The Most Miserable Couple in the World

As I've mentioned before, I look at the faces I pass on the Brooklyn Bridge during my morning commute, sometimes with surprising results.

Two people I see with some regularity are a couple. Or at least I assume they're a couple since they so often walk together. They also often walk separately. No matter how they're walking - together or separate - they look miserable.

The guy looks about as defeated by life as someone can look. The hair on the top of his head is blonder than the rest, and those of us who begin fair and lose the hair know that it's just a matter of time before it stops growing altogether. He's clearly very disappointed by this problem - and what are clearly his other major problems.

The gal looks angry. She's probably pissed off that her partner is so goddamned depressed all the time. It can be difficult being with someone who's always such a downer. I suspect she's really quite hard on Defeated Guy.

When they're walking together, they sometimes argue. Or maybe because Defeated Guy looks so defeated and Angry Gal looks so angry, they just look like they're arguing.

When they walk separately, Defeated Guy looks no less defeated, and Angry Gal looks no less angry. Usually they're separated by a large portion of the Brooklyn Bridge. One morning, though, they were maybe ten yards apart. It was as if they had a fight mid-Bridge and Angry Gal walked ahead and Defeated Guy just let her.

I'd like to give them an award. Perhaps The Most Miserable Couple in the World Award. But then it might cheer them up, and they'd have to give the award back.

But every time I see them, a piece of me becomes just a little more miserable.

I Got My Eyes Checked Today

Spring is in the air, B&E readers. It is May, after all.

A few weeks ago I got that note on the Brooklyn Bridge (you better believe that I revisit that experience any time my ego needs a boost and tell every single person I've ever met), and I think my eye doctor was flirting with me this morning.

Doctor of Optometry Young Lady laughed a little too hard at the things I said (easy there, doc, this isn't even my A-Game) and complimented my consistent test-taking, which she called "remarkable" for a test that's supposed to be subjective.

She also seems very impressed by the hole in my retina, particularly the scar tissue that formed all around the hole, thereby keeping it from growing, detaching completely, and causing me to go blind. That shit is hot.

But it all went a little too far when everyone at the office was putting a lot of pressure on me to get my eyes dilated.

Well, I'm sorry, ladies, I can't let you do that unless my wife is around.

I Still Got It, Baby!

I've been at my current job for about two-and-a-half years now. I figured out early on that commuting via the Brooklyn Bridge was a Very Good Thing To Do, even if it took an extra fifteen minutes each way. It's a walk that keeps on giving, B&E readers.

I'm a people-watcher. New York is a great place for the activity. Walking down the streets, I tend to look people in the eye. Very few look back. It's a guarded city that way.

So after two-and-a-half years of walking the Brooklyn Bridge most weekdays, there are dozens of faces I recognize. Most of those people who belong to these faces wouldn't recognize me in a lineup because they walk in their own worlds and block out the world around them. I do it sometimes too, so I get it.

After all this time, then, there are exactly three people I now greet in the mornings. Two I see almost every day. The third I think might be a seasonal walker. Or perhaps she's among the throngs of the laid off, because I haven't seen her in months.

Greetings vary. One gets a smile and a wave. The other gets a simple mouthed "good morning," because why should we bother to actually speak when we're both wearing headphones on a very loud bridge?

A little bit of human and humane interaction adds a warm touch to a cold commute.

Yesterday, Smile & Wave Girl handed me a note. Dude. A note. It's the fifth grade all over again!

It was simple just-wanted-to-introduce-myself fare, but it also said something about hoping she hadn't embarrassed herself. And she included contact information. So it was pretty clear she was fishing - fishing for the bald specimen that is this hunk of effectiveness.

I wrote her from my work email, figuring she'd troll our site and find my bio, which mentions the missus. Even though it was probably safe to be presumptuous, I didn't feel right just saying, "Thanks for the note: I'm married."

She wrote back with an "Oops! Didn't know you were married. Sorry!" She said she'd tried to see if I had a ring during the note hand-off, but I think I was holding my hat in my left hand (the hat is the single most important element in body temperature regulation, B&E readers).

