The Other Way Around

The fact that I have had a visitor more weekends in New York than I can count on my hands and feet continues to baffle and comfort me.  It keeps my energies in flux, my apartment happily more used and worn than it initially appeared, my dishes in motion, and my take forever doubling at this delectable city.  I spent this weekend with two road-tripping Dutchmen who thought parts of me had changed in the past year, and yet, also described me as virile.  Excited at first, that I might teach these two foreigners a thing or two about America, I soon realized that things would actually be the other way around.

I suddenly found myself in a torrent of valuable tidbits I would have definitely been without on this stormy Sunday evening.  I learned not to "suffer fools gladly," (especially when they continuously laughed for longer than the appropriate amount of time after a joke).  

I learned that New York City = Dutch in the following (and I'd assume many more) ways:  

1.New York used to be New Amsterdam.

2.Brooklyn is named for Breukelen, a town in Holland.

3.Staten Island is named after the Dutch word, Staten Generaal, the Dutch Parliament.

4.Boerem Hill (a neighborhood not far from mine) means "farmer's hill" in Dutch.

If that wasn't enough, I proceeded to get the entire low-down on what exactly goes on in the Tour de France, why it is so important, and why Lance Armstrong, at times, gets a less than warm welcome.  For those of you who are like me and apparently live in a cellar without a sliver of light in the form of every-day news, the Tour de France is a three week long ordeal, with multiple races consisting of team cycling, individual cycling, mountain cycling, and so forth.  It's nothing to scoff at, believe me.

I was educated on why the New York subway system is not as flashy and clean as those one would see elsewhere.  It has something to do with American public spending philosophies, our utilitarianism in terms of public transportation, the fact that we want our tax dollars to fit into certain slots and boxes in society, without a penny over-spent.  Elsewhere, taxpayers dish out more, so they can insolently marvel, mouths agape, at the spotless, artsy walls of their subway stations.  

I was made aware that Americans are more spontaneous, better tippers, more courteous with strangers, forced to deal with more touters, than our foreign friends.  That we should be grateful for the free water on the table at a restaurant, for the friendly passersby who don't steal your camera when you ask them to snap a photo of you, and for the fact that happiness is an apparent priority.   

That placebo can sometimes mean gazebo, that fricknack can sometimes mean knick knack. 

*Please note that each hyperlinked vocabulary word entered my unimpressive stash of gems from the English language in my knackered mind, this very weekend, thanks to the Dutchmen.

Meanwhile, I was able to teach them a grand total of 4 words:

1.soliloquy

2.hankering

3.bodega

4.tater tot

  

Just Another Freak Show

she skates through the air like a bird on crack

gray streaks in her hair and her booty gets smacked

with what some might call bizarre hideousness

she glides through life in blissful obliviousness

skate-salsa skate-flamenco skate-jive and skate grind

watching them snapped me into another state of mind

a freakshow in Central Park just for me!

where tourists flock like seagulls and crazies dance for free!

Earplugs

It always seems that just as I turn off my reading light and sink down into the covers at night, my new upstairs neighbor finds it necessary to mobilize. She generally comes home late, and as soon as I hear her stomping past my door up to the 3rd floor, I know I'm in for some serious fun. Sometimes, as I lay there trying to push thoughts and quandaries out of my clogged head and keep my eyes closed tight, it sounds like she is walking around with a couple of those plastic milk crates strapped to her feet as shoes - shuffling this way and that across her wood floors. Then, around 1:00 am, she begins to (seemingly) throw bricks willy-nilly around her apartment. Following that game, there's usually a series of doors and cabinets being opened and shut in rhythm. One or two punk rock songs are played randomly throughout all of this, along with a few loud sighs. Then, around 2:30 or 3:00, she decides to take a shower, the pipes ringing through my walls - at which point I reluctantly place my earplugs above my lobes. It's a step up, I guess, maybe, from the last tenants above me, who would come home drunk on a regular basis, and make loud, passionate love directly above me.

Summer Slaw

I'm generally opposed to slaws of all kinds, but after happening upon a mini farmer's market at the Grand Army Plaza in Brooklyn, my buds did a flip.

Zucchini and Squash Slaw

2 small zucchini

2 small yellow squash

1 bunch of radishes

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 tablespoon cider vinegar

1 tablespoon dijon mustard

1 tablespoon minced fresh dill

1 tablespoon chopped parsley

dash of salt

dash of pepper

Cut zucchini, yellow squash, and radishes into match-stick size strips.  Mix everything else up in a bowl of sorts, and then toss those veggies in.  Grab yourself a good baguette, slice it into thin bites, and spoon some of that slaw on.  

If your buds don't flip like mine did, I will reimburse you for what you spent on the ingredients.