Showing posts with label Survival Guide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Survival Guide. Show all posts

Monday, July 9, 2018

Panama Trip - Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime. A trip to Panama's steamy tropical province, Bocas del Toro.

Now, before this year I had never heard of Bocas -- as it's so lovingly referred to by travelers to this jungle paradise -- but I was searching for someplace exotic to take myself that year, and frankly I had plenty of options. A cultural exploration of the mountainous region of Romania's back country? I really wanted to do that. Or how about a photography tour of Western Ireland? Oh man, oh man!

But then I came across this guy's account in Condé Nast Traveler of his 2012 solo trip to Bocas del Toro in Panama, and suddenly I knew that this was the place I just had to go to. It spoke to me on so many levels!

This is my account of that 7-day adventure.


DAY 1: Here There Be Balboas!

I was so excited the night before I was to fly out to Panama. I checked and double checked everything, went through my suitcase to make sure everything was still there, and most importantly I made sure that my camera equipment was safely stored within my carry-on bag. This was going to be a big trip for me, and a perfect opportunity for which to practice my newfound hobby.

So with that in mind, fair warning: From here on out -- all pic are mine!

The flight from New York City to Panama City (there are no direct bookings to the capital of Bocas) is straight forward and painless -- that is, if you book with the country's premier carrier for International flights, Copa Airlines. It's a 5 hour direct flight between the two cities, and I had made arrangements to spend a day and a night in the country's capital before boarding a local flight to the province of Bocas del Toro, my ultimate destination.

Luckily the country has a 1:1 monetary exchange with the United States, what with its deep historic and economic ties to the U.S.A. and all. So this means the US Dollar and the Panamanian Balboa hold identical value there, and in fact the USD is accepted as legal tender throughout the country. So, there was no need for me stop by the Currency Exchange bureau on my way to the taxi stand outside of the airport. I simply grabbed my bags and hailed the first cab that pulled up to the curb.

And I was off to my first destination just like that! Which, in this case, happened to be the historic "Old Town" of Panama City known as Casco Viejo -- aka, Casco Antiguo. You'll find both names used for the district, although the latter seems to be used more by locals. All the cabbies know how to get there, however, as it's practically tourist central.

My cabbie spoke almost no English, and I speak only a little Spanish. But between the two of us we managed to cobble together a weird Spanglish shorthand for conversation during the 45 mins ride. He enjoyed very much that I was wearing my NY Yankees baseball cap, since after all baseball is the No. 1 national sport here, and the legendary Yankees closer, Mariano Rivera, is their native hero. No, seriously, this country is quite obsessed with their local boy turned sports legend. Mariano could probably run for president there and win handily.

Anyway, the drive through Panama City that early afternoon was quite a sight. The poor areas are extremely poor and rundown. It pretty much looks like the back towns of Mexico. But the more well-to-do districts where most of the corporations have their offices and the big chain hotels cater exclusively to tourists -- you would not be out of place thinking that you were driving through downtown Miami!


Tourists using downtown Panama City as their selfie backdrop.


This city definitely has a southern FL vibe going on if you stick mainly to the affluent areas. So, yes, the differential between rich and poor in this town is HUGE to say the least. It's quite disconcerting to the outside visitor, this stark contrast.

Panama Trip - Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really)

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the link below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!


And now for the continuation . . .


DAY 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).

After taking another leisurely stroll around the Old Town in Panama City where I was staying, it was time to pack up my things from the day before and commence the second leg of my trip; to fly west northwest into the tropical jungles of Bocas del Toro!


Flea market abutting the sea wall in Casco Viejo.


I bid farewell to the hotel staff and Ubered my way over to the local airport for domestic flights (Albrook) -- which is separate from the international airport (Tocumen), and located almost on the opposite side of the city. For some reason, my cabbie didn't even know where this airport was, and so it took a little longer (and a few frantic exchanges in broken Spanglish) than it should have to reach the place.

But once there, I was greeted with one of the smallest airports I've ever been to. Not as puny as the landing strip on North Eleuthera island in the Bahamas when I stayed there a few years back -- but still pretty tiny. And laid back! There was hardly any security, and people were just walking in and out of the terminal from the street with no luggage or anything. There wasn't even a terminal, to be honest. Just a waiting room and an announcement over the PA system alerting you (in Spanish) when a plane was arriving on the tarmac. Basically, it felt more like a train station than an airport.

When the plane that would take me to Bocas did arrive, though, I noticed a ton of American and European tourists were suddenly joining me. It seemed like they came out of nowhere! This reveal actually helped to put me at ease, because in that moment I knew for sure that I was on the right flight. I don't think white people travel from Panama City to anywhere else in the country *except* to Bocas del Toro. I may be wrong, but probably not.

As you would expect, the plane was one of those small commuter type deals and we were all crammed tight in there. Luckily, the flight from Panama City to Bocas Town is just under one hour long, so it was hardly that big of an ordeal. And anyway, I just couldn't wait to get there!

Unfortunately, I had no idea of what would be in store for me once I reached this tropical province. A near catastrophe totally of my own making, but which almost ended up ruining my trip before it really even got started!

I'll get to that soon enough.

Panama Trip - Day 3: Making the Best of Things

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the links below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!
Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).


And now for the continuation . . .


DAY 3: Making the Best of Things.

Despite the rather crummy circumstances of losing my bag the previous afternoon, I woke up to a much better mood on the day I was set to depart Isla Colón and head across the bay to Isla Bastimentos. But since I wasn't getting picked up until late afternoon, I decided while the morning was still young to do as much as I could on this, the much more populous, island in the Bocas del Toro archipelago.

