May 17, 2012
From the Archives: Walkin’ in New York

I wandered the streets aimlessly for two hours on a chilly October day. I had a purpose when I left the apartment — to find a great pair of low-cost comfortable rain boots. However, when I emerged from the subway station on the Upper East Side, I lost all sensible thoughts. The only thought I had was to just keep walking.

The city felt like a movie set as I approached Times Square. Even though I was surrounded by hundreds of people, for a moment it was just New York City and me. Then a man handed me a yellow balloon and I continued to ignore everything that was going on around me. I walked the streets as though I was the star of a movie, gazing at the the skyscrapers above and optimistic about my New York future.

(At the time, that yellow balloon reminded me that I was living my dream.)

As I approached the entrance to Macy’s in Herald Square, I was bewildered by the fact that my yellow balloon and I would have to part. Even in my fantasy-induced state of mind I understood it wasn’t practical to carry a balloon in to a large department store. I smiled one more time, popped the balloon and entered reality once more.

There have been several moments in my first month of living in New York City where I have felt I was living a fantasy — a feeling that only lasted until Halloween. Just as Jessica and I opened our apartment door to leave, our super Vinny handed us our first rent bill. Suffice to say we knew the bill was on its way, at that moment it felt like the fantasy New York life I had been living slipped away. The reality was bills, bills, bills.

The bills came all at once — rent, credit card, electric, renew a monthly subway card and Internet. After a brief moment of stress, I prioritized and created a new monthly budget plan. With a raise on the way, my Starbucks income will allow me to live comfortably and even allow me to save some money.

Regardless of the reality of bills and other such responsibilities, I know Manhattan will always allow me to slip back into my fantasy New York life. All I need to do is walk.

(Originally posted on City Dweller Nov. 4, 2009)

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Filed under: City Dweller: The Archives I Love New York In the Streets Alterted Reality Growing Up New New Yorker Syndrome Bills 
May 4, 2012
On Monday, One World Trade Center (left) became the tallest building in New York City standing 1,271 feet tall surpassing the Empire State Building (right) by 21 feet. On a clear day, both buildings are in perfect view on the corner of Avenue of Americas and 28th St. Sadly, the top of 1WTC was submerged in fog this week and I couldn’t get a good shot of the view. 

On Monday, One World Trade Center (left) became the tallest building in New York City standing 1,271 feet tall surpassing the Empire State Building (right) by 21 feet. On a clear day, both buildings are in perfect view on the corner of Avenue of Americas and 28th St. Sadly, the top of 1WTC was submerged in fog this week and I couldn’t get a good shot of the view. 

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Filed under: City Dweller: The Revival New York City I Love New York Empire State Building One World Trade Center Battles in the Sky Architecture Fog Stay Tuned for an Updated 1WTC Photo 
May 2, 2012
April Adventures

Spring is among my favorite seasons in New York. The scent in the air is fresh and filled with a mixture of blossoming tulips and the aroma of food as restaurants open their store fronts and patios to patrons. It’s a calm before the blistering summer heat that fills the city with nothing but the smell of decaying garbage and sweat.

April began with sunshine and at least a week of warmth. Even after a mild winter, the warmth was rejuvenating and filled me with excitement, knowing my favorite springtime activities were on the horizon. Afternoons in Central Park. Walks on the High Line and along the Hudson River. A hike through the woods at Wave Hill. As always, I had planned the standards for this spring in addition to new discoveries. But life happened, and April’s schedule quickly filled up with various traveling excursions and a dash of New York-based events.

Here’s a quick recap of my April Adventures:

April 3 Yell Surprise at Trash Bar: OK—this is admittedly a shameless promotion for my boyfriend’s band, Yell Surprise. I’ve been working with supporting Matt, Mike, Nathan, and Brian since the band’s formation late last year. Trash Bar was their second live show and—I’m not just saying this because I’m dating the lead guitarist—they rocked it! They have an undeniable chemistry on (and off) stage that has the ability to captivate an audience that’s divided between friends devotees and the strangers that may have wandered in for the open bar. Don’t take my word for it, watch this video and see for yourself.



Yell Surprise will be performing at The Delancey May 21.

April 13–17 Run DET: In January, I escaped from the city for an extended weekend visit with Matt’s parents and family in Ohio. This month it was his turn to accompany me to metro-Detroit to meet the entire family and celebrate my brother’s 21st birthday.

