I first noticed it a few days ago coming out of the subway station on 103rd street. The light. Then a few more times this week, including various times this morning. The light. It’s changing. Spring is coming. We know that, of course. Every day, the papers have stories from Florida. Pitchers and catchers report to Yankee camp in three days.

It is still cold in New York and we’ll still have to endure plenty of lousy weather. Bring it on. You can’t stop the light.

I’ll tell you this–when it does warm up, this town is going to blossom like nobody’s business. Man, it’s gunna be a good spring.

This morning on the train a couple sat next to me with their toddler. When the father and the child got off, the doors closed and the mother stood up and looked out of the window and waved. I’m always interested in how people say goodbye to each other on the subway. Sometimes, you’ll see a couple kiss and even before one has left the train, they have both stopped looking at each other.

I always look.

When I was growing up, we had a dog who would chase our car whenever we left home. More than a few times, I’ve gotten off the train and said goodbye to my wife, and then run down the platform as a goof to crack her up. That’s my job, make the wife smile, keep her laughing. Or maybe it’s just the K-9 in me.

[Photo Credit: iphonegraphic from the flickr Subway Portraits gallery]

The one thing on a subway that will always get my attention is a lost soul. I mean literally lost. Like the guy has no idea where he is going. This happens a lot on the A Train, because it runs express and pretty quickly takes a rube out of the comfort of Manhattan proper and deposits him at 125th St before he can even figure out what happened.

Being lost can be no big deal if you are one of those self-assured types who feel like they can warp reality to their own will. But it can also make you feel helpless – especially if you’re working against the clock and have bitten off more than you can chew.

Last night, a late teen, early twenties type, looking like a savvy city-chick, turned to her neighbor at 125th st and asked if the train was going to Roosevelt Island. That grabbed me right in the gut. Roosevelt Island? That’s not even close. Her neighbor didn’t speak English, so I pointed her to the map behind her and explained she was about to stop at 145th St.

A glazed look of confusion engulfed her. Another rider quickly noted that she could make it Roosevelt Island fairly easily if she hopped out at 145th, took a downtown B or D to Roc Center and then transferred to the F Train. She staggered off at 145th and the other rider and I both watched her turn in awkward circles on the platform. We made eye contact and we both knew the timely advice hadn’t made a dent.

[Photo Credit: Clara]

I get nervous when I see someone reading their iPad on the subway. I have to fight the urge to tell them, “Put that thing away, don’t you know you could get mugged for carrying that around?” Maybe I’m still living in the ’70s and ’80s when being shook was a daily operation riding the trains (yeah, I was a kid then but the city felt lawless then too). Maybe you have nothing to worry about. But I am cautious about using my iPhone. Change the song, put it back in my pocket. 

Old habits die hard.

Click here for a mess of New York City photographs.

I was cooking yesterday afternoon when a knock came at my front door. It was a neighbor. She was crying so I invited her in. She is not from this country and just received news about one of her parents who is ill. She hoped to return home in time to see them before things got worse and asked if I could feed her cats while she’s gone.

“Of course,” I said. I hugged her. She smelled of cigarette smoke. I was surprised to find the smell reassuring.

She talked some more and aplogized for her tears. I listened and told her that she didn’t need to apologize. I offered to cook her some food, told her she could stop by later if she needed company. She said she was okay and I didn’t want to push.

Man, I can’t imagine what it must be like to live so far from your family.

[Photo Credit: Lanier67]

A large woman sits next to me on the train this morning. Plops down…what’s up with women who go to sit down and then practically fall with a thud into the seat?  I move over the best I can, now jammed between two people. Fair enough. But then the lady gets up after two stops and leaves the train.

Yo, you shouldn’t be allowed to sit, unless you are old, sick or hurt, if it is just for one or two stops. Sister gets the gas face.

From Banter reader, Emily Lemole Smith:

The other day while I was waiting at the bus stop the guy next to me and I were engaged in general ‘bus banter’: about how MTA is cutting back on bus services, how certain bus lines never seem to stick to their schedules, how disappointing it is when the driver shuts the door in your face just as you get to the bus… 

And the guy smiled and said, “But you gotta remember – this is New York.  The meek ain’t gonna inherit this one.”