I had heard about a beach way out toward the northernmost point of the island called Boca del Drago. And in particular, a very nice stretch called "Starfish Beach," a 15 minute walk away from Drago. I planned to find my way there and just hike the shore with my camera in tow.

I ran into the owner of the hotel who inquired into how I was feeling. I mentioned that, despite being out $800 hard cash, I was strangely much more relieved that I had been returned my expensive electronics (chiefly my new iPad, which was thankfully fingerprint locked) and travel documents. And, to be sure, I was also happy that not all of the cash had been discovered. At least they hadn't taken the $400 as well!

I mean, hey, that's just the kind of person I am. Always looking for the brighter side of things. The important thing was that I had recovered the bag, and that everything *except* for some cash had been returned. The owner agreed and mentioned that it was "just money," -- a casual flippancy I couldn't exactly duplicate, I must confess -- and recommended that I have some breakfast at her restaurant while the receptionist (a different lady from the day before, but equally nice) tracked down their favorite personal driver to take me to the other side of the island. It was a 30 min drive there, and the public bus in town could take me for $5 if I so desired -- but a private cab would be far more comfortable and leisurely, and I could also take better photos along the way. It was only going to cost me $25, so I said: hell, why not? Don't have to sell me twice!

So after a perfectly normal American-style breakfast and coffee, the driver Rolando showed up and we were off to the beach!

Panama Trip - Day 4: .... We Have Fun and Games

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the links below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!
Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).
Day 3: Making the Best of Things.


And now for the continuation.


DAY 4: ....We Have Fun and Games.

I'm awaken by the sound of something large growling in the dense jungle beyond my open-air cabin. It's one of the howler monkeys whom I've yet to see, but who I can hear perfectly fine moving through the dark trees surrounding me. I imagine there's a family of them in there, watching me, plotting. During the early pre-dawn hours I think one of them jumped on my roof, scurried across it, then jumped back into the trees on the other side. Probably the same one who just woke me from a fitfully earned sleep; or maybe his sister or an uncle. Great fun .... for them.

Me? Maybe not so much. Truth be told, my first night at La Loma Jungle Lodge and Chocolate Farm was a frightful one for a kid from the inner city. I, of course, am accustomed to sleeping through such fracases as late night fights and shouting matches in my neighborhood of the South Bronx where I live: the rummaging of garbage cans below my windows, the odd gunshot ringing out from the rooftop across the street at 3am, or through a cacophony of honking horns and sirens flying by the nearby intersection just before midnight. I sleep through all that like a boss!

So what could possibly have kept me awake for most of the night in a nice little hideaway jungle oasis deep inside Panama's tropical rainforest province?

Bugs. Lots and lots of BUGS!

Thankfully, much in part due to the reams of thick mosquito netting cocooning my bed, no bugs actually crawling on me. No. But, rather, what felt like every insect under creation was out there flitting by in the night, bumping into my nets and trying to get at the sweaty, hot, stinky human full of delicious hemoglobin who they could sense lying there just beyond their tiny grubby grasps. A whole heap of 'em rubbing legs and wingtips together, chirping, clacking, or otherwise producing an alien-like chorus of sounds that took a long time to get accustomed to for someone who, yes, may have hailed from a jungle of the urban variety -- but not the jungle; ancient, primordial, green and alive. I mean, the night air was thick with these suckers inhabiting this very real jungle around me. And boy, they were LOUD!!!


Partial daytime view of my bed with much welcomed netting!


Added to this was the reality that nighttime temps in Bocas del Toro in June seem to bottom out at a not-so-bottom 88-degrees F. And the humidity is easily north of 90%!!! So when they say "you're in the thick of it" here in Bocas, they really mean it.

Then there's this other fun tidbit of wholesome knowledge: Because the lodge I was staying at prides itself on being off the grid (mostly) and eco-friendly, there are no ACs in this place. Which is perfectly fine and understandable, as the cabins only have one wall and are otherwise largely open to the elements, but what this means is that the only thing you have to combat the oppressive jungle heat with is a high speed fan above your bed. And perhaps a silent prayer to the rain gods to send a fast moving low-pressure system in to scrub the atmosphere away -- albeit temporarily. It always returns, though, the humidity. And your choice is to either: 1) Accept it; or 2) Take a cold shower .... and accept it.

I ended up doing the latter quite frequently during my stay.

Panama Trip - Day 5: Making Friends and Fighting Dragons

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the links below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!
Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).
Day 3: Making the Best of Things.
Day 4: We Have Fun and Games.


And now for the continuation ...


DAY 5: Making Friends and Fighting Dragons.

I awoke on this morning to more muffins and coffee delivered to me by some unknown porter of miracles just as the sun was beginning to rise. It had rained for most of the night in drenching, heavy sheets of water sluicing off the roof of my cabin and curtaining down the sides. At times I was awaken by such tremendous lighting and thunder that I thought the entire hillside was shaking. And then I fell soundly back to sleep when the rest of the storm went on its way to parts unknown. Apparently my body had become quite accustomed to the peculiarities of the rainforest, as unlike the night before I was barely fazed by it all. And once the storm left, it ushered in a refreshing, almost mountainous, cool breeze onto the farm that dispelled all that wretched heat and humidity. At least for a few hours.

As I carefully descended from the hilltop on this fine morning, I stopped a few times at strategically placed landings along the way to admire the actual crops being grown on the downward slopes.