I haven’t been to Detroit since before I moved to New York, so when a friend suggested we go downtown for drinks I was enthralled. I was eager to give Matt a tour of Motown in addition to exploring how the city has revitalized itself long after I moved away. I was powerless to do that in one night. So after my friend violated several basic traffic laws driving on Jefferson, I was content with pointing out the city’s landmarks from the passenger side and leaving the tour of Detroit at that. With the exception of Greektown and The Old Shillelagh, the city—at least the stretch of Woodward between The Fox Theatre and Campus Martius—felt deprived of a urban Saturday night. Perhaps, it was because there were no major crowd-inducing events taking place in the surrounding areas, but I could only think of one street in Manhattan as desolate as Woodward was that night. I couldn’t tell if Matt was impressed by my mid-western city, but I know he enjoyed our take on a late night snack—The Coney Dog. We indulged in American Coney Island (a first for me) before heading back to suburbia. 

Feels like home: my alma mater’s student newspaper, American Coney, and Maggie our Jack Russell Terrier.


April 21–22 Bolt to Boston: When I first moved to New York, I couldn’t conceive an scenario in which an impromptu trip to Boston was possible. I barely had time to sleep, let alone any extra money to afford a two day trip anywhere. It’s taken nine months, but the reality of having a small amount of disposable income has finally set in, and I’m so glad that I jumped at the opportunity to see Fun. at Boston’s House of Blues with my friend Lyndsey.


Whenever I go to Boston (which has only been twice), I get the sense that it’s a place filled with intellectuals who can have a good time. But of course, there are the beefcake men with thick accents and we met a lot of them at a bar across the street of Fenway (the Yankees killed the Sox 15-9 that night and it’s the only time I’ll root for the Yankees). The locals have such a great spirit that’s welcoming and territorial at the same time—something that Lynds and I were thankful for at the show. We had mezzanine tickets, which at the HOB means you’re standing above the floor with no view of the stage. For the first half of the show, we were listening to Fun. live and watching them on a 32-in. flat screen TV. Not entirely what we expected after the four hour bus ride. However, after relentlessly trying to persuade the security guard (shout out to Garry!), Lynds upgraded us to V.I.P. status just in time for “We Are Young.” Totally worth the trip.  


April 27 Baseball Begins: I don’t want to be a sore loser or anything, but I’m going to be a sore loser. I bought cheap grandstand tickets to root for my Detroit Tigers against the Yankees. Thanks to unpredictable April weather, it was the coldest night of the month and we were in the last row and prime targets for the wind’s brutal beating. By the third inning we had moved three rows down, the Tigers were up by three and we were two beers sober. (We needed the $11 beers, we convinced ourselves, to warm up.) Things turned for the Tigers and my mood after the sixth inning. Jeter scored the game-winning run at the bottom of the ninth and the rest is sore-loser history. If only I had bought tickets for April 28…

Go Tigers!

April 30 The Shins at Terminal 5: As I stood immobile and surrounded by thousands of Shins fans at Terminal 5, I couldn’t help but think of what lead singer James Mercer had said to me during a conference call in October 2007. I was covering the MTVU Woodie awards for my college’s student newspaper and had the opportunity to ask one question to a nominated artist. The Shins led the nominations that year and I was curious to know what Mercer’s take on the band’s success was. He humbly fielded my question. The band had not reached mainstream status, according to him, so he had trouble really answering my question—despite the fact that the band’s latest album Wincing the Night Away hit number two on the Billboard 200 and would later be nominated for a Grammy in 2008.

“A fond memory,” I thought, as I heard the first chord of Kissing the Lipless. The sheer talent and energy of The Shins live didn’t surprise me. And the crowd agreed. “Why are you so good?” yelled a fan during Mercer’s solo acoustic performance. My guess is that Mercer might not have an explanation for that fan. As the band walked off stage after strumming the last chords of Sleeping Lessons, I thought, “Another fond moment to add to the memory books.”

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Filed under: City Dweller: The Revival New York City Yell Surprise Detroit Michigan Coney Dogs Boston Fun House of Blues Baseball Tigers The Shins Terminal 5 
March 20, 2012
Riverdale Walk

Much like the rest of Riverdale, the gardens at onetime private estate Wave Hill (Independence Ave at W 249th St; 718-549-3200, wavehill.org) will make you feel far removed from city life. Armed with a camera, begin your tour of the 28-acre property at the Flower Garden to view a vibrant assortment of peonies, columbines, irises and small leaf mountain lilacs.

