Look who's back from the dead...

...a little prematurely as far as the liturgical calendar is concerned, but there are times and places to be theologically relevant, and blogging is not one of them. 

Anyway, I write to tell you that I think I've been a bit confused concerning my "I hate living in New York attitude" that has come to the fore ever since I found out I'd be moving to New Haven. It turns out I falsely equated "I hate New York" with "I hate New York in the winter" - and those two statements, I've discovered, mean vastly different things. NYC when it's sunny and 70 (which it hasn't been since last week because it's been too busy torrenting, but oh well) is actually a pretty spectacular place to be. And so I have begun looking forward to my Manhattan summer with great anticipation, dreaming of expeditions to Coney Island, Shakespeare in the Park, and other things that aren't possible when you live in the City of Perpetual Darkness and are the world's most seasonally affective person. It's a strange but good feeling to be all up on New York all of a sudden.

To be sure, part of my recent attitude spike was brought on by the presence of two wonderful visitors from Wisconsin. There's nothing like playing tour guide to bring on the realization that - wow! I actually have come to know my way around the city! This realization was reinforced by a not-so-lost-in-New-York experience I had today when a coworker literally dropped me off at a random intersection downtown, leaving me to wander around until I found a subway stop. Although I inadvertently went all the way to Chinatown (in the pouring rain) before I figured out where I was, the experience was not nearly as traumatizing as it would have been 6 months ago, when I probably would have just broken down in tears and hailed a cab (which, for the record, I have yet to do since moving here. Ha.). I felt very on top of my game.

The other benefit of having visitors around (aside from getting to spend time with old friends, which is, obviously, benefit enough in and of itself!) is getting to do touristy things. I was in more neighborhoods last week than I usually get to in a month: West Village, East Village, Lower East Side, Chinatown, Upper East Side, Upper West Side, Midtown, Theater District...it was incredible! Due to the culinary inclinations of my visiting friends, I also consumed unprecedented quantities of Asian pastries (as well as my first Magnolia bakery cupcake!), which was fun. When all I do is shuttle back between home, work, and church (which, to be fair, covers a considerable amount of ground), it's easy to forget that I live in this incredible city, where a seedy Chinese flea market is only 2 subway stops away from the nation's financial hub. The amount of diversity that is packed into this, all things considered, tiny strip of land is truly mind-blowing. And I, whether or not I am aware of it most days, am damn lucky to live here. 

Eat, drink, and...speak Hindi?

It was precisely because of my shameless love of languages that my program matched me up with SCI as a worksite. Their theory was that I'd be terribly useful in the port, able to converse with seafarers from all over the world in their native languages. Alas, thanks to the cultural dynamics of the ships that berth in Port Newark, this has not proven to be the case. Every once in a while, I'll speak German with a captain or officer, but I honestly can't even remember the last time that happened. Occasionally, I'll go visit one of the ships with Puerto Rican crew and attempt to speak some Spanish (usually with disastrous results...), but as they all speak perfect English, that usually doesn't last long anyway. I have spoken French with exactly one seafarer to date (the cook from Madagascar). I have never had to speak Portuguese, and am frankly very glad of it. 

To my very great surprise, the language that has turned out to be the most useful in ship visiting is...Hindi. Now, bear in mind, my study of Hindi (and all things Indian, really) was limited to my freshman year of college. With one year of undergraduate education under my belt, I decided that studying languages and cultures of Asia wouldn't be at all useful to me in life and moved on to study such useful things as New Testament scholarship and all the Romance languages (I mean, clearly! These are useful, marketable job skills we're talking about here!). My Hindi books and flashcards were relegated to the back of my closet, where they accumulated a lot of dust and were never thought of again. 

Until this past September, when I found myself on a ship with an all Indian crew and had an astonishing thought: "Holy shit, this could actually be useful!" Not because it's necessary to speak Hindi with Indian seafarers (of which there are a fair few among the ships I get to visit); they all speak impeccable English. Not even because it provides comic relief when I say things like "How much peoples are on mine family?" No indeed - my study of Hindi is useful chiefly because it can be strategically employed to get me invited to lunch. And, as I've said before, there is generally no place I'd rather be than at lunch on an Indian ship. 

The reason for this post is that I was on pretty much the best Indian ship ever today. 29 crew, all Indian, from all over the subcontinent. This, of course, meant that there were about 100 different languages represented, and Hindi was not most people's mother tongue. I had spent an agreeable morning talking about comparative religion and linguistics with the Catholic first officer from Pondicherry (hence not a native Hindi speaker) and was actually just about to give up on lunch when the invitation came. "You can stay for lunch if you like, ma'am. There's only one problem: our food is...spicy." I enthusiastically try to reassure him in Hindi that I love spicy food and am greeted with blank silence. I repeat. Still no comprehension. He suggests I write it, which is a terrifying thought: my recollection of the Devanagari script is even rustier than that of my Hindi grammar. But I try. He still has no idea what I'm trying to say. The scrap of paper on which I have scrawled what I hope is "I like spicy Indian food!" is passed around to 4 different people before an interpreter is found. A conversation in a language I don't speak (perhaps Tamil?) ensues, followed by much laughter. Finally, I am informed that I have, in fact, written - in very formal, demanding, and misspelled Hindi: "I want a spicy (actually more like well-seasoned, I was told) Indian song!" No wonder they were confused.

