to take the train, I should have left like five minutes ago.

Movie Review: Now You See Me

Iron Man Three, Star Trek, Fast 6, for a while I thought that the summer blockbuster season wasn’t ever going to skip a beat. But then I checked out my options for this week and was reminded that, yeah, if I’m planning on seeing a new release every weekend, I guess I’m going to have an occasional lineup of slim pickings.

And so I almost resigned myself to buying a ticket for Will Smith’s After Earth. I really, really didn’t want to see After Earth. I’ve seen the same way-too-long preview several times, and nothing about it looks interesting. The ship crash-lands. It’s the future. It’s Earth. Will Smith’s in it. Man, remember when Will Smith used to make only good movies? I’m glad I wasn’t writing movie reviews when Men In Black 3 premiered.

But just before I made my post-apocalyptic purchase, Yoda’s voice came alive in my head, “No. There is another.” And sure enough, there was another new release this week, a movie called Now You See Me. Huh. I’d never even heard of this movie. I was about to do a quick Google search to find out the general plot, something that could give me a clue as to what I might be in for, but I decided, fuck it, let’s go in blind.

Now You See Me starts off fast. It’s about four magicians who team up to rob banks, giving the money to the public in a Robin Hood display of vigilante economics. And for the first hour or so, it’s a pretty cool movie. The FBI gets involved and it turns into an old-school New York City heist movie, crazy crime-genre background music and all, something reminiscent of the original The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3.

But shit keeps escalating. Chase scenes give way to fight scenes that give way to car crashes. Instead of even beginning to hint at like a general direction in which the movie might be headed, they just keep on piling on random clues, mysterious characters, a few dead-end leads and even a flimsy romance subplot. After a little while you’re like, what? How? Who is this guy again? Wait, why are they robbing the banks?

And after that first enjoyable hour, the movie spirals out of control. The whole time I was thinking to myself, man, these writers had better have come up with something genius to get to some sort of a resolution, to even begin to answer all of these questions. And yeah, I guess it’s theoretically possible. There are movies out there that weave insane plots together in acts of superhuman storytelling.

But I kept thinking about how it’s so weird that a major movie studio could release a big summer film and not have any marketing campaign at all. Why hadn’t I seen this movie coming? Why weren’t there any previews during any of the other movies I’ve been watching every single week for the past three months?

While I don’t want to be a cynic, while I wanted to hold out hope that maybe they’d be able to yet turn this into a great movie, a moment of realism set in as I deduced that the only reason nobody’s heard about this movie is because maybe it really wouldn’t get any better. Maybe the writers wrote themselves into a corner and couldn’t figure a way out. But you know how big Hollywood is, they already signed Mark Ruffalo, Woody Harrelson. Shooting was to begin in three weeks. If one group of writers couldn’t figure it out, they’d just fire them, get a new group in. Whatever, just write something, just wrap it up boys, we’ve got to get this film debuted by the end of May.

The ending of this movie is just an insult to intelligent life anywhere in the cosmos. I’d equate the making of this movie to the running of a marathon, one in which after twenty-five miles of agony, with only one mile left in sight, everybody just stopped. They just said, eh, whatever, who cares. I’m tired. I don’t feel like running anymore.

And then not only did they stop running, they didn’t even bother walking the rest of the way. They couldn’t manage even a limp to the finish line. In fact, they cheated, they took a cab to the end. Their score was totally disqualified. And then once they got there, they started punching random people in the face, stealing all of the other runners’ medals, knocking over tables of Gatorade for no good reason.

It’s like, what the hell guys, you’re only going to make half of a decent movie? Why bother? Is Morgan Freeman this desperate for work? Is Mark Ruffalo still trying to convince the world he’s a real actor after that ghost movie he made with Reese Witherspoon?

I really am sorry, because I don’t want to be so negative, but Now You See Me is a joke. A stupid, not-funny, fifteen-dollar-a-ticket joke. If you’re on an airplane flying across the country, and the in-flight entertainment system has this movie available to stream, do yourself a favor, just take a nap instead, or just sit up straight and stare at the back of the seat in front of you for two hours or so. Yeah, it might be a little boring, but at least it won’t be as incredibly disappointing.

