When Drake Becomes Confucious

I’m sorry I haven’t blogged in a while.  I’ve been busy, but not just your regular wife-stepmother-friend-teacher busy.  I’ve been New York Busy.  What is New York Busy, you ask?  It’s a little difficult to explain.  However, I think I can sum it up perfectly by telling you to take every stress you have in life, and add to it the prevention of trying to go to jail every day for harming someone.  This is New York Busy, people, and it is quite the task.

New Yorkers are amazing.  But, they are also very, very rude.  It’s why they get such a bad rap from outsiders.  I don’t take it personally anymore though.  I’ve come up with the perfect remedy for dealing with the shenanigans of New York; I call it the 0-100 (Real Quick) Plan, and so far, it’s been pretty effective.  The basic premise is this: when a New Yorker is about to get crazy with you, just get a little crazier, and keep it moving.  All parts of this two-part plan are necessary.  You cannot slack on either part.  

Here is an example of the plan working for me.  Last week it rained almost every day.  This slows down traffic significantly in NY, and also makes people a wee bit testier. So one morning, I waited for my bus for about 25 minutes, which is about 20 minutes longer than usual.  When the bus came, the other passengers and I were pretty soaked and grumpy as we boarded, only to find out that it was standing room.  I tried to maneuver as best I could to find a spot to stand, but accidentally hit a woman with my workbag in the process.  I apologized immediately and profusely in my most sincere of voices.  For many people, this would have sufficed, but not for a New Yorker.  This woman decided to turn around, stare me in my face, and roll her eyes twice at me for my accident.  Enter the 0-100 (Real Quick) Plan.  I decided to get crazier by promptly (and loudly) asking the woman, “Are you serious?”  I then told her to get a life and that she needed to “turn back around, now.” I did it swiftly.  I maintained my stare.  And then, noticing how terrified she was that someone had the nerve to respond to her slick eye rolls, I retrieved my iPad from my bag and “kept it moving.”  She never looked back at me, and exited the bus at lightening speed when it was time to leave. 

I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty tired of people thinking that they can, in any way, take advantage of me.  This comes from being a pretty nice person my entire life and being able to exercise patience in many situations.  But when you become an adult-a career holding, tax paying, responsible adult-patience is few and far between.  Without knowing it, I grew up seeing the 0-100 (Real Quick) plan flawlessly in action by none other than my mom.  I used to feel so embarrassed when we would go out to a restaurant, the grocery, store, the dry cleaners, or the post office, and she would, without warning, get a little crazy on someone who she felt deserved it.  But now that I pay my own bills and take care of my own family, I understand her perspective.  I can only hope that my own children will one day feel as embarrassed as I did in having a confident, no-nonsense mother, and then learn to adopt my ways later in life.

I think in another city, and perhaps in another time in my life, I may have ignored the rude woman and her rude behavior.  But ignoring rudeness is no longer a part of who I am.   Of course, employing the 0-100 (Real Quick) Plan takes finesse. You cannot elect to use this plan on people who have nothing to lose because you won’t win.  But for the Average Joe who feels like getting froggy with you, the 0-100 (Real Quick) plan beckons you to leap. So by all means, leap on, my friends. Leap with confidence, perseverance, and a quickness that will make your victim think twice about being rude to another stranger. Just don’t leap yourself into jail, because this blog doesn’t make me any money, and I can’t bail you out.

  

#Crackfood: Brancaccio's Food Shop

They said,"Our school lunch is surprisingly delicious." And I, like a finalist in the Dumbest Teacher of the Year Contest, believed them. So now it's 12:30, I'm hungry, and I'm considering walking to the gas station and stocking up on Doritos and Vitamin Water because a) balance is important and b) eating school lunch is not an option.

A few weeks ago I discovered the third and best choice to solve the lunchtime dilemma in the form of the most brilliant sandwich spot I've been to in Brooklyn: Brancaccio's Food Shop. My first tasting was that of an Italian tuna sandwich complete with olive oil toasted bread and capers. Sold. I jokingly told my coworkers that I would quickly grow tired of the delicious sandwich because once I find something I like, I exhaust it. Done. So what more could Brancaccio's offer a newbie to the Brooklyn lunch scene who also happens to be a pescatarian?

How about a tilapia sandwich? Yep. Mozzarella with roasted peppers on ciabatta? Check. Eggplant Parmesan with fennel? Absolutely. Not in the mood for a sandwich? Try some pesto and be glad you did. I have yet to try a dish that could be described as anything but delectable and my tummy thanks me.