Fortunately, my willingness to humiliate myself won me the seat of honor at an extraordinary Indian feast: fish curry, some kind of eggplant dish, daal, rice, pappadums, salad...served without spicy musical accompaniment, to my great relief. I was seated next to the captain, who was an incredibly gracious, fatherly Zoroastrian (!! So cool!! It was a great day for inter-religious dialogue) who kept leaping up from the table to give me gifts to take home. I walked out full-bellied and with a backpack stuffed full of pappadums and mango pickles (which...what the hell am I going to do with? anyone want them?). Amazing. 

The moral of the story, aside from "Do anything you can to get free, authentic Indian food" (which should be a no-brainer, really) is simply this: to all of you who would berate yourself for wasting college credits on ridiculous classes - don't. You never know when your Hindi (or Yoruba, or knowledge of ancient Chinese literature) will come in useful. 

New York Gem #2: The Strand

New York Gem #2 comes to you as part of an effort to cheer myself up. It's Friday, which means Rush Hour Hell (it took me over 2 hours to get from work to home today, which is outrageous, plus there was nearly a riot at the Rockefeller Center subway station when there was no more room in the train), plus it's raining (and, while March rain may smell fresh and springy in nice  places like Wisconsin, in Harlem it only serves to bring out the stench of urine even more than usual), PLUS I've been sick for over a week now and still have no voice to speak of (or with). Okay, rant over. Allow me to enlighten you about another New York favorite: the world's greatest bookstore. Otherwise known as The Strand. 

You may have seen the tote bags that advertise 18 miles of books (the bags, by the way, are über trendy in the Midwest, but toting one around Manhattan is one of the single biggest fashion faux pas you can make -unless, of course, you're carrying books you've just bought from the Strand!), but you probably won't believe that stat unless you actually see it for yourself. It is, hands down, the most overwhelming book shopping experience I've ever encountered. Half the times I've been there, it was an acrobatics feat just getting in the door - the inside of the store is almost always a solid mass of books and people.  Why the wild popularity? Simple: it's ridiculously cheap. And unlike other bargain book stores, where the selection is completely random,  you can actually (usually) find what you're looking for at the Strand. If you're the kind of person who enjoys sorting through piles of dusty, obscure, old tomes, fear not - there are about 50 carts of pure randomness outside on the street for even cheaper than what's inside.

Next to the official Oxford Press bookstore in...Oxford (and let's face it, there can be no competition there), the Strand has the best religion section I've ever seen. Needless to say, I have established very strict rules when it comes to my going there. The unbreakable one is: Never go to the children's section and the religion section in the same visit (as these are on 2 different floors, this is, fortuitously, possible). Rule #2, which I'm not nearly as good about, is: Never go to the Strand with credit cards in your wallet. When I do obey #2 and only bring cash, I spend surprisingly little time in the stacks: I exhaust my allowance within 10 minutes flat, no problem. Rule #3, you will not be surprised to learn is simply: Don't go more than once a month. Guess who hasn't been since February 18th...?

Should you find yourself in lower Manhattan and in need of a good read, I highly encourage you to check it out. I also highly encourage you to abide by at least rules #2 and 3 (I realize that #1 may not pertain to as large a subset of the population as I might like it to). Unless you have like $3000 in spending money or a great deal more self restraint than I do. 

New York Gem #1

Now that I've officially come out on the blogosphere about my lack of infatuation with New York, I feel like I've regained some motivation to seek out its redeeming qualities. I do, after all, have to live here for another 5 and a half months, and I had better have a hell of a good time while I'm at it, right? Added to that, my forgotten-about New Year's resolution was "Give New York a Chance" - perhaps it's time to dust that one off? 

Aaaanyway. Especially since I've run out of whimsical or otherwise engaging work/neighborhood/church stories to post here, I thought I'd try to do a mini-series about the things about New York that actually make me glad I live here. I need to encourage myself to think more positively about NYC, and so you (lucky, lucky!) get to come along for the ride. 

So: New York Gem #1. 

It's really not that interesting. And yet, it consistently makes my day. It's an under-appreciated thing of great beauty called WQXR. Also known as NYC's classical radio station. As someone who spends an appreciable amount of my workday driving around (or, to put a finer point on it, sitting around in a car: port traffic can be horrendous), I get to spend a lot of time listening to the radio. Very few things can redeem a nasty traffic jam like a rousing rendition of the Hallelujah chorus or a Mozart horn concerto, let me tell you. Better yet, the selection is incredible! Considering that I grew up in a city where the classical station (which was never particularly good to begin with) went under sometime during my teenage years, the fact there's a station that plays everything from plainchant to postmodern is nothing short of mind-boggling to me. 

Thus, the quality of my day is usually in direct proportion to the quality of the daily WQXR selection. If it's heavy on Brahms and Mahler...steer clear. If, on the other hand, I've had the unexpected thrill of catching a rare Beethoven symphony (I have a long-standing infatuation with dear old Ludwig. I may or may not be, um, flying home to Wisconsin this weekend specifically to hear my favorite orchestra perform my favorite piece of music EVER), my mood is automatically dialed up about ten notches. My coworkers all hate driving with me, because they know the radio choice (and volume...) is non-negotiable, and God only knows what the poor seafarers I shepherd around think. I console myself with the certain knowledge that I'm making a valuable contribution to their cultural education. 

But the whole reason I'm boring you with an entire blog post about my radio listening preferences is to announce that the glory of WQXR can be yours whether or not you have the privilege of living and working in the NY metropolitan area! Friends, prepare yourselves: it is possible to listen ONLINE! Check it out and appreciate the awesomeness for yourselves. You can thank me later :)