And that's pretty much it. I don't mind telling you, faithful B&E readers, getting a note from a random lady boosts the ego tremendously.

The people with whom I've shared this story admire the cojones on this woman, and I share their admiration. Seriously. Good for her. If I were single, I'd go on at least one date with her because of my deepest respect for her initiative.

The missus, by the way, is being very good about letting me bask in the glory of another woman's fondness. And I'm being appropriately insufferable about it.

Dude! A chick totally hit on me while I was walking by her on the Brooklyn Bridge!

But I'm sorry, ladies. I'm afraid I must inform you that as much as you might like to ride the elevator to the top of B&E Tower, the observatory is the sole property of the missus. You'll just have to enjoy the shiny architectural mastery from a safe distance.

Rowr, B&E readers. Seriously. Rowr...

Tourists Stink

With my outer-borough lifestyle (living in Queens, working in Brooklyn), I'm not one of those New Yorkers that gets annoyed at the tourists. In fact, I'm fairly convinced that it's because of rich foreigners that New York hasn't seen the brunt of the recession the rest of the country feels (and that we'll now feel with the tanking of Wall Street).

So tourists? No, I don't think they stink in the "stop staring upward and keep moving along the sidewalk" way.

I mean they literally stink.

I cross paths with the tourists nearly every evening on my walk across the Brooklyn Bridge to get the subway home. And those hot, summer walks... well, let's just say that most of the people I walked by gave off the distinct aroma of someone who's been in the hot sun all day.

This body odor thing was something I thought would taper off as the weather cooled, but yesterday evening I noticed more nuance to the stank.

First of all the BO persists. And I'm smelling my own armpits up close, so I'm fairly certain it's not me. It's certain sweaty men (mostly, but not solely men) who are overdressed or somehow unprepared for the hot weather. That, or they just don't believe in deodorant, showers, or both.

Secondly, there's nothing Brooklyn Bridge walkers appreciate more than a tasty cigarette while strolling. Now, in fairness, some of these smokers could be locals. But I walk the Bridge a lot, and there's a big difference between the commuters and the tourists. Largely, the smokers are tourists. You might be surprised to hear that they're often French.

Finally, today, a new phenomenon. I don't know if it was because there was less breeze today or what, but the perfume was so stinky from a half dozen or so different ladies that it was almost deafening.

So tourists, a modest proposal... Come to New York and use your hotel showers. Spend your money at a Duane Reade and get yourselves some deodorant. If you're not used to deodorant, the Tom's of Maine brand is quite mild and comes in delicious flavors.

And ease up on the eau de toilette, eh?

A Water Falls in Brooklyn

First the telectroscope and now the waterfalls. New York's on a public art kick. Look out!

Some Danish guy who likes making fake weather environments decided that New York City could use some waterfalls. So the Public Art Fund and a bunch of private donors (Look, conservatives! No tax money for art!) got together to spend seven-and-a-half bajillion dollars to execute Hamlet's vision: four waterfalls along the East River, all south of the Manhattan Bridge.

From the Brooklyn Bridge portion of my daily commute, I can see three of the four waterfalls (Governor's Island, Brooklyn Heights, and the Manhattan Bridge). Naturally, the one I can't see is the one at the Brooklyn Bridge because I walk right over it. I thought it might be cool to look at it through the slats on the walkway of the Bridge, but it was decidedly underwhelming.

Which, frankly, is how I feel about the whole endeavor. The rendering posted above for your reference is, after all, a rendering. Maybe if the real thing looked a little bit like that it'd be impressive. As it is, we've got some weak-ass waterfalls trickling over scaffolding in a few locations.

A few years back, Christo and Jean-Claude did their "Gates" project in Central Park. Orange fabric floating along the pathways of the Park. It sounded sort of stupid, but I checked it out. And it was great. It drew people in and built a community around public art. It was aesthetically satisfying, and the experience of being there with New Yorkers and tourists, children and adults, black and white and brown was largely the point of the whole project.

The waterfalls have to be observed from afar. I mean, you can get relatively close to them, but you're never really sharing the experience with other people. At least not where I've been. Yes, they're terrific engineering feats. But all they do is remind me that it's been a while since I've seen a good waterfall in nature.

