My Baby Takes The Morning Train

I often take the subway late at night. Sometimes it's to get home from work, but usually it's because I don't live very close to any of my friends and I'm too poor to take a cab. No matter where I'm leaving from, the same thing happens: whoever I'm leaving says "Get home safe!" with a concerned look on their face that translates to "I wish that cheap idiot would just call a cab. I don't want her blood on my hands." And while I appreciate these sentiments, they've never really been necessary (knock on wood).  Late night trains mostly consist of drunk people trying to look sober, homeless people trying to sleep, and exhausted people trying to avoid making eye contact with the drunk or homeless people. I've never run into any trouble on a late night train (knock on wood). The only times I've ever been especially uncomfortable and/or fearful for my life while riding on the subway have been during the day, usually between the hours of eleven and four. These are the hours that society's rejects (people like me, who can't find proper day jobs) dominate public transportation.

I know that there are a lot of people with respectable jobs that don't work during the day (doctors, firefighters, late night radio show hosts...). I'm just saying that a large percentage of respectable jobs are 9-5, and that while those people are locked up safely in their offices, the tired, the poor, and the wretched refuse become the huddled masses that occupy the busses and subways of the city.

Eleven AM is the dawn of the unemployed/underemployed. This is the time we manage to drag our sad asses out of bed to run whatever depressing errands we need to run during the day (these errands probably involve laundry or Goya products). Ideally, we like to get back before four. This isn't so that we can avoid making contact with people who actually have their lives together- it's mostly so that we can watch some Judge Judy and maybe squeeze in a nap before making dinner (which almost certainly involves Goya products).

There are all kinds of crazy people on public transportation, but during the day there are two types that are almost unavoidable, both of which I've encountered in the past two weeks.

TYPE ONE: THE WELL-MEANING BUT CRAZY
I was riding a mostly empty bus, when a woman decides to sit next to me and starts talking about the weather. Reluctantly, I took out my headphones. I was not in the mood for conversation (I was barely in the mood to be out of my apartment), so I mostly just smiled and nodded politely, occasionally giving her one word responses. Our conversation was going something like this:

          LADY: It's pretty bright out today.
          ME: Yeah.
          LADY: I saw a robin this morning. I guess spring is on it's way!
          ME: Nice.

She started to ask me questions about myself. I gave one word answers. It went something like this:

          LADY: Are you from New York?
          ME: No.
          LADY: Do you like New York?
          ME: Sure.
          LADY: Did you move here for school?
          ME: Yep.

Then she asked me something that blew me away.

         LADY: Are you Chinese?
         ME: (pause)

It wasn't that I didn't know the answer. It was just that I had never in my life been asked this question. This woman was not blind, and English seemed to be her first language. I could think of no logical reason for her to ask me this question, so I assumed I misheard her. Our conversation continued as follows:

          ME: Um. What?
          LADY: Are you Chinese?

My round, blue eyes were fixed on her, full of confusion.

          ME: Um. No？
          LADY: Oh. Well then where are you from?
          ME: Rhode Island?
          LADY: (sounding somewhat disappointed) Oh.

We rode next to each other in silence for the next three stops.
       
TYPE TWO: THE BITTER, BITTER BEGGAR:
Beggars and subways are like old Italian men and speedos- a combination that nobody really gets excited about, but is accepted as inevitable. It almost doesn't count as a real New York City subway ride if you don't get asked for money (and it definitely doesn't count as a beach trip if you don't see an old Italian man rocking a speedo).

The last time I was on the train during the day, a man walked up and down the train twice, asking for change. Not a single person looked up at him or responded in anyway. He walked to the middle of the train, leaned against a pole, and pulled some change out of his pockets (presumably his day's earnings). He sarcastically counted it out loudly "One cent, two cents, seven cents, thirty two cents...". When he finished he had a little more than four dollars. He began throwing pennies on the floor, saying things like "Oh, real nice", and occasionally yelling "I KNOW Y'ALL CAN HEAR ME. I KNOW Y'ALL CAN HEAR ME!"

We did hear him. And we all continued to shift silently and uncomfortably in our seats, pretending to be lost in our iPods.