Plantains, potatoes, tomatoes ... and a few other "'oes" (such as mangoes -- yum!!!) I spied as I gently arrived on flat ground near the main lodge of La Loma Jungle Lodge and Chocolate Farm. I had yet to see the actual cacao crops, but was assured by one of the friendly farmhands that it was being grown at a lower elevation in another section just behind the big house. What a wonderful place of untold splendors to explore!

I had a delicioso breakfast with my fellow travelers at the large communal table in the main lodge, and we all seemed eager for more adventures of the day. After so much fun snorkeling and beach combing the day before, the consensus ruled this day to ... do more beach combing! Hey, why not? I mean, when in Rome right? One of the older couples staying at the lodge that week opted out of having more fun in the sun, however. They had taken quite a beating on the previous trip, and really just wanted to laze about on the farm doing -- well, you know: not much of anything at all. Hey, I can appreciate that! And I would have joined them in fact, had I been on this vacation with someone else along. As it was just me, I didn't see much value in staying cooped up alone in my cabin on a sunny day.

And so, off to the yet another fantastic beach we sailed!

Panama Trip - Day 6: To the Bat Cave!

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the links below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!
Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).
Day 3: Making the Best of Things.
Day 4: We Have Fun and Games.
Day 5: Making Friends and Fighting Dragons.


And now for the continuation ...


DAY 6: To the Bat Cave!


By now I had mastered all there was to master about jungle living.




Okay, let me cut the crap. I wasn't truly "roughing it" out here. Not really. Aside from the atrocious heat and humidity (high 90s for both) that made all my clothing remain forever damp no matter how long I left them out to "dry" ... the most disturbing thing I had to deal with were the monkeys in the trees watching me and occasionally jumping onto my cabin and, well, monkeying around. Hey, at least now I truly understood where that expression came from in the deepest, most profound way.

All that aside, I actually did have a great daily game plan going by now. Wake up around 6:15 in the morning; retrieve the enclosed tray of muffins and coffee left on the stoop outside my door; read a book on the making of the film The Princess Bride (one of my favorites!) as I ate this small *snack*; take a much needed and refreshing cold shower in the outdoor stall attached to my room; pack up my day bag for whatever adventure awaited me; apply SPF 50 sunscreen (I wasn't all that far from the equator, after all); lather on the max strength bug juice; and then finally, around 8am, make way down the many flights of steps to the main cabin for breakfast with the other guests. It was a nice routine.


Where everyone gathers to eat and hang out -- sometimes literally!


And this day was going to have something special in store for those of us willing to take on the challenge. We were going to boat and hike our way deep into the Panamanian rainforest to reach the Nivida bat cave for some underground climbing and exploration. Ho-lee shit!

So those of us going -- which was just myself and a nice family from Prescott -- piled into the boat, and off we went again. We left La Loma behind for the day, but provisioned with the same packed lunch of gourmet goodness as per usual. I was getting too used to this kind of pampering!

Panama Trip - Day 7: It's Closing Time

Earlier this year I embarked on a trip of a lifetime to Central America. Specifically, I visited Panama's steamy rainforest province of Bocas del Toro, a place I had never heard of before, but of which I had read many encouraging accounts.

But first, if you wish to read up on what has transpired before, click on the links below:


Day 1: Here There Be Balboas!
Day 2: Honor Among Thieves. Sorta (But No, Not Really).
Day 3: Making the Best of Things.
Day 4: We Have Fun and Games.
Day 5: Making Friends and Fighting Dragons.
Day 6: To the Bat Cave!


And now for the continuation ...


DAY 7: It's Closing Time.

I had been in Bocas del Toro for almost a week now, and yet not one of these days had been a washout.

Until today, the day I had to leave.

The morning actually started out pretty and sunny. Because it was our last day at the lodge, and because we would have to leave in the early afternoon, our hosts suggested that we all participate in a tour of the actual farm we were staying on. In particular, to finding out more about the chocolate making process.

Hey, you don't have to twist my arm where chocolate is involved!


Dragonfly watching us with about a hundred eyes!


Of course, somewhere in the middle of the tour when we were deep afield where the cacao was being grown, dark clouds rolled in and the skies opened up. A trickle at first, and then the veritable deluge. A non-stop, hard pounding rain that would let up only later in the day when we reached the airport back in Bocas Town.

So those of us on the tour agreed to continue on with it. We were already packed, after all; our bags wrapped in protective plastic and lined up at the dock waiting to go. And we all had our ponchos with us, too, just for the inevitability of rain that had been forecast for the day. So, once again I found myself repeating the mantra: When in Rome, eh? Except in this case Rome was a rainforest, and tropical downpours came with the territory.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Trust Me, You Don't Want To Mess With This

Yet another entry in the Batista commuter saga, NYC subway edition.

So, I get on the crowded 4 train this morning to get to work. As usual, all the ass clowns are standing by the door, even though the interior of the car still has plenty of wiggle room. And per usual, too, no one wants to move out of the way as we all try to board.

So I say "excuse me" to get by this one asshole, but he doesn't move. I say it again, and still nothing. Hey, I just gave this dude my "two warnings, fair game" rule, which means that now I get to shoulder your dumb ass aside with much prejudice. And when I shoulder someone, let's just say it's not pleasant. I've been told it feels like the grill of a Mac truck hitting you dead on.

So this guy decides to get offended and mouth off at me. Right there in front of everyone. I let him spew off a few choice syllables, the whole time not saying anything but giving him my patented STARE OF DOOM! Yes, I was wearing my shades, but the STARE burns through the opaque windows baring the rage of my soul to those fools stupid enough to test me:




This is how I normally look when I ride the subway, by the way. I call it my "subway armor" for reasons to be made clear shortly. I was wearing these exact same shades today, and giving this exact same look. Except, minus the mock turtleneck and leather bomber naturally (the pic was taken back in February). This look is my "fuck off or DIE" look. Most people get the point and know to leave me well the hell alone.

