June 6, 2010

Last night the words "I love the silence of nature" actually came out of my mouth. Coming from me, this is, to say the least, uncharacteristic, possibly tragic. Fortunately, those words were followed with an epic statement of masculinity: "I'm gonna go write some poetry".
In my defense, there is some context here (outside of my state of mind).
Saturday night, I took the bus home from the Foreman vs. Cotto at Yankees Stadium. At one stop, a woman wearing high heels got off the bus, missed a step and fell flat on her face.
First, let's get one thing out of the way: people falling over is very funny. However, that's not the point.
For a good few minutes after she fell, no one moved. Actually, everyone moved slightly, first to look at her, then to look at each other. Everyone in the back of the bus (its still cool to sit there) made eye-contact; we were all waiting to see what the other would do, who would make the first move. The lady outside was moving some, so I can confidently say she survived the fall, and someone outside was even trying to help her up (emphasis on trying), but we on the bus, in true New York fashion, just sat there.
Eventually the bus door shut. This is where things almost got bad. I was looking at the people around me, my two friends and a couple strangers, and we were all clearly thinking the same thing: "If this bus starts moving, that lady is going to get run over and there's gonna be a whole to-do about it" (SPOILER ALERT: she didn't get run over).
If you caught the running theme so far, then you can guess what happened next.
No one moved. We all knew we should. This woman was basically sitting in the gutter, with her legs extended into the street. The bus driver had no idea she was there, hell, I'm pretty sure a guy (or girl, sometimes it's hard to tell around here) even mumbled "someone should tell the bus driver not to go".
The point is the indifference that permeates this city. At least that's the point up till now, a point which will change by the end of this post.
You see, I moved to New York a little more than 4 months ago. I am no bastion of public service, but 3 months ago I would have gotten off the bus and made sure she could still move. 2 months ago I probably would have told the bus driver she was there and to make sure not to hit her. Even a month ago I would probably have at least commented on it to someone else, but not these days, these days I barely acknowledge it.
Normally, I'd throw in a nice "epic car crash you can't look away from" metaphor here, but it just doesn't apply. You see, when you pass said epic car crash, there's nothing you can do but look at it. Turning away won't help the people involved and pulling over and getting out will probably only serve to piss off the emergency workers, so all you really can do is to keep driving and sneak a quick look.
People could have helped here (myself included). It certainly wasn't necessary that we all just look at the lady lying there in the gutter. The person trying to help her up could probably have used another hand and the bus driver may have appreciated a warning, but that's New York.
See, as horrifying as that story may or may not have been, it's that apathy that gives New York its... charm, which brings me back to last night.
I was having a discussion with my roommate and his girlfriend about summers in this city (it is my first summer living in New York). I had been drilling for unobtanium earlier so I was in an open, casual mood. Specifically, we were talking/telling stories about instances where we observed of extreme apathy in the city (the above story being my contribution). None of us grew up in New York, so this was a somewhat new phenomenon for us (although they have lived in and around here significantly longer than I).
Anyways, my roommate's girlfriend mentioned that she knew how much I loathe the city and how much worse it must be during the summer, when everyone's annoyance with the world is such that apathy rises to near-suicidal levels (seriously, on really hot days I can't even be bothered to get food when I'm hungry).
She was partially right.
I don't loathe the city of New York in particular, I just loathe cities in general, and during the summer, when its dry, hot and sticky, everything I hate about city life seems to pile on itself.
Once again, getting back to last night, I was asked what I hate most about the city. My answer was, as it has been for 4 months, the lights and the noise. Simply put, there is nothing worse than standing at your window in the middle of the night debating (in my head, to myself) the merits of closing it or leaving it open.
I have a small room in my apartment. It's comfortable, but small. This is a lot of trouble at night. If I leave the window open, I get semi-fresh air (I live above the trash alley), circulation and occasionally a nice breeze, but I also get to listen to blasting Spanish-dance mixes (I prefer Meat Loaf) and screaming couples (close your window, no one gives a damn if your girlfriend screwed a guy in the alley) until 3 am. Okay, so I close the window. It's five minutes later and my room is a sauna with no off button, and at that point, death would be a sweet escape. Beyond that, open or shut, it seems like someone is always shining a spotlight into my room.
Before I moved to New York, I lived in the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware, or alternately, Glenside, PA (nothing personal, but fuck you Glenside). There is neither light nor noise in either of these places. Both are veritable black-holes of fun, having outlawed anything defined as such decades ago. Having said all that, knowing that you can open your window at night without hearing a concert or being exposed to the sun is a good plus.
So, anyways, I told my roommate and his girlfriend this, most likely with more rambling involved, then concluded with a singular thought: "I love the silence of nature".