So you're a meat eater? Relax. They have a friggin pot roast sandwich for crying out loud. And one day when I was feeling rebellious and wanted to forgo my diet, I tried the balsamic chicken with gorgonzola and guacamole. Yes, you read that correctly, and yes, it made me want to slap somebody.

The food is to die for, but a menu is only one of the important qualities I look for in a new culinary obsession. The ambiance of Brancaccio's deepens my love affair. It's small and intimate, there's random classic hip hop on the speakers, and the owner, Joe, is there every day calling orders and ringing up customers. This guy is clearly committed to the success of his restaurant. One day while waiting for my order, I overheard a regular customer telling Joe that before he moves from New York, he needs the restauranteur to suggest the best sandwich on the menu. Joe politely told the customer, "I don't  do that. ALL of my sandwiches are the best." It's that type of quiet confidence and charisma that will keep me frequenting a place for as long as I can.

If you're ever on Fort Hamilton Parkway in Brooklyn, get your life in order and try Brancaccio's. The prices are reasonable, the service is quick, and if you go enough times, it's the type of place where everyone will know your name. But don't expect anyone, including you, to know your favorite menu item, because as Joe says, they are all the best.

The Subway Stare

The slogan for Subway is "Eat Fresh". In New York, the slogan for the subway should be "Feel Uncomfortable". And when I say uncomfortable, I'm not referencing the hard seats or the crowds of people who are way too musty for 7am. In the last few days I have uncovered yet another element of the subway which insists on disturbing my comfort level. I'd like to call this phenomenon The Subway Stare.

I've always been taught how rude it is to stare at people. I mean, mind your business, right? If something is pleasing, troubling, or surprising to your eye, afford it a quick natural glance and get on with your life. I just assumed this was an obvious rule on the New York subway, so I always like to make sure I have plenty of items of distraction in my work bag including my iPad and my phone. If I'm standing and can't comfortably access these items, I look out the window. I prepare for or reflect on my day. I think about how I'd rather be in bed. I do ANYTHING but stare at the curious looking people accompanying me on my ride.

I guess I'm part of a minority. Yesterday, I happened to give that quick natural glance at a woman who sat next to me. By glancing at her, I realized she was staring at the young man across from her with utter disgust. I suppose this is because he was looking at her with utter lust. And I mean, this kid could not have been older than 17 or 18, and the woman was probably my age, so I can totally understand why she was bothered by his attraction. But instead of picking up her newspaper and hiding herself from his invasive eyes, she stared right back, almost willing him to keep staring so that she could hate him more. Enter the young man's mom who, upon realizing this staring contest was occurring, kissed her son on the cheek, and then produced her own version of the death glare.

I was baffled by this exchange. And after I realized I had been, in fact, staring at these people for at least 5 minutes, I grabbed my iPad and began writing this post.

This morning is nothing different. I'm noticing how much New Yorkers love staring at others while they're on the subway. I assumed that the close proximity of travelers would make people more introverted. But I guess this method of travel lends itself to an intimacy that promotes the wandering, and settling, of eyes. This has been an awesome teachable moment New York. I'm impressed.

By the way: as I'm finishing up my thoughts, a small boy is staring at every word I type. Let's see if I can freak him out. Santa is a fraud, sucker.

Does this kid know what the word "fraud" means? Does he even celebrate Christmas? Ugh.

Subway-1
Tyra-0

#Crackfood: Papaya King

So, you don't eat hot dogs. Why would you? They are absolutely disgusting. Lord only know what's in em. I mean, if you had to choose between eating off the floor and eating a hot dog, the choice is clear. Pop a squat and take a fork to carpet. To put it simply, hot dogs are gross.

The above sentiments are true, unless you live in New York. Because if you live in New York, you will enjoy a hot dog. You haven't eaten a hot dog in years? Man up. You're a vegetarian? Today you're not. New Yorkers are serious about their hot dogs and even a hot dog hater like me understands why.

The first time my husband took me to Papaya King I was less than impressed. He practically shoved the dog down my throat and looked on in anticipation wondering if I would be as in love with these things as he is. It was 2am and I had just come from a Kanye West concert. I had been sitting just a few rows behind Kim K and Kris Jenner. I was distracted. I wasn't quite ready for the goodness.