And maybe that's part of the point. But ultimately the waterfalls leave me feeling unsatisfied, and if that's part of the point, then there's something a little short on the "public" side of this public art.

Bridge, of the Brooklyn Sort

I've got a full-time job now. So I will no longer apologize for the lack of posting. I will instead internalize what I think the lack of posting says about me as a person, and concentrate on the feelings of insignificance and self-loathing.

Hello again, dear B&E readers!

I have a self-imposed rule that I won't write about my job. Not only do I like my job (and don't particularly feel like getting fired), but I don't want to become Dilbert.

I will, however, occasionally write about my commute. Commutes are infinitely interesting.

My commute takes me from Queens to Brooklyn every weekday. There's no quick way to make the trip. Even if my journey took me directly along the G train (and mine doesn't), it wouldn't be a quick trip. So instead I try to make it pleasant.

I walk the Brooklyn Bridge. Every day. In both directions. Only the rain keeps me from walking it. And even that I did once, which is why the rain now keeps me from walking it. Maybe - just maybe - in the summer I'll decide it's too hot for bridge walking. I have a slight penchant for sweating. But for now, I walk the Bridge.

It's easy to rave about the Brooklyn Bridge. But that's only because it's the coolest bridge in the world.

The morning sun lights up the bridge and the city just beautifully. I'm walking into the sun toward Brooklyn in the mornings, but I'm sure to turn around and check out the view at least once during my walk. Then on my way home, it's dark, and because it's winter(ish) and there's less haze, the view of city is crisp and clear.

The view of Manhattan itself is different than it was, of course. Until I was working in Brooklyn, I hadn't walked the Brooklyn Bridge since before 9/11. Downtown, from the bridge, doesn't look that interesting. It's impressive, yes. It's almost like one giant monolithic structure. The towers added a varied line to what is now just a lot of really tall buildings. From other angles (from the Staten Island Ferry, for example), downtown looks more varied than it does from the Brooklyn Bridge. But it's really the volume of large buildings downtown that seems impressive from the bridge.

Midtown at night looks like a theater set skyline. So quintessentially New York it's almost fake. The view of midtown from my 'hood in Queens features a prominently displayed Chrysler Building, and it's one of best the city has to offer. From the Brooklyn Bridge, though, the Chrysler Building looks tiny, and a little lonely, set off to the side. But midtown is full of color and flashing lights. And much better appreciated from a distance.

The view of Brooklyn is not uninteresting, but there's not as much to speak of (possibly because I'm not as familiar with Brooklyn). There's the Watchtower, of course, where the Jehovah's Witnesses live and print their magazines. But DUMBO (that's Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass for those of you not in the know) is mostly warehouse buildings and brand-spankin'-new condos. Brooklyn Heights looks like a neighborhood, which it is. The two-tiered BQE is a bit of a trip. And the ship-building in Red Hook offers a touch of the industrial.

My fellow pedestrians are mostly tourists. Those that aren't I see regularly. I tend to look at the faces of the people I pass on the street, and surprisingly few look back. The first month I was walking the bridge there was one woman that looked back every time. One morning she smiled at me. I smiled back. I haven't seen her since.

Boy, that sounded unnecessarily ominous.

Very few other people look back. There's the dude in the dark shades and Van Dyke with the unconnected mustache and goatee. There's the skinny chick with the fat face (only when you see it, do you realize how rare it is). There's the woman who looks like the older version of a college classmate. Come to think of it, maybe I'm an older version of her college classmate. Nah, I'm pretty sure it's not her. There's the middle-aged runner who wears pink shorts no matter how cold it is. If they looked at me, I'd probably be the bald guy who can sweat in any weather.

The cyclists go by a little quicker, but one guy rides by every morning with the child's attachment bike on the back. It's always empty. I've assumed he's a divorcee who keeps it there just in case he gets an unexpected day with his kid. Good luck, buddy.

The Brooklyn Bridge itself... Hell, it's the one thing a Norwegian will know about Brooklyn. It really is an impressive specimen. So much so, that I don't know what else to say about it. One morning, the NYPD was performing some sort of crazy-ass training exercise on the bridge. I've included a photo.