He got off at the next stop, presumably to try his luck elsewhere. Beggars that ride the train during the day are the saddest kind. They know that they aren't going to get much, if anything, from the day-jobless people on the train, but they ask anyway. If they're lucky, maybe one or two people on the train will acknowledge their existence, and if they're really lucky, their efforts will be rewarded with a handful of change or a crumpled dollar bill. They know this. They see this coming. But they ask anyway, hoping for the best and almost always getting the worst. Not surprisingly, this makes them incredibly bitter.

Tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to need to run a couple of errands. Say a prayer for me?

THE RULES OF BEING A DJ

It’s been a long time since I’ve written a blog post. This is partially because of my extremely limited computer access and partially because the current state of my life is shameful… it’s not something I want to think about, let alone write about. Last night, however, something happened to me that I had to write about. Last night, I saw the personification of evil. I was shaken to my very core, forced to wonder what kind of a god would allow a man so terrible to walk the earth. This man is a shitty New York City DJ.

DJ Fuckface (probably not his real name) looks about nineteen. He is white, but he loves Japanese house music. He has an entourage that includes a skinny white guy in a flannel shirt whose job is to stand behind DJ Fuckface while frowning and nodding his head to the music and a man whose job is to inexplicably wear face paint while dancing directly in front of the DJ booth.  He will play songs you’ve never heard by bands you’ve never heard of in languages that you don’t understand. He will roll his eyes at you if try to make a request.DJ Fuckface does not care if you have fun. DJ Fuckface does not care about his responsibility to entertain the people who were unfortunate enough to stumble into the club he’s spinning at. He does not understand the fundamental rules of being a DJ.

Going out in Manhattan is expensive. It’s not something that a poor person can do often, so when they go out, they have to make it count.

 I’m going to post the most important rules of being a DJ, and I urge you to pass them on to anybody with connections to the club scene. Broke people shouldn’t have to live in fear of spending money to go into a club only to end up being forced to listen to a solid hour of Russian trance music. Terrible DJs must be stopped.

THE RULES ALL DJS MUST FOLLOW

1.    PAY ATTENTION TO THE DANCE FLOOR: Are ladies shaking their asses/showing you what they’re working with? Great! You’re doing your job! The most important part of being a DJ is getting the girls to dance. The rest will take care of itself (and by “the rest” I mean dudes joining in and/or making it rain in the club). Conversely, if you look on the dance floor and the only people moving are the skinny white dudes in the non-prescription oversized glasses, you are a failure. Nobody likes whatever you’re playing, and the skinny white dudes are only dancing to it to act like they’ve totally heard this song before (they haven’t).

2.   RESPECT THE CLASSICS: DJ Fuckface did not play Thriller last night. Instead he teased us by playing the opening bars of Thriller and following it with three minutes of Vincent Price laughing over a techno beat.  Thriller is one of the greatest, most danceable pop songs of all time. It does not need to be remixed. Michael Jackson is the king of pop. You are a douchebag with a turntable.Leave his shit alone.

       As a general rule, if the song has been playing in clubs for over a decade, you should leave it alone. If it’s remained a staple for so long, it means people like it the way it is.

And for the love of god, NEVER remix “Don’t Stop Believin’” unless you’re trying to turn an entire crowd of drunk people against you.

3.   TAKE REQUESTS: Last night, I requested Dance (Ass). DJ Fuckface was not pleased. He looked at me like I had just requested Mambo No. 5 instead of the club banger to end all club bangers. After an hour he still hadn’t played it, so somebody else requested it. This infuriated DJ Fuckface. He punished us by playing ONLY the Rick Ross verse in the remix. There was no wobbledy wop.

       If you’re going to be a DJ, drunk girls are going to request trashy dance jams. Do not be annoyed by this. Do not act like taking requests is beneath you. A big part of your job is keeping the drunk girls happy (see rule one), and making requests is just them showing you the way.  

4.   KNOW YOUR PLACE: You are an entertainer. People don’t go to clubs to hear your favorite songs. They go out to drink and dance. If your favorite songs are songs they want to drink and dance to, that’s great. If you’re playing your favorite songs and people are standing still and glaring at you, you need to play something else. I suggest Dance (Ass) Remix.

,