But the last few times he's suggested Papaya King as an option for lunch or a snack, I have happily obliged. Never mind that a few hours after I eat it I feel pretty sick. Papaya King makes a mean dog. It's not too big, it's cooked to perfection, and the mustard obviously has some type of narcotic in it. Then, just when you think you're too full to be productive for the rest of the day, you have to gulp down the papaya juice for which they are equally famous.  My husband claims it's one of the healthiest juices you can consume. That's fine.  He could have probably told me the juice would instantly put 5lbs on me and I would still drool over it. Damn you New York City and your crack food.

The good news is that I don't work anywhere near 86th st, so I don't have to walk past it every day. The bad news is I do posses a memory of hot dog goodness that is going to insist that I indulge at least once a month.  The worst news? I haven't even tried their worthy competitor, Gray's Papaya, yet. And I obviously have to figure out for myself which place is better. Obviously.

#crackfood #fml

Tyra's First Day in the City...Alone

This morning I woke up with a mission on my mind and a song on my heart. The song, "We Dem Boyz" has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of this post. Idk...I just like it and similar to most Wiz Khalifa songs, it's confusingly catchy. Anyway, the mission, my friends, was clear: take public transportation into The City all by myself. I may as well get used to this; no one can hold my hand through my navigation of New York much longer.

Last night in preparation for this huge step, I strategized with my in-laws about the best routes to take and the best time to leave. My husband looked on offering up little more than occasional smirks. He doesn't understand why this is such a big deal for a Pittsburgh gal who has lived in the DMV for the past 7 years and hasn't taken a bus or a subway in God knows how long. But I was quickly reminded of his constant desire to take care of me as I found a Metro card in my wallet this morning. Brian sent me a text explaining that the card had $40 on it, as opposed to my own Metro card which had about $2.50 remaining.  I love my husband. He's so sweet.

Or is he? When I arrived at Port Authority and made my way a few blocks up to the F train, I began having major problems at the entrance to the train. The card that my husband so graciously gifted me would not scan. I ignored the scowls from busy New Yorkers as I held my head high and tried six more times. Slightly defeated, I moped over to the Metro card machine to check the balance. Yep, there was money on there. Wtf was up with this card? I once again walked over to the entrance, puppy dog eyes in place. A nice construction worker, sensing my predicament, held out his hand to try the Metro card for me. It didn't work for him either, which actually made me feel victorious. After three tries on his part, it finally went through. He told me the strip was faulty which was why it wasn't  reading the card. But alas, I was on my way to Brooklyn to visit my new job and sign some paperwork! Let the journey begin!

Welp, the journey was pretty frickin uneventful. No cursing, no arguments, no random pets, no breakdancing, no people selling weird products. These were all things I regularly experience on the subway with other people. But on the first day I travel alone, the ride is perfectly peaceful. I guess I should be thankful, but I mean really...part of the appeal (to me) of the subway is its shenanigans. Thus, my first alone trip to the city was pretty anti climatic. I didn't even get lost deciphering between going uptown and downtown. Good job, New York. Your subway system is positively pleasant. Whatever.

On the upside I did wander into Carmine's in Times Square on my way home where I enjoyed a refreshing lemon drop martini, a Caesar salad, and quite arguably the best sandwich I have ever had in my life. I even brought half of it home for my evil husband who I'm sure snickered to himself all day at work about the defective Metro card he gave me.  In case you're keeping score:
Brian-1
Tyra-0
New York-?

#tyrainthecity

The Countdown is On!

When I met my husband 2 and a half years ago, the first thing I noticed was this intense presence about him. It was in his voice, in his walk. It was an innate confidence bordering on arrogance. He was clearly a New Yorker. What in the world was I getting into?

I'm from Pittsburgh where we live and breathe French fries on our salads and Steelers on our televisions. For the past 7 years I've lived in the DC and Baltimore areas, two very distinct places where the residents have their own immense sense of pride.  There is no one , however, like a person from New York. Give them an inch and they will give you a mile long list of why their city is so much better than yours. But is it true? I mean, who can deny the food, the night life, and the culture of the city? But what about the traffic, the cost of living, and that arrogance I spoke of earlier (no offense to my husband)?

Is New York really the best city in the world? I will soon find out as I'm making preparations to join Brian in The City to start a new chapter in our lives.  I'm trading in the daily use of my Honda for a metro card.  Forget wearing cute wedges to work; hand me some sneakers for all the walking I'm about to experience. This blog will be filled with my perceptions of residing in a place that is so new to me, so confusing, so exciting. I hope to unlock the secrets of a place I have always been equally enamored with and scared of. Join me on this ride, and let's pray I remember to walk to the right of the subway steps as I chronicle my adventures.

#tyrainthecity