The dark side of New York

I know I talk about a lot of meaningless shit on this blog, and I do it because I enjoy trying to make y'all laugh and feel good; but sometimes, things happen that are not happy, not funny and not easily forgotten. Sometimes things happen that really affect you, shake you to your core and make you question things you thought you knew about yourself. Last night on my commute from work to home, one of these things happened to me.

I got on my usual train at my usual time, headed uptown on the 4/5 from the Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall stop. I spotted a seat and quickly moved to grab it, and as I sat down, I realized that a woman across from me was raising her voice at one of the two children with her. I had my earbuds in, listening to music, so I couldn't quite hear everything she was saying, and I tried desperately to ignore her. But after a while it became clear that I wasn't going to be able to, because she wasn't going to stop.

She looked like she was in her 50s, and she was with two young children, a boy and a girl, probably 10 and 8, respectively. She wouldn't stop yelling at the little girl, saying something about how embarrassed she was by her, and how she deserved to be embarrassed for what she had done. It was not immediately obvious what this poor child did that was so terrible, but the woman was clearly unhinged.

She just kept yelling and saying terrible things, and her verbal abuse reached a peak when she reached across the little boy, threatening to hit the girl with a rolled-up magazine, and then making a fist and threatening to punch her. The girl, shockingly, was not sobbing or even crying, but just sniffling a little bit. At this point my heart was in my throat and my stomach was in my shoes - why wasn't someone doing something? This woman was threatening to beat this child, in public, and no one was doing or saying anything. More importantly, neither was I.

At this point, the woman caught a person of another race - I didn't actually see the person so I'm not sure which race he or she was - staring at her, and she said, "What? What are you looking at? Please. The [inaudible race of people] beat their kids more than anybody. And have sex with 'em too." Of course, all of this was laced with obscenities.

At this point, a seat opened up next to me, and the woman instructed the little girl to move across the train from her and sit in the seat. She obeyed, taking the seat beside me, sniffling and looking embarrassed and terrified. My heart cried out to do something, to take this little girl's hand and tell her everything would be OK, that she didn't deserve to be treated this way - no matter what she had done wrong - and that she deserved love. The woman continued yelling at her from across the train, and instead of following my heart and my gut, I did nothing. I sat there, along with everyone else on the subway car, feeling angry, scared and helpless. I knew what I was witnessing was wrong, but I didn't know what I could do to stop it.





























I thought of writing the little girl a note and passing it to her as I exited the train; but then I realized I didn't have a pen. I thought of hugging her on my way out, whispering in her ear that she would be OK. But what if this unhinged woman had a weapon? Then I would be endangering everyone on the train, including both the children. So I did nothing. Aside from snap some photos of the woman and boy (but not the little girl) on my iPhone.

The thing about New York is that all these nasty sides of life are right there for everyone to see; had it been six o'clock anywhere else, some small town in rural Mississippi or Alabama, this exchange would have taken place behind closed car doors. But because it's New York, and everyone takes public transportation, it's all out there in the open as a reminder that life is not always good and people aren't always good and terrible things happen to innocent people everyday.

As I exited the train, I paused outside the train's window and looked back in at the girl. She was still sniffling, and she looked up at me. I smiled at her, weakly, trying to convey a million emotions with one human expression. I just wanted her to be OK. I wanted her to know that everything was going to be all right. I'm not really even sure if she saw me.

Dear little girl on the express train,

You are a person who deserves love. You deserve a happy life, and you are capable of doing great things, no matter what the adults in your life may tell you. You are beautiful. You have god and the universe inside you. Never let someone talk to you like this again. Never let a man threaten you, or take advantage of you, or abuse you. Never accept abuse from anyone. Be brave. Be yourself. Love others. Everything will be OK.

Love,
Meghan

Et tu, Gmail?

Gmail has been down for approximately two hours. I am in denial, widely known as the first stage of mourning. Surely this is some sort of joke. Google is infallible. I can still search, look at maps and even launch - shudder at the thought! - Google Talk. Or I would be able to, were I on a shitty PC running Vista.

I guess I will... oh god... resort to Facebook chat. How could you do this to me, Google? I mean, Facebook chat?! I have never felt so dirty and degraded in my life.














Sending... sending... sending... sending... No.























9/1/09 NEVER FORGET.