This guy mouthing off this morning did, too. After a few seconds. See, I find that the best way to deal with potential fight scenarios is to simply stare at the person and never say one word. It gets them piping mad at first, sure, but when you keep spouting bullshit and the other person is simply staring you down the entire time, silent as death, pretty soon you start to feel a tad foolish. Maybe even frightened.

I have that effect. If the look isn't enough, my size backs me up. Most people don't want to take on what I bring to a fight. They talk a lot of shit, but when it comes time to put up or shut up, they eventually back down and . . . yup, shut the hell up.

Same with this fool. It was quite funny, actually. He started off all hot and belligerent. Then, as it became obvious that I was plotting to murder him behind those shades without a single word spoken, his sentences trailed off to gibberish, and then nothing. Everyone else in the train was smirking or outright laughing at this imbecile.

He got off at the next station. Wise decision on his part.

Here's the thing: I don't ever start fights. Some people ride the subway just looking for an excuse to get into trouble. I know this. So in situations like the one I just described above, I usually stare at the offender until he wizens up and decides to take his particular brand of bullshit somewhere else. But in the off chance that's not enough, I calmly tell the person to "do something" about it.

What I mean when I say this is: Hey, if you feel so strongly about your convictions, ignorant peon, then put your grievances to action. I'm standing right here; take me on!

The purpose of this is to get the person to throw the first punch. I'll never initiate it myself, because this is how people end up taking a nice overnight trip to the Riker's Island holding facility. Whoever makes the first move in an altercation is ALWAYS the bad guy. But the minute the person throws that first punch, I'm free to open up a can of whup-ass on them. And -- oh trust me, no one wants that!

Once again, proof why it takes a certain type to survive in this zoo we call the Big Apple. I'm only this way because I was born here and had to learn to adapt to survive to adulthood. Especially as a male trying to simply do the right thing and stay out of trouble. My outward appearance is such as to discourage most would-be offenders from even thinking they can take me on. It's a strategy that works far better than you'd think.

So, that was my morning. How was your commute?

Sunday, October 31, 2010

NYC Subway Survival Guide (Part 4)

One of the oldest and most extensive underground mass rapid transportation systems in the world, the New York City subway can be a daunting task to navigate even for the most seasoned of straphangers. This is where I come in. I'm a New Yorker born and bred, having lived here for all 34 years of my life. Mine has been a continuous love/hate relationship with the labyrinthine rail system ever since I started riding it at the age of 9, and I'm here to present my tips and observations to you.

The Subway Survival Guide is meant to keep you alive and well to live another day in New York City. Ignore its warnings at your own peril.

But before we get started on the next installment of this ongoing series, please check out these previous entries at your own leisure:

Part 1: Trust No One!
Part 2: Make Yourself Less of a Target.
Part 3: Getting Around.


And now, let us continue:

Part 4 - Racial Profiling.
---------------------------


The New York City subway is a crowded mess, let's not pretend it's not. And the quest for the rare, ever-elusive empty seat during rush hour can seem like an impossible task. But if you take note of who's already sitting down around you, it's possible that a seat can be yours in just under 15 mins, tops. Now normally racial profiling is a bad, bad thing. As someone who's been on the receiving end of it, trust me: it's so not cool. And yet, I'm about to get downright un-PC with what I'm going to suggest next. See, when it comes down to survival in the urban jungle, sometimes you need to be a little un-PC. It's the law of the land.


The German tourist family is the obvious first choice when you're standing in a crowded express commute car heading home after work. They're not hard to spot: just search for a group of, like, 9 extended family members, blond and blue-eyed and all sitting in a neat row staring intently up at the subway line map. Their pale moon faces and flush red cheeks (a complexion, I imagine, you can only get from milking cows in the crisp Bavarian countryside) are a dead giveaway. If you're on a train traveling uptown, this large group WITHOUT FAIL will be getting off at Times Square. You can bet money on this.

The next sure bet is . . . Asian people. If you know your train is traveling anywhere that has a stop named "Canal Street" in Manhattan -- and believe me, your train will be -- then this is where they'll be getting off. It doesn't matter if they're Chinese, Korean, Malaysian, Japanese . . . Chinatown is where they'll be going! Especially if the Asian man or woman is elderly and/or carrying pink plastic bags filled with fresh garden vegetables or fish. Stand close to these folks and wait for the Canal Street station to slide into view. If you time it just right, you can slip into the seat abandoned by the old Asian man before anyone else standing is even aware of what just happened. If you're traveling uptown, however, and you have already passed Canal St., then look for the Asian straphanger to get off at Times Square, so as to catch the 7 line out to Flushing. With. Out. Fail.

White people are the next popular group to give up seats with predictable timing. If you're on the Lexington Avenue line traveling uptown, for instance -- find the Caucasian executive dressed in a suit and/or dress shirt with tie. If they have a briefcase, SCORE! I don't know why, but these folks ALWAYS get off at 42nd Street Grand Central. My guess is to catch the Metro North lines out to the suburbs. Any remaining white people on your train will either get off at the next stop, or the one after that. So stick by them if no businessmen are available in your immediate vicinity.