Why I’m running for Mayor of New York City

Citizens of New York. It’s with great pride that I announce my candidacy for Mayor. Of New York. New York City. I know I’ve talked about this before, but this time I’m serious. I’m as of right now, officially in the race. Almost. I need a campaign team. Somebody who’s good with election stuff. Like rules, and how to get on the ballot. You can’t just say, “I’m running for Mayor,” and then it just shows up. No, you’ve got to do forms and stuff. Right?

I guess you could win as write-in candidate, and that way we won’t have to bother with any forms at all. I’ll leave it to my chief-of-staff. As soon as I hire a chief-of-staff. And then I’ll have that person hire the rest of the team. So I really just need a solid chief-of-staff. Ooh, and a t-shirt guy. I don’t want boring campaign t-shirts. I want like, really cool shirts, like something funny maybe, not funny in-your-face funny, but like clever funny.

I know it’s an already crowded field, but I plan on using that to my advantage. I’m going to stand back and watch them all pummel each other trying to get their party’s nomination. Then it’ll just be a Republican, a Democrat, and then me. My last name starts with G., right in the middle of the alphabet. Well, near the middle. It’s definitely closer than F, much closer than B. So I’m counting on the statistics working in my favor, making my name smack in the middle of the ballot.

It’ll be eye level. And as New Yorkers head to the polls, they’ll be like, “Man, I’m so sick of these two bozos, the same old machine party politics. If only there were an alternative!” and just as the voter thinks this thought, they’ll look up, like I said, Rob G., independent, right in the middle.

And that voter might think, “Well, I’ve never heard of this Rob G. before.” That’s what they’ll think anyway. But they won’t even realize that they’re already wearing my campaign t-shirt. (Note to self: find t-shirt guy. Ask about bulk discounts.) Because the design is going to be so subtle, so hip, it’s going to transcend your regular sending-a-message t-shirt. No, it’s going to be like a joke, but with so many layers, and hidden layers, and it’s all going to be based off of an inside joke that only a couple of people know about, and so one day that couple of people will be wearing them out, laughing to themselves about the joke, everyone else will get so jealous, so they’ll start wearing the shirts also. And then it’ll get bigger and bigger until, “Congratulations Mayor Rob G.” is the headline of every single New York City newspaper. Hell, maybe some other city’s papers will run it too. I don’t know, like Baltimore, or Cleveland.

And then I’ll pull a reverse Bloomberg. After winning as an independent, I’ll announce that I’m actually going to align myself with a party. “Which one will it be? Democrat? Republican?” That’ll also be the headline on every NYC paper. And then I’ll write my own op-ed, and the headline for that will be, “Which one of you political parties wants it more?” And I’ll stand back and watch them as they both clamor for my allegiance.

There’s going to be a lot of fake outs. Like one day I might pay a visit to the local Democratic Party offices. The press will get a few shots, anonymous sources might start leaking tips. But really I’ll just be making waves. I’ll go inside and be like, “Do you guys mind if I use your bathroom?” just nonsensical type visits. Or maybe I’ll start wearing solid red ties, every single day. And the newspaper analyst will be like, “Well you see, he’s definitely sending a message here. This is a politically-charged fashion statement.” But as soon as that story gets big, I’ll switch up the ties, like solid green, or half-red half-blue, or maybe a novelty tie, something your high school art teacher might wear, something weird, like ketchup and mustard bottles, I don’t know.

Maybe I’ll never pick a side. I’ll just keep teasing the idea, like, “Soon, I’m still thinking, I’m definitely going to pick a side soon.” And then on the last day of my third term I’ll call a huge press conference, and I’ll say, “Fellow New Yorkers. I think I’m going to stay an independent. Thank you for your support as I’ve explored and considered all sides of the political spectrum.” Maybe. That’s just one possibility. Maybe I’ll make my own political party.

Anyway, let’s do this New York. Like I said, I really need a campaign team. College students? What about an (unpaid) internship? Huh? You like filling out papers? Do you? You want to come work at City Hall (still as an intern?) Come on, vote for me and I’ll get Lin back on the Knicks. Vote for me and I’ll double the size of all sodas. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. Let’s do it. Vote for me.