I’m so thankful for my time as a TONY intern. I was a bright-eyed newcomer yearning to discover New York’s best kept secrets and I discovered my favorite spring spot while writing “Riverdale walk.” Now that spring has arrived, my annual trip to Wave Hill is imminent.

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Filed under: City Dweller: The Revival Spring in the City New York in Blossom Wave Hill Time Out New York Riverdale Walk 
February 25, 2012

Ice skating at Bryant Park after the first snow of the year was a romantic idea. Two first-time skaters with weak ankles turned it into a trail and error of trying to get around the rink. We lasted no longer than 20 minutes. So my boyfriend and I gave it a second attempt before Citi Pond closed (it’s the last weekend of the season) as a post Valentine’s Day date and we loved it. 

Citi Pond is totally worth it. Admission is free while skate rental is $14 per person. Storage (without a locker) for personal belongings is $7. All of this is still cheaper than Rockefeller Center and Wollman Rink in Central Park. In addition, the romantic ambiance—jazz standards from Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong replace Top 40 hits heard at other rinks—ranks Citi Pond as the best ice skating rink in the city.

And I can check my first New York Resolution off of my list.

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Filed under: City Dweller: The Revival New York City I Love New York New Year's Resolution Bryant Park Citi Pond Winter Activities Date Night Ice Skating 
February 11, 2012
Subway Serenade

It wasn’t a typical Friday night. Instead of our usual charade—figuring out what to drink and what we would eventually half-heartedly watch on Netflix— I had suggested seeing a movie. After an early showing of The Descendants let out, we boarded the L train at Union Square back to Brooklyn. I’m sure there were available seats but we chose to ignore any vacancies and wrapped ourselves around a pole near the rear of the train car. (A major violation of proper subway etiquette—I know!)

We stood facing each other, ignoring everyone else on the train (another violation!). My boyfriend hadn’t shaved in days, and I couldn’t resist the rough texture of his partially grown-in beard. I began stroking his face with the back of my hand, when a man with a guitar boarded the train at First Ave. We were no longer alone.

The man had chosen his stage, hoisting the neck of the worn acoustic guitar inches away from my face. I tried to ignore his presence as I flirtatiously pinched my boyfriend’s cheek, but I could feel the man observing us. It didn’t take long—we were under the East River accelerating toward Bedford—when the man interrupted us, seemingly struck by inspiration.

“Excuse me,” the older man said intently looking at the two of us. I tried to avoid eye contact as I turned my glance in his direction and my boyfriend turned his head the other way, ignoring the man.

Relentless and oblivious to our non-verbal cues of disinterest, the man politely repeated himself. “Excuse me, sir,” he said directly speaking to my boyfriend. “What’s your name?”

“Matt.”

“You’re a lucky man, Matt,” the performer said as he turned his guitar toward me.

“And what your name, my dear?” He interrupted before I could respond. “My name is Darryl,” he said, pointing to himself.

“Lindsey,” I replied, letting my guard down.

“Matt and Lindsey. Lindsey and Matt,” the man repeated. “May I play a song for you?”

His approach was certainly more engaging than other subway performers. Most burst through the doors, filled with hope that one generous soul with toss a few cents or a dollar in a hat after unenthusiastically playing the same song car to car. Some say thank you as they collect their earnings, but most just wave hats or guitar cases in a rider’s face before hopping to another car at the next stop. The worst offenders are the mariachi bands—usually a guitarist singing Spanglish accompanied by a loud accordion player. I’ve become accustomed to adjusting the volume on my iPod when I see these bands enter the train. But Darryl’s demeanor encouraged us to say yes to his proposal.

The strings on his guitar were beyond repair,  and as he strummed the first chord it was clear that his guitar hadn’t been tuned in years. Maybe I’m amazed at the way you love me all the time, he sang, softly. A smile spread wide across my face. Like his guitar, he couldn’t carry a tune but he knew his audience. I was smitten. Not by the old man—by the setting. New York City transit is not the most romantic place on Earth, but at that moment it felt like we were the only two people on the train being treated to a private performance from Darryl.

Baby I’m amazed at the way you’re with me all the time, he continued, almost whispering the lyrics. “One more verse and I’ll leave you two to your business,” Darryl said. “Because three’s a crowd.”