At night you can see through the planks in the pedestrian walkway down to the ground below (obviously, when you're above the water, it just looks like a dark abyss). If you're scared of heights that can be a bit disconcerting. But what the hell are you doing looking down, anyway, when you're surrounded by the most beautiful bridge in the most amazing city in the world?

Bald Street Marketing

bald bridge
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I loathe street marketing which, on top of being invasive in our everyday lives, is also getting all "viral" on our asses. "Look, hot guerilla marketing stranger, I don't care if the new mixed cocktail from Captain Morgan's Original Spiced Rum is the most refreshing drink of the summer. I want a seltzer with lime. And I want you to leave me the hell alone."

Recently I learned that my primary source of income would be drying up at the end of September, so I did what I usually do when I need work -- send out resumes, email former freelance contacts, tell all my friends I'm looking. Still, when I was forwarded a "street team needed" Craig's List posting, I recoiled in horror.

And yet I had that certain something they were looking for, and they promised a nice walk through New York City with like-headed individuals.

The company is Bald Guyz. The products are grooming/personal care items specifically for the bald man's needs.

Well, now, for obvious reasons, this is something I can get behind.

We met at 7am, put on our bright orange shirts, which had the Bald Guyz logo on the front while the back said, "Bald Guyz get better head," and made our way across the Brooklyn Bridge. The WB (soon-to-be CW)-11 and Fox-5 morning shows featured our walk from their choppers (the Fox-5 chopper was being piloted by two bald fellas). As the bald men walked, hot women wearing "Bald Guys are sexy" t-shirts handed out free head wipes and coupons to the baldies we passed.

We had great weather -- not too hot, not too humid -- and from the Brooklyn Bridge we headed uptown through Chinatown, Washington Square Park, Union Square, Herald Square, Rockefeller Center (the tourists loved us), and back down to Bryant Park, where we had lunch and ended our day.

All in all, it was probably about a six-mile walk. Decent exercise. It had been a long time since I'd gone on a long walk through the city, and it's nice to have the occasional reminder of how great New York is. I was walking with an amateur historian (and actor -- lots of actors do street marketing to supplement the acting incomes), and while that may sound boring and/or torturous, it was great, actually. We shared lots of tidbits about what we knew of the city, and how it's changed since we arrived in the early 90s.

There were a total of about twenty bald men. Three were older dudes, one of whom had a thick beard and kept referring to himself as the only "bear." I spent much of the day trying to figure out if the gay implications of his "bear" comments were intentional, but by the end of the day, I was no closer to an answer. I don't know if the Bald Guyz guys just took all the bald men who replied to the Craig's List ad or what (some of the dudes were funny looking), but I was impressed with the diversity of the group they found. Taking out the three or four older white dudes, the rest of the bald dudes were a pretty even split between white, black, and Latino. The hot women were pretty evenly split, too. Shortage on the Latinas, perhaps.

As was inevitable in New York, we passed a bald woman, who looked totally great. One of the rambunctious Latino dudes gave her a head wipe. She looked somewhere between amused and annoyed.

Bald men love their fellow bald men. Many of the baldies we passed would see our shirts, holler "BALD GUYS!" and give us all high fives, ask where they could get t-shirts, graciously accept their free product samples, etc. Then, of course, there was the inevitable bald guy who just wanted to be left alone as he was walking down the street. And on two or three occasions, a bald man approached didn't want to think of himself as bald. Denial won't protect your scalp, buddy!

We were particularly popular with cops. Three equestrian cops doffed their helmets to reveal the domes underneath. Lady cops got free samples for their husbands. Cops inside cop cars used our presence as an opportunity to bust the balls of their bald junior partners, who sat in the passenger seat, sheepishly accepting the coupon.

A homeless dude promised to shave his head if we got him a t-shirt, but I think he struck out. The t-shirts were already on their way back to the office.

And around East 4th Street, I ran into Hil, who'd seen the group but not me (until I shouted at her). She was just arriving at her office, and her first order of business was going to be to email me about the Bald Guyz. Alas, I was already one of them.

Where baldness is concerned, I tend to be a step ahead of others.