Relax, nobody of the Caucasian persuasion travels above 86th street on the Lex. Express. This is because the next stop after 86th is *gasp* HARLEM! Oh god, NO!!! All the "darkies" live there, and heaven forbid you should ever end up here if you're white. Why, you might get mugged. Or raped! Or mugged, then raped! So if you stood by whitey and still don't have a seat after 86th street, tap him or her on the shoulder and warn them. It's the civic thing to do.

Now, have you exhausted all these options and still don't have a seat? Sorry dude, you're S-O-L. If all you can see around you is a sea of minorities, then tough it up and resign yourself to a very long standing ride uptown. Blacks and Latinos never get off at the next stop. EVAR! It's like they all live at the very last stop. Or so it always seems to me.

Above all else, avoid standing near the morbidly obese black female (MOBF) who may also be in the same boat as you, hunting for a seat. Even if a seat becomes available nearest you and is only wide enough to fit a normal-sized human being, you'll not be the one getting it. The MOBF is a fierce seat predator. Whether she can fit into it or not, she will claw and bite her way through you for that perch -- as her sense of entitlement is STRONG. Any poor fool sitting in proximity as the MOBF defiantly squeezes her titanically round rear into the square peg of a seat must forfeit the use of his or her arm and/or kneecap for the remainder of the ride. It belongs to her now, and her ass is always HUNGRY!



Now, to be sure, there ARE exceptions to these rules, Nothing is absolute in the real world. But 9 times out of 10, if you follow the advice above, you WILL get a seat. The best is when you find a long stretch of bench with a mixture of all three types -- tourists, Asians, and white people. In such a scenario, and if you stick very close to your target so that no one else can cut in front of you when they eventually get up, you will have a seat within two stops. Guaranteed!

Be aware, however: you're not the only one who knows these rules. The MOBF in particular is just as aware of subway herd tendencies as you are now. In fact, she's better equipped to act on these observations, as her large bulk and overwhelming SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT powers are more than a match for the mild-mannered, average and tired nine-to-fiver just trying make it home after a long day. So be wary and stick to your guns. You have to be absolutely fierce! If you must give ground to the HUNGRY raging MOBF, have no fear. Simply reuse the rules stated above to hunt down another target who will give up their seat soon. In midtown Manhattan, there's usually more than one prospect on any given subway car.

Just remember: relax. You can do it!

Friday, October 29, 2010

Crazy And The City

See, I told you all in part 2 of the New York City Survival Guide the steps to take to make yourself less of a target for assholes. And I mentioned, too, that you really don't want to attract any of the crazies. Well, what I forgot to say is . . . sometimes the crazies still get you, even when you obey all the rules I outlined in that blog entry.

Case in point, the video I'm embedding below. This was taken on the F train by someone else, but it's what I see myself from time to time -- crazy people let loose on unsuspecting citizens. Watch in the video how this young lady is minding her own business and doing her best to not look at, provoke, or otherwise attract the attention of this bat-shit bonkers old woman standing next to her. And yet . . . AND YET . . . she still gets slapped upside the head for no reason. Arrrgh! This kind of thing pisses me off!

But anyway, see for yourself. If you want visual proof of just how dangerously unpredictable riding the subway can be here, look no further:





Sickening, isn't it? These kinds of people need to be locked up. I realize they have mental problems, but they shouldn't be allowed to just roam the streets and subways like this. Not only are they a harm to other people, but to themselves as well.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

NYC Subway Survival Guide (Part 3)

One of the oldest and most extensive underground mass rapid transportation systems in the world, the New York City subway can be a daunting task to navigate even for the most seasoned of straphangers. This is where I come in. I'm a New Yorker born and bred, having lived here for all 34 years of my life. Mine has been a continuous love/hate relationship with the labyrinthine rail system ever since I started riding it at the age of 9, and  I'm here to present my tips and observations to you, visitor and citizen alike of this great American metropolis.

The Subway Survival Guide is meant to keep you alive and well to live another day in New York City. Ignore its warnings at your own peril.

But before we get started on the next installment of this ongoing series, please check out these previous entries at your own leisure:

Part 1: Trust No One!
Part 2: Make Yourself Less of a Target.

And now, let us continue:


Part 3 - Getting Around.
---------------------------

New York is an amazing city, made even more evident by the fact that, unlike the Paris Metro or London Underground, our subways operate 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It's really quite phenomenal when you think about it, and rather apropos for the town that bills itself as being the "city that never sleeps." In fact, we New Yorkers take it for granted. I remember Lisa and I feeling quite put out when, while in Paris and after having a leisurely late dinner in the Les Halles neighborhood, we came to discover that the metro had shut down for the evening. What the hell? We were so not prepared for this, coming from New York and all. We ended up hailing a cab back to the hotel, so it was no big deal, but it really made us sit back and appreciate what we had back home.

This is not to imply that our subway system is perfect. Far from it. And in fact, its very large size and antiquated infrastructure can really make it a chore to navigate for non-natives. Hell, who am I kidding? Even an old hand like me can find himself turned around by sudden service disruptions that come with no warning or explanation whatsoever. It's happened a handful of times in my experience. Now imagine how chaotic our system must seem to tourists, then? Yikes!

But fear not. This is called the NYC Subway Survival Guide for a reason. Below you'll find helpful hints on how the make the best of navigating our convoluted, but invaluable, underground transportation network.