As he began the last verse I glanced around the train, looking for reactions from the other riders. All were unfazed, most likely relieved that the man had not stood by them on the train.

I pulled a dollar out of my wallet and slipped into the guitar’s sound hole. “Thank you, Lindsey,” Darryl said interrupting his performance. I lovingly looked at Matt. There was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be than under the East River listening to a stranger serenade us.

Baby I’m amazed at the way you help me sing my song, you right me when I’m wrong. Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you.

“Matt, you’re a lucky man,” the stranger told him once again as he finished up.

“She’s alright,” Matt replied sarcastically.

“No, she’s wonderful,” Darryl replied. “You two have a great night now.”

He walked to the center of the car looking for another interested train rider, but I suspected the performances that followed couldn’t compare to “Maybe I’m Amazed.” While amateur it was at best, it was meaningful to its listeners, and I’m not sure if Darryl even knew the extent of its meaning. I opened my heart to a stranger trying to make a buck on the train when I could have tuned him out. It was the most positive experience I’ve had on the subway and a refreshing reminder that as the years pass, New York will always amaze me.

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Filed under: City Dweller: The Revival New York City Subway Series Stand Clear of the Closing Doors I Love New York Subway Performers 
February 3, 2012
Escape from the City: Country Drive

“Are you mocking my small-town upbringing?” My boyfriend asked as I was poised to take a photo of an abandoned farm near a corn field. His two younger brothers laughed in the backseat.

We had landed at Dayton airport just two days prior and I still hadn’t recovered from the initial cultural shock. I racked my brain trying to remember the conversation in which he confessed he was born and raised near Ohio’s sprawling farm land, but it had escaped my memory. Our relationship began and blossomed in New York City—Wave Hill in the northern Bronx was the closest to nature we had ever been together.

“No,” I laughed as I quickly snapped the photo on my phone. “I just didn’t realize how small your hometown was.”

He smiled at me and accelerated toward the highway.

As he began his tour of Enon, I quickly discovered how small his hometown was—home to only 2,534 people, boasting one traffic light for the entire town. Its narrow sidewalks remained empty in the dead of winter and led residents to only one main street. I imagined how many people were currently strutting on the sidewalks of my Queens neighborhood, regardless of what the thermometer said.

It had been more than six months since my boyfriend had driven a car, but he felt at ease as soon as he shifted gears becoming his own transportation conductor. It was the smoothest transit ride I had all year.  

The several mile stretch before we reached the main expressway, was home to a mix of small businesses—a furniture industries business, an auto body shop, and a chiropractor’s office—and split level and ranch houses.  

Just before we merged on the highway, I noticed an industrial building made of steel. “There’s the SportsPex,” my boyfriend’s younger brother said.

“It’s the SportsPlex,” the middle brother corrected him.

I read the sign: SportsPex. The L was missing. I had silently promised not to take anymore pictures and refraining from that gem was difficult.

We passed countless corn and soybean fields as we drove along the highway. It was more open land than I had seen since childhood trips to northern Michigan. Fairborn—home to his alma mater—was our destination. It was not much different from my college and its town. Buildings on the campus of his commuter college were similar to mine. One glass-paned building struck me in particular and immediately made me nostalgic for classes in O’Dowd Hall on Oakland’s campus. A variety of chain restaurants, fast food joints, a bookstore, Starbucks, Meijer, and several shopping outlets surrounded the half-mile radius of campus. This is just like Rochester, I thought. As I absorbed Fairborn, I felt more connected to my boyfriend than ever before.

During our hour-long drive around southwest Ohio, I began to appreciate his upbringing but quickly understood why he moved to New York. Enon, it seemed, is not an evolving village. The installation of the stop light was the most exciting news in recent memory, according to his mother. I’m sure in the time it took me to write this, a restaurant down the street from my apartment has closed and a new bar has opened across the street. While I know it remains close to his heart (and now mine), Enon lacks that same spark missing from my hometown and the constant stimulation that drive creative people like us to New York. I began to miss the city.

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Filed under: City Dweller: The Revival Escape from New York Country Drive Culutral Adjustments Ohio 
January 19, 2012

Shit New Yorkers Say is the best of the Sh*t…Say meme. Various phrases featured in the video are part of my daily vocabulary including:  

  • Where is the train?
  • Ugh, tourists.
  • Move! Move!
  • All I ate today was a bagel.  
  • I read that in New York Mag. 
  • I read that on Gawker. 
  • Cash only?
  • I love it here.
  • I hate it here.
  • I love pizza.
  • I want a dog.
  • God damnit. 