[Photo Credit: New York in Photographs]

Most Tuesday nights, I play basketball for a few hours in a tiny, dank gymnasium on the West Side. When I hop on the uptown train to head home, I’m a sweaty mess. I try to stand as far away from the other passengers as possible, but those 30 minutes are hellishly uncomfortable.

Heaven forbid that I need a seat. Some nights, the game gets rough and I’m too sore to stand the whole way. It’s usually empty enough to find a seat, but rarely is that seat out of smelling distance from the others on the train.

It’s particularly upsetting when I’ve calculated my stench radius, chosen a “safe” location, only to watch a new rider get on the train and head for a seat right next to me.

First a hint of disturbance crosses her face. Then her nose crinkles as she sniffs more deeply for confirmation. Her eyes search for the source. As suspicion gives way to recognition, I know she knows. She gathers her stuff and finds a new seat. If she’s kind, she doesn’t look back.

Of course, worrying about it so much just intensifies the sweatiness. The only thing worse than being on a stinky train is being the stink.

One of the benefits of living up in the Bronx is that I always get a seat on my way to work. By the time we reach Washington Heights, the train is packed. Today, it was crowded and a few people in my car were short-tempered. Nothing dramatic, just cranky on a Monday morning, negotiating space. I looked up and took it all in and thought, It’s amazing that more fights don’t break out. But the social contract holds together–most of the time.

Sometimes I wonder what life must be like away from so many people? Would it be peaceful and a relief? Or would I miss the agitation, conflict, and the pleasure of meeting a stranger’s eye and smiling ever so slightly?

What? The Pro Bowl ain’t good enough for you? The SAG awards isn’t doin’ the trick? How about chillin’ with some pals?

[Picture by Bags]

Last night on the uptown IRT, packed train, rush hour. As we approach 181st Street, the conductor says, “I would advise the passenger who is smoking to get off at the next station. The authorities have been notified.”

I’ve seen people smoke on the train before, kids used to love smoking blunts in the last car back when. Mostly, anyone who smokes on the subway is furious or crazy or both. But to do it on a crowded train? That takes chutzpah.

[Photo Credit: John F. Conn]

Some shots from my wife’s favorite store, Pearl River.

On the BXM1 Express Bus the other day, the PA system crackled to life and this announcement sprang forth, “The next stop is 96th St.” It was one of those recorded robotic voices, very clear and with the characteristic cadence and syntax.

“The next…STOP is…ninety SIXTH… street.”

I thought to myself, “When did they robotize the announcements on this bus line?” By the time I got off on my stop, I realized they hadn’t. The bus driver was just doing his impression of robotic voice. Over and over again.

He has a lot of hours to kill I guess, but I chuckled. I wondered if it would throw him off if I remarked on his ruse. I decided not to say anything. I’d hate to spoil his fun.

[Photo Credit: Viaduckvideo ]

Couple of flix from the Big Apple, fom the BX to money-makin’ Manhattan.

Who is gunna clean up this mess?

Snow in New York today with more expected to dump on our skulls tomorrow…y’all be safe now, y’hear?

There is nothing that depresses me like the sight of an empty token booth, like this one on the downtown side of a midtown stop on the IRT. The station has been without a clerk for some time now but the booth remains (and there is a clerk on the uptown side). The place feels haunted to me.  

Brian Cashman made headlines this morning because he is candid–some call it cunning, others call it self-destructive. He’s in the news because Andy Pettitte hasn’t made up his mind about pitching in 2011 yet, the Yanks are short a starting pitcher and because there isn’t much else going on. Oh, and because Cashman isn’t shy about talking.

I’m still amazed that the Yankees have had a GM for as long as they’ve had Cashman. It’s only natural that at this point in Yankee his career, Cashman has as many, if not more, detractors as he has supporters. I’ve always found him appealing enough as a public figure as far as suits go, and wouldn’t pretend to offer any kind of sound evaluation of him as a GM. His time in New York won’t last forever and Cashman’s place in team history is already secure (fantastic survivor, ineffective underachiever). One thing is sure–he’s good copy, and in New York, that’s half the battle.

Bags Grooves to Matisse at the Modern.