First off: find yourself a reliable and genuine NYC subway map. These can be found all over the city, not the least of which is inside most major subway stations -- they're usually provided for free outside the few remaining manned booth stations still in operation throughout the network. And if you're a tourist, chances are you either already have your own map, or have been provided one by your hotel's concierge or front desk. Now a warning: our subway map can be a bit intimidating to first-time visitors, to say the least. Just click on the thumbnail to the left to see a larger image and discover for yourself. Wow, right? It's simply CRAZY! But I'll show you a few cool interactive map options later for those of you who own smart phones. It can make the experience a lot less cardiac intensive.

Next, get yourself a MetroCard. Gone are the quaint days of standing in line for the booth clerk to transfer your cash into metallic entrance coins or "tokens." Nowadays New York has completely transitioned over to a magnetic card reader entrance system. We call ours a "MetroCard." Other rapid transit systems around the world have different names for virtually the same technology.

In this city, all you need to do is go up to a kiosk situated near every subway entrance and use the touchscreen to purchase a MetroCard in any language and in various denominations. My favorite MetroCard is the monthly unlimited ridership one. Once purchased, you can ride as often as you must, whenever you want, within a 30-day span. If you use the subway as much as I do (which goes well beyond the twice-daily to and from work), the savings of buying the monthly versus the pay-per-ride option really adds up! If you're a short-term visitor to the Big Apple, I would recommend the weekly unlimited card instead.

Lastly, learn your general directional points. In the subway, south is generally "downtown," while north is "uptown." If you ever end up asking a local for directions, they will use these terms 10 times out of 10. So it's worth knowing this before hand. Sometimes you'll hear station announcements which use the names of Boroughs instead, such as: "The next Brooklyn-bound train is now arriving" or "The Bronx bound 4 train is now one station away." If you're anywhere on the island of Manhattan when you hear this -- and let's be honest, you probably are -- then all you need to know is that Brooklyn is technically "downtown" and that the Bronx is "uptown," or south and north respectively. Very rarely you'll hear subway lines referred to by their terminal stations, such as the "Lefferts Blvd. 'A' train" or the "Pelham Parkway '6' train," to convey directionality. This is how you navigate the Metro system in Paris, for example. In this case, if you really don't know these terminal stations, simply look on the map and trace your finger to the end of the line of the train you're thinking of riding. If your finger is traveling in the opposite direction on the map from the landmark you want to go see, you're on the wrong side of the platform. Or you can simply look up at the sign hanging over your head. They usually tell you the same information.

Anywho . . . now that you know your directions, you've got your map and you're past the pay entrance -- or "turnstile" -- you simply walk to the platform and hop on the first thing smoking, right? Well hold on there, buddy! It gets a little more complicated than that. Like most major cities with underground rail systems, many New York subway stations service more than one line at a time. And before you can choose your train, you have to figure out where it is you intend to go. The destination is more important than your current location, as with this info you will determine the optimal course of action to get to your stop. Unfortunately, there is no one or easily identifiable solution in place to assist you in this feat. Subway signs can be a mess of seemingly conflicting information, and even the map itself cannot show you whether your line/route has been switched or delayed that morning due to track work or signaling errors.

This is where, unfortunately, you MUST ask a New Yorker for help. I know, I know -- the HORROR! But, relax, we're not as bad as the movies or urban legends make us out to be. At least, most of us aren't. To be honest, I wish tourists would be a little more brave and asks questions. It breaks my heart sometimes to see an entire family from, say, the U.K. fretting over the subway map and trying to make sense of the garbled P.A. announcement telling them that their train has gone out of service. There have been moments when I'm standing right there and not one of them asks me for help, even though I'm probably the most knowledgeable New Yorker you can ever hope to run into when it comes to knowing the subway inside out.

But Batista, you ask, why don't you just offer up your assistance straight out? Heh, heh . . . do you honestly think I haven't tried that? Sorry, but I've been rebuked a few times by tourists that seem to regard me as someone who's about to mug them. So, no thanks. What I do now -- and sometimes it even works -- is I make what I hope is an open and approachable expression on my face so that they know I mean no harm. If they still don't want to risk asking this local for help, then I don't push the issue. More power to them.

If not me, then you should ask SOMEBODY for help. Don't try to go it alone. I've seen out-of-towners end up heading to Queens when all they really wanted to do was go to Battery Park. Needless to say they had a bad day in the ole city that time -- ouch!

However, fret not. If you don't exactly trust your chances in asking a friendly New Yorker for help, there's usually a cop or MTA employee somewhere about on the platform. Particularly near the turnstiles, that's your best bet. And if that option doesn't exist, you can always go the high-tech route. By now a lot of people have smart phones about them, such as Apple's iPhone or those new Android phones that seem to be all the rage. And with this technology comes lots of helpful little "apps" to guide you in your time of need on your underground adventure. I've used a few of these apps in other cities around the world, and to varying degrees of success. But below are 3 apps I highly recommend for New York City subway navigation in particular. Even though I almost never use these except to test them out, I still keep them on my iPhone "just in case." Hey, I was a Boy Scout -- I firmly believe in our motto, "Be Prepared."

All of these apps provide their own advantages over the plain old paper version of the NYC subway map:


iTrans NYC: This is an iPhone app that allows users to check on available schedules both online and off, find out the very latest service advisories, and plot the best and easiest routes between two stations. If out on the surface, the app will find your location and give you step-by-step directions to the nearest subway station. I've used it a handful of times since downloading it for $3.99 from the Apple app store last year, and I was personally impressed by the detailed and beautifully rendered map. The biggest selling point for this app is the currentness of its service advisories, as well as the surprising accuracy of its arrivals schedule. If you can only get one app for your subterranean travel in the Big Apple, make sure this is that app.

