A new favorite route: West Broadway from Houston down to Canal.
Friday, May 07, 2004
Monday, May 03, 2004
I Saw Her on the L Train
March 28, 2004
By JASON GORDON
THE New York subway has become the city's last bastion of
hope for romantics. That's partly because the subway is one
of the only places where people aren't subdivided into
small cliques depending on social class or musical tastes.
And instead of the carefully selected and touched-up photos
that people present online, under the bright, fluorescent
lights of the subway you can see exactly what someone looks
like. There is no dark lighting to cover a premature
wrinkle, a scary makeup job or a bad hair day.
The subway exposes people when they are their most
unfortunate selves, and I, for one, love it. Every day,
millions of naturally stunning women parade in front of me,
and all I have to do is look up from my seat to appreciate
them.
From a distance, I admire these beautiful women, and I
speculate about them, based on how they're dressed. You can
tell who feels comfortable in a pants suit and who'd prefer
to be wearing a thrift-store dress and fishnet stockings.
But who knows if the woman in a Versace business suit
really has a thing for leather?
Recently, a friend told me that she had seen in the subway
a man so beautiful she felt like a 16-year-old looking at a
photo of Luke Perry at the peak of his "Beverly Hills
90210'' fame. She pictured their entire future together. I
told her that she had just had her first subway crush.
A subway crush is simply someone you most likely will never
talk to or even meet, but will stare at adoringly from
afar. It's a crush in the simplest, most intense sense of
the word. During the limited span of your ride, you can
imagine any future you want with this person. She or he may
not even be your type, but you find yourself becoming
temporarily infatuated.
Could it ever go further?
I will always remember the day I was riding the L train and
a young woman sitting across from me was reading John
Kennedy Toole's novel "A Confederacy of Dunces.'' She had
short black hair and was wearing your standard Williamsburg
outfit of Converse, stockings, and all black everything
else. It was the novel that brought her to my attention.
The words immediately formed in my brain. "That's one of my
favorite books."
Amazingly, she smiled at me and asked me what I was
reading. I told her it was a manuscript of David Brock's
new book, "The Republican Noise Machine,'' and explained to
her its premise. She immediately went into a little rant
about how important it is for people our age to be involved
in politics.
It turned out she worked for a cause I really believe in.
At this point we were both just smiling at each other,
waiting for one of us to ask for the other person's phone
number. I asked first, and she gladly gave it to me.
The next day I called her and asked if she wanted to go out
the following evening. She said yes and plans were made,
but that night we bumped into each other at Dan Kennedy's
reading of "Loser Goes First." It was a complete
coincidence but a great one. We spent the entire event
together.
We confessed to each other our love for David Sedaris and
Scrabble. We confided to each other our favorite private
hideaways in New York, where we can go and not see anyone
we're friends with. Mine was a park near Riverside Drive.
Hers was a doughnut shop in Chinatown. She hated new bands.
I loved finding them. She didn't own a computer. I was
addicted to mine.
We dated for a year before moving in together. I was
against marriage and so is she, but after three years
together she wanted a ring and I gladly got it for her. It
was a small ceremony and we both cried. We pooled our money
in a bid for me to run for governor, then senator. I won
and we moved to Washington. We had three children, named
Jagger, Bowie and Moz. I was asked by my good friend
Hillary Rodham Clinton to be her vice president. I
accepted.
Eight years later, I ran for president and easily beat
Giuliani. My wife was the most fabulous first lady since
Jackie O. We retired young and moved back to Manhattan,
where on a gorgeous spring day I caught her sunbathing on
the roof of our brownstone rereading "A Confederacy of
Dunces.''
That, at least, was my fantasy; in reality, I never said a
word. I thought about her for a week or so, I told my
friends about this woman I saw reading my favorite book and
I even checked the Missed Connections section of
Craigslist. I hoped I would see her again, but I don't know
if I'd even recognize her.
Jason Gordon is editor of the Web site Product Shop NYC, an
online popular culture magazine.