(Source: New York Magazine)

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Filed under: City Dweller: Revival New York City Shit New Yorkers Say I Love New York New York Magazine I Know Astoria 
January 18, 2012
GPOYW—The Big Apple tattoo edition. Long before I moved to the city, I felt that I belonged in New York, therefore felt a piece of New York belonged on me. I knew I wanted tribute ink and had considered an outline of the skyline, but couldn’t find anything I liked or figure out the right placement. In 2008, the idea for an apple tattoo surfaced. The simplicity and meaning of the apple’s connection to the city resonated with me more than the original skyline idea. That summer I got it done at Eternal Tattoos in Eastpointe, Mich. The artist shaded it with different colors to make it look more like a real apple and it quickly became my favorite of the three tattoos I have. Though it’s only about the size of a quarter, it’s comforting to know the big apple is always with me.

GPOYW—The Big Apple tattoo edition. Long before I moved to the city, I felt that I belonged in New York, therefore felt a piece of New York belonged on me. I knew I wanted tribute ink and had considered an outline of the skyline, but couldn’t find anything I liked or figure out the right placement.

In 2008, the idea for an apple tattoo surfaced. The simplicity and meaning of the apple’s connection to the city resonated with me more than the original skyline idea. That summer I got it done at Eternal Tattoos in Eastpointe, Mich. The artist shaded it with different colors to make it look more like a real apple and it quickly became my favorite of the three tattoos I have. Though it’s only about the size of a quarter, it’s comforting to know the big apple is always with me.

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Filed under: Big Apple City Dweller: Revival NY Ink Tribute Tattoo GPOYW GPOY 
January 13, 2012
From the Archives: The Hunt

(September 2010: Farewell to my first New York apartment—a shared studio on the Upper East Side.)

We were much like lion cubs when we arrived to the concrete jungle. Eagerly anticipating the moment of our first hunting victory, we thought we were well prepared. We had circled around our jungle and knew where to find the prey that would satisfy our appetite. After much consideration, we came up with what we thought was a full proof plan.

“Yes, I would totally move here,” I overheard a woman say to someone on the phone while she was sitting at Gate B6 in New York City’s La Guardia airport. I had just learned the difference between uttering the words “I want to move to New York” and actually doing it.

I sat in Gate B6 exhausted. My friend and I had spent the last five days searching endlessly for an apartment in New York City. Just like the woman in the airport, we had both visited the city before and felt deeply connected to it. Our connection lured us back to the city and we decided to make the move to the big apple.

Just as a lion prepares for a hunt, we gathered the right materials needed to successfully land an apartment. We made appointments with recommended brokers in the city and confidently walked into their offices with the necessary paperwork to secure a place.

However, when our hunt began we quickly learned that our plan wasn’t entirely full proof. Another species was preying on us and tried to knock us to the bottom of the food chain.

While the brokers were more than happy to show us several apartments (we viewed roughly 12) in different neighborhoods, they took us for young naive cubs and took advantage of the fact we weren’t from New York. Ignoring our requests and backing us into corners, we couldn’t believe how hard this endeavor had become.

We found an apartment we liked on the Upper East Side but when we discovered that it wouldn’t work out for us we became hopeless.

Just when we thought we’d be eaten alive, we fought back. Craigslist was our saving grace. We found a listing on the Upper East Side that we loved. With one day left to find an apartment we called the number on the listing. The place was gorgeous, so we applied. It was our last night in the city and we anxiously awaited confirmation on approval. We went to bed not knowing whether or not go home with an apartment secured.

After discovering the second apartment would not be ours, our Craigslist broker became as determined as we were to find us an apartment. With nearly three hours left to spare before we needed to be at the airport, we hit the streets and looked at two more apartments. After much consideration, we decided to apply for the last apartment that we viewed.

Just one hour before hearing “yes, I would totally move here,” from a stranger, we were approved for the apartment and accepted it. We victoriously left the concrete jungle and now had a piece of it to call home.

(Originally posted on City Dweller September 10, 2009.)

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Filed under: City Dweller: The Archives New York City The Apartment Hunt It's a [Concrete] Jungle Out There New York City Apartments