Further Lessons in Urban Kindness

At the coffee shop this morning, I was waited on by one of the friendliest cashiers I have ever seen. His greeting took me by surprise-- he was gushing with the promise of a new day. "Good morning, sir!" he beamed. "How are you today?!" His saccharine tone and buoyant temperament made me uneasy at such an early hour. How was I supposed to know how I was today? It was barely even 'today' yet. "And what can I get for you today?" Well, I thought, I'll have a coffee, a muffin, and if you could take a valium and stop saying the word 'today', that would be super. It was just so early for such.... gusto.

The truth is, though, that I very much appreciate friendliness, and it's not overabundant in this city. New York is not a mean city, it's just one that doesn't have time for pleasantries--and I guess that's one thing I miss. As an aspiring optimist, though, I try to crack its steely and gruff exterior on occasion, one person at a time.

Holding a door for someone is a friendly thing to do, and I actually enjoy doing it. It's the easiest, most acceptable way to be nice to a complete stranger. At the very least, you usually get a reaction from the person: a faint smile, a rushed 'thank you', a passing glance. One thing you should not do, though, is hold a revolving door for someone. It's actually counterproductive, and can cause a bloody nose. Lesson learned.

The post-sneeze 'bless you' is another common nicety, which I have alluded to in a previous post. I don't use this one all the time, because to be honest sometimes I am just not in the mood. In a town as suspicious as New York, people don't seem to take to strangers saying 'bless you'. I don't know if it's inherent mistrust, silently avowed atheism or something else entirely, but people seem to think you want something from them. And, as is the case with anyone who wants something from you in the city, the common reaction is simply to ignore.

So, I have modified my 'bless you' for New York. I now say it with a manufactured chip on my shoulder. I say 'bless you' like it is a big inconvenience for me; like I am saddled with this pain-in-the-ass burden of blessing every clown who deems it biologically necessary to expel an allergen. Strangely enough, this seems to work; people are more likely to accept the 'bless you'. I even get a 'thank you' sometimes. It's the sort of thank you someone might give to a Neo-Nazi that just gave them the last slice of pizza, but it's a thank you nonetheless.

So, as it so often does, the City has lessons and reminders for me: 1. Kindness, even if it is unrequited, is never wasted. 2. Sometimes you have to adapt. 3. Sometimes you have to let people handle their own doors. 4. If you are extremely happy before 7:30am, it's okay to keep that to yourself.

Scimitar-Juggling Bellydancer for Hire

As I have been since I arrived here, I am on the prowl for jobs. Freelance, permanent, part-time and inane--if it interests me in some way, I usually apply.

Everyone knows that the process of applying for jobs can be an arduous and trying one. At times, when you don't receive responses despite consistent follow-up, it can seem like you are wasting your time; that no one really reads what you send or hears what you say.

So, sometimes, I try to change things up a bit--partially to make my submission more attention-grabbing, and partially just to see if anyone is really paying attention in the first place. Essentially, I can be dismissed.... but I refuse to be ignored.

Sometimes I use the subject of the email, since this is the first thing a prospective employer will see. I assume that most applicants’ subject lines will be germane to the position, such as: "Experienced Copywriter" or "Staff Writing Position". I often aim to stand out, with subject lines like:

Carnies with Softballs Scare Me

I opened this particular email by regaling the hiring party with the story of my brief stand-off with a short, dentally-bereft Coney Island game booth attendant. I got a response on this one, but it wasn't a positive one.

There are other times when I take the opportunity to clarify certain things in the job listing:

When you say "juggle projects"-- could a scimitar be considered a project?

Other times, often on Fridays, I am a bit punchy and just send emails to see if I can get a response. One job that was advertised was for women: specifically, attractive bikini-clad ones to pass out flyers in Times Square. Having a wildly askew body image and a mild hangover, I decided to apply:

Subject: Bellydance Bikini

Good morning,
I am a pasty white, somewhat fit male in my early thirties. I can bellydance (seriously), and I am interested in passing out flyers while wearing a bikini.
I even offered to write the flyers for them, but alas and alack, I did not receive a response to this email. I prefer to think it was because of my defiant post-script:

Please note: I will not shave my legs.

Because no matter how badly I want a job, I have my limits. After all, what is a man in a bikini, if that man is without his dignity? That -- is a question for which I don’t want an answer.

Free Style

Among all its other claims to fame, New York is a fashion town. There are always fashion trends being set in this town, and it’s evident as you walk the streets here. People spend lots of time and heaps of money to look just right, and to make sure that people know that they look just right. I'm convinced that storefront windows serve a dual purpose -- to show the fashions that a store has for sale, and to give people a reflective surface in which to check themselves out as they walk by.

Sadly, I am not much of a fashionisto. For instance, I have a tendency to wear clothes in a very limited color range. To equate it to nature -- I wear clothes ranging from the color of dirt to the color of shrubs, with a smattering of exotic tree barks interspersed. I occasionally break free of this, but it doesn't happen that often.

I am working on this, though. I have even enlisted the help of some of my friends to help modify my look (thanks again, Katie and Bridget). I am trying to push the envelope, to breach the invisible walls of my comfort zone. To wear things I wouldn't normally wear; sleek styles, colors of consequence.

There is a fashion company that has offices in this building that I work in. You can usually spot the people that work there on the elevator, not only by the button they push but by the heartbreakingly fashionable way they dress. One afternoon, I was on the elevator with someone who worked at this fashion company. She looked good and, clearly knowing this, she glanced with a smile at her reflection on the door (yes, even elevator doors in this town are aids to narcissistic indulgence). Standing right next to her, I decided to see how my reflection looked in apples-to-oranges comparison.

It was then that I realized that my zipper was down. Barn door was wide open. Fly so down it should be popping Zoloft. And it was also at that moment that I was reminded that I had worn my bright red boxers that day.

My reaction was to--as smoothly as possible--cover myself. After leaving the elevator and letting the initial embarrassment pass, though, I realized that I had definitely left my comfort zone. I had made a bold fashion move, and was probably the only person over the age of 7 to make such a move that day in New York. Not only that, but I had accentuated my look with the most noticeable underpants I own. However unwittingly, I had fashion moxie.

You see, I don't just set trends. I set them on fire.

Alien Cruise

After all of the hype, everyone finally sees a picture of Suri Cruise. And as this picture clearly shows, Suri is just a normal child. A normal child, likely from outer space, with only a torso and a head -- sprouting forth directly from the mutant innards of Tom Cruise. But it has Tom's eyes.

Article on Marked

If anyone is up for some light reading, here's a link to an article I wrote on a band from San Francisco. Hope everyone had a great weekend.

http://markedmagazine.com/2006Sept11-Bittersweets.shtml