KICKMap: This, too is an iPhone app that has many of the same features of the above iTrans NYC, but with a few more added bells and whistles. For one, its version of the subway map is dynamic and will show you right on the display the exact station your particular train will stop at (and which ones it won't) depending on what time of day it is. As some of you may know, there can be a big difference on some of the lines depending on whether it is rush hour or late night. You don't want to get stranded at 3 in the morning on a train that looked like it was stopping at your station on a paper map, but in fact skips the station during late night hours. This app, which sells for $2.99, will also detail which stations allow you to cross over to the opposite moving track without having to leave the station and pay again to re-enter from the other side of the street. Still, even given all of the above PLUS the lower price, I personally prefer iTrans NYC more. Chalk it up to personal experience as a New Yorker. One of the down sides of this app is that it doesn't provide walking directions like iTrans does, and also sometimes the schedules are not as up to date, either. Still a great secondary app to have around.

Tube New York: This app presents a very odd dilemma. See, the "Tube" series of apps is created by Visual IT Ltd., and are available on a variety of mobile platforms -- not just the iPhone. The first app was the "Tube London" one, and I've heard that it is a brilliant piece of software at that. I myself swear by the "Tube Paris" version, and end up using it almost exclusively when we travel to that city. Like those apps, Tube New York is most handy for operating offline as a route calculator when you are underground and can't get a signal. It does this, however, by being rather bare bones. You can plot between two stations, and the app will give you detailed instructions on how to get there, including where and how to catch any connecting trains. For some reason, however, I almost never use the New York version of this app. It's pricey at $4.99, and because I know the subways so well I really don't have much use for a route calculator. Still, it's utilitarian interface and matter-of-fact presentation might be appealing to some travelers.


So, which one should you get? If you're like me, you'll probably want to own all three of these of apps. You know, like I said before: "just in case!"

In the end, as I hope this guide has shown, getting around the New York City subway system can be a breeze -- if you come prepared. Equipped with the right tools and knowledge, it's amazing how simple and convenient traveling underground here can be.

Now, how do you go about getting a seat once you're on board a train? Well, let's just say that takes a more advanced approach. One which I hope to cover in a future installment of this guide.

'Till then, travel safely!

(To continue on to Part 4 of the NYC Subway Survival Guide, CLICK HERE.)

Saturday, October 23, 2010

NYC Subway Survival Guide (Part 2)

One of the oldest and most extensive underground rapid mass transportation systems in the world, New York City's subways can be a daunting task to navigate even for the most seasoned of straphangers. This is where I come in. I'm a New Yorker born and bred, having lived here for all 34 years of my life. Mine has been a continuous love/hate relationship with the labyrinthine rail system ever since I started riding it at the age of 9, and  I'm here to present my tips and observations to you, visitor and citizen alike of this great American metropolis.

The Subway Survival Guide is meant to keep you alive and well to live another day in New York City. Ignore its warnings at your own peril.

But before we get started on the next installment of this ongoing series, please check out the previous entry at your own leisure:

Part 1: Trust No One!


And now, let us continue:


Part 2 - Make Yourself Less of a Target.
----------------------------------------------

If you've never been to the Big Apple before, or if you have but never ridden a genuine NYC subway, you've no doubt built up an irrational fear of the underground rail byways that crisscross these 5 boroughs. In the movies, the subway always get the meanest, baddest rap. Sure, at one point it used to be extremely hazardous to your health to venture down into the murky depths of twisted tunnels just to get from Midtown to Downtown. I'm talking the 70s and early 80s, here. But then, history will show that all of New York was in a bad place during those wild days -- not just the subway.

Still, I give this city credit: things have improved 300% since my earliest memories of riding cars drowning in graffiti and rolling hills of garbage and abandoned newspapers. Both the MTA police as well as the undercover squads which patrol the trains have done an excellent job reclaiming the one true lifeblood of this city's transportation needs. I'd venture to say a newcomer to this town can live here for two years and still not see one incident of a crime being committed. It's rare, but it can happen. Unless you spend all your days roaming the underground from Washington Heights to Rockaway, that is. Then you're just asking for trouble.



Truth is, yes, it's a lot safer than it's ever been to ride the rails here. But that doesn't mean shit doesn't still happen. It does, and how you carry yourself and remain aware of your surroundings plays a huge role in whether you make it out of a dicey situation unscathed.

Here are 8 tips to keep in mind when riding the lovely NYC subway system:

1. Avoid confrontation. This might seem like an obvious thing to do, right? After all, many of us don't actively seek out confrontation. Problem is, when you have 3 million people all on the same evening rush commute home with you, simply standing in one place minding your own business can be enough to set someone wailing on your ass. If you want to make it home without joining in a fistfight, actively keep yourself out of harm's way. Avoid standing by the doors as people rush in and out of the train. If you are carrying a knapsack or over-sized purse, bring it around across your midsection or place it between your legs. You might not be aware of it, but that bulky bag on your back is pushing into the poor man behind you. And if that person just happens to be off his meds on this particularly fine day, well . . .

2. Accidental eye contact is okay -- the 3 minute death stare of Hades, not so much. Seriously, some people are just looking to pick a fight. If someone is staring you down, it's no big deal to simply shift your gaze marginally to the side by a fraction of an inch. Pretend you're reading the platform signs through the glass behind this person. Or whip out a book. Wearing shades are always the best bet, because this way no one knows whether you're staring at them or simply taking a power nap. Now, if you think this is the pussy way out -- well then, be my guest and stare away at Paco Melendez packing that shiv with your name on it in the right pocket of his hoodie. If you're a tough guy, take your chances. You might win this battle. Most likely, though, you won't. At the end of the day, do you really want to risk it?