There's no place like home

I'm kind of anti the whole "let's make as many SATC episodes/movies/tours/other random unnecessary bullshit as possible" movement, but I have to say, damn.























Want. These. Shoes.

Also, I live here! Wtf.

So what did you do this weekend?

I saw The September Issue in Manhattan, and apparently so did Anna Wintour. We probs saw it at the same time y'all!!!1!























It was shockingly reminiscent of my everyday life working for a high-end magazine company in New York. The fashion interns, the fashion closet, the jeans-wearing. The lower-level editors meeting with the editor-in-chief and accomplishing nothing because she doesn't really have anything to say - aside from yes, no, yes, no, love it, hate it - and then talking about her behind her back once they leave her office. All of this was very odd to watch from the outside, since I watch it from the inside all the time. Throughout the whole film, all I could think was, "Yep, basically."

The documentary was really well done, too. R.J. Cutler was very subtle in making the point that, aside from the beautiful art created by genius Grace Coddington and her team of photogs/stylists/models, Vogue - at least the fashion side of the book - is basically a hollow place. Anna is clearly affected by the fact that - deep inside - she knows that her job is meaningless. True, she loves fashion, and she knows what she is talking about, and she is well-respected in that world; but, as Cutler shows us, her world is ultimately an empty one.

So natch, immediately following the film, Z and I - so inspired by the depressingly, desolately destitute world of fashion - made a trip to H&M and I bought this amazing/ridiculous/completely inappropriate dress!!!! Minus the hideous belt, of course. Where the fuck am I going to wear this thing?























You can't really tell in this photo, but the shoulders have what can only be described as "wing tips." Z said only I could pull it off. I guess we'll see.

On a related note, I would also like to take this opportunity to officially announce my HLLWN2009 costume: Lady GaGa.























Yep. I take HLLWN very seriously. Costume pieces I have so far: black bra, high-waisted/short skirt, combat boots, ridonk clear plastic necklace, sunglasses. Still needed: disco stick, fishnets, blonde wig, gloves?, bomber jacket (maybe), glitter.

RIP HLLWN2008: You were epic, and cemented my eternal love for Beyoncé and Single Ladies. But I have to move on. This year, it's time to kick it up a snatch. More updates TK.

Until next time.

MTA, not PDA

I took this photo at approx. 2:15 a.m. Saturday night on the L train back to Manhattan. For once, I was not drunk, but everyone else was. I.e., my own personal hell.

Please get out of New York.

Eff today

1. I just realized that today is the one-year anniversary of my first trip to DC to see Andrew.
2. John Krasinski and Emily Blunt are engaged. Welp, there goes my other soulmate.
3. It's raining, and it's gonna keep raining all weekend.
4. Sometimes going out in this city is a reminder that most people, men and women, are completely worthless and/or drugged out.

I've posted a lot of pics of Britney this week, so I thought I would round it out with just one more.

Bonding over burritos

Last night I had a very New York "Am I in a movie?" moment. I went to a pre-din happy hour with one of my co-workers, got (swiftly) drunk on $5 hurricanes and promptly headed to Chipotle for an ENORMOUS burrito. Yeah, all caps. I mean, have you ever had a Chipotle burrito? Seriously.

As I was waiting in line for the hyper-speed burrito artists to stuff my tortilla with meat, rice, cheese, salsa and guac, I looked to my right at the guy in line behind me. Hm, cute. He looked at me. I smiled. He smiled. I had ordered steak, and was a little scared of my decision. Steak is a commitment. I noticed he had ordered chicken. He looked over at my burrito-in-progress.

"Steak. Nice. I almost ordered steak. Went with chicken."
"Yeah, I know. I'm a little scared. Steak is serious."

He laughed. So cute. I was drunk enough to seriously (albeit briefly) consider asking his name. But I chickened out, and then it was time to pay, and goddamnit they move so fast at Chipotle!, and here's my card, "here's your receipt ma'am," and now I'm at my table and where did he go?, turned my head, he's walking past, out the door. Burrito to go.



















I will probs never see this mystery man again. Such is life in New York. But for approximately two to three minutes, I was just drunk and hungry and attracted enough to think I had found my soulmate, right there behind the vats of steaming "gourmet" Tex-Mex.

I love this city.