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/03/28/nyregion/28crush.html?ex=1081769499&ei=1&en=2806d6abb9cfd4fa
March 28, 2004
By JASON GORDON
THE New York subway has become the city's last bastion of
hope for romantics. That's partly because the subway is one
of the only places where people aren't subdivided into
small cliques depending on social class or musical tastes.
And instead of the carefully selected and touched-up photos
that people present online, under the bright, fluorescent
lights of the subway you can see exactly what someone looks
like. There is no dark lighting to cover a premature
wrinkle, a scary makeup job or a bad hair day.
The subway exposes people when they are their most
unfortunate selves, and I, for one, love it. Every day,
millions of naturally stunning women parade in front of me,
and all I have to do is look up from my seat to appreciate
them.
From a distance, I admire these beautiful women, and I
speculate about them, based on how they're dressed. You can
tell who feels comfortable in a pants suit and who'd prefer
to be wearing a thrift-store dress and fishnet stockings.
But who knows if the woman in a Versace business suit
really has a thing for leather?
Recently, a friend told me that she had seen in the subway
a man so beautiful she felt like a 16-year-old looking at a
photo of Luke Perry at the peak of his "Beverly Hills
90210'' fame. She pictured their entire future together. I
told her that she had just had her first subway crush.
A subway crush is simply someone you most likely will never
talk to or even meet, but will stare at adoringly from
afar. It's a crush in the simplest, most intense sense of
the word. During the limited span of your ride, you can
imagine any future you want with this person. She or he may
not even be your type, but you find yourself becoming
temporarily infatuated.
Could it ever go further?
I will always remember the day I was riding the L train and
a young woman sitting across from me was reading John
Kennedy Toole's novel "A Confederacy of Dunces.'' She had
short black hair and was wearing your standard Williamsburg
outfit of Converse, stockings, and all black everything
else. It was the novel that brought her to my attention.
The words immediately formed in my brain. "That's one of my
favorite books."
Amazingly, she smiled at me and asked me what I was
reading. I told her it was a manuscript of David Brock's
new book, "The Republican Noise Machine,'' and explained to
her its premise. She immediately went into a little rant
about how important it is for people our age to be involved
in politics.
It turned out she worked for a cause I really believe in.
At this point we were both just smiling at each other,
waiting for one of us to ask for the other person's phone
number. I asked first, and she gladly gave it to me.
The next day I called her and asked if she wanted to go out
the following evening. She said yes and plans were made,
but that night we bumped into each other at Dan Kennedy's
reading of "Loser Goes First." It was a complete
coincidence but a great one. We spent the entire event
together.
We confessed to each other our love for David Sedaris and
Scrabble. We confided to each other our favorite private
hideaways in New York, where we can go and not see anyone
we're friends with. Mine was a park near Riverside Drive.
Hers was a doughnut shop in Chinatown. She hated new bands.
I loved finding them. She didn't own a computer. I was
addicted to mine.
We dated for a year before moving in together. I was
against marriage and so is she, but after three years
together she wanted a ring and I gladly got it for her. It
was a small ceremony and we both cried. We pooled our money
in a bid for me to run for governor, then senator. I won
and we moved to Washington. We had three children, named
Jagger, Bowie and Moz. I was asked by my good friend
Hillary Rodham Clinton to be her vice president. I
accepted.
Eight years later, I ran for president and easily beat
Giuliani. My wife was the most fabulous first lady since
Jackie O. We retired young and moved back to Manhattan,
where on a gorgeous spring day I caught her sunbathing on
the roof of our brownstone rereading "A Confederacy of
Dunces.''
That, at least, was my fantasy; in reality, I never said a
word. I thought about her for a week or so, I told my
friends about this woman I saw reading my favorite book and
I even checked the Missed Connections section of
Craigslist. I hoped I would see her again, but I don't know
if I'd even recognize her.
Jason Gordon is editor of the Web site Product Shop NYC, an
online popular culture magazine.
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/03/28/nyregion/28crush.html?ex=1081769499&ei=1&en=2806d6abb9cfd4fa
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