3. Never play with your shiny new gadget while sitting adjacent to the exit doors. This is probably the most frequent crime I've witnessed with my own two eyes on the subway. People sitting near the door with their iPhones, iPods, laptops, or portable gaming systems in their hands, completely oblivious to their surroundings. Criminals love to wait by the doors as the train pulls into the station, stand there while the doors open, and then, at the last second before they close, snatch the device out the victim's hands and run like greased lightning off the train. If the timing is right, by the time the victim has the sense of mind to even do anything about it, the doors have closed and the train is already pulling out of the station. Do yourself a favor and simply read a book, or get some shut eye on your long commute. Otherwise, try to keep one eye on your PSP and the other on the door the entire time. Not an easy feat to pull off, let me tell you.

4. Beware of Mr. Jumpy. This is when being aware of your surroundings -- and more importantly, the people around you -- really pays off. If you see a guy standing when there are plenty of seats available, this should raise your Spidey senses just a tingle. If he starts fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot, maybe pacing back and forth from door to door, then your internal warning signals should be blaring as loud as klaxons! Twice I've seen such twitchy fellows proceed to do something quite insane to the closest available person. The one time it was a slap to the face and a quick dash out the door. The other time, another jumpy individual pulled out a handgun and pointed it at the face of the fat guy sitting across from me. He then proceeded to rob him of his money and iPod, directly in full view of me and about 12 other passengers, before running out the train just as the doors were closing. He also punched the victim in the face for good measure before leaving. Talk about adding insult to injury (the poor guy was pretty shaken up afterward, too.)


5. When in doubt, go to the middle. I recommend this the most to either novice subway riders, or if you've been partying all night and now you're taking the subway home all alone at 3:30 in the a.m. (stupid ass!). Subways typically have two MTA employees operating a train at any given time. The Operator or Engineer sits in the front car and handles the mechanics of actually moving the train from Point A to Point B. He should be your second choice to come to with a problem, as he's really more busy with making sure you don't all crash in to the train ahead and so forth. The other employee -- the Conductor -- is situated in the very center car of the train. His job is to open and close the doors, make sure everyone gets on, and make any necessary announcements over the P.A. He's also in charge of contacting the proper authorities should anything seem amiss. This is the car you want to be in if you're feeling less than safe on any given ride. The Conductor might not be able to save you from roving bands of muggers, but he's the guy that will call for help. As such, the middle car is usually the most crowded car during late night hours. And in NYC, there really is safety in numbers.

6. Display some common courtesy. Some of these should be no-brainers, but I've honestly seen more fights started over a simple case of bad manners than any other single provocation you can imagine. Cover your mouth when you sneeze or yawn, especially when the car you're on is crowded. Don't steal someone else's seat, you wouldn't like it if someone did that to you. Kids like to kick out ALL THE TIME, so please keep a tight reign on your children's feet and off the lap of the woman sitting patiently next to them. Don't fall asleep if you can't keep control of your head or torso from swaying back and forth like a scarecrow caught in a tornado; you might find your ass waking up on the floor. If you mistakenly bump into someone, the polite thing to say is: "Oh, pardon me"; not: "Well, who told you to be in my way?"

7. You're not a circus performer, so please don't practice your high wire act. Seriously, step back away from the platform's edge, dumbass! Do you really need so badly to physically see the headlights of the oncoming train as it approaches the station? Is that really going to make it come any faster for you? No, it will not! So do us all a favor and keep well away from the Cliffs of Insanity, there, Dread Pirate. Some of us have places to be and don't want to end up being interviewed for the 11 o'clock evening news.




8.  Afraid you might stick out? Change your posture. This is my default setting, myself, whenever I'm on the train and a large bunch of unrulies are sitting around me: I simply act bored out of my mind. I slouch back a little, yawn, and stare out into space. Or I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I do my best to look like somebody who just doesn't give a shit, even though inside I'm hyper alert to every single movement and sound generated around me. Native New Yorkers are masters of this attitude -- we can adopt it faster than the drop of a dime. Usually, it's because we really don't give a shit! We've seen it all before. But if you're an outsider, seriously, do you best to avoid staring at the low-brow antics of these hoodlums. They'd like nothing better than an audience, and anything you do to make yourself seem more vulnerable is just asking for trouble. Again, the 11 o'clock news . . . you really want to avoid being the lead-in story that night.


This might seem like a lot to have to remember, but honestly you should have noticed a theme here. Which is: Don't do anything to make someone else want to stab your ass!

In this city of 13 million people, the chances of you running into that 1% of the American population not fit to be without restrictive clothing are marginally higher. The crazies simply LOVE big cities, and you don't get much bigger or famous than New York. So ask yourself this: do you really want to egg these people on even more?

Yeah, I didn't think so. Stay safe, always expect the unexpected . . . and for fuck's sake people, keep your nose out of other people's beef!

Trust me, you'll live to ride the subway again another day if you do.

(To continue on to Part 3 of the NYC Subway Survival Guide, CLICK HERE.)

Friday, October 22, 2010

NYC Subway Survival Guide (Part 1)

New York City. Home to one of the oldest and most extensive underground rapid mass transportation systems in the world. Nearly 11 million riders travel in and out of its maze-like warrens of underground tunnels and platforms every single day, always on the go to someplace important. It can be a daunting -- hell, even dangerous undertaking for even the most stalwart of straphangers. And while you the rider may be tempted to simply mind your business and keep to yourself and your mp3 player until the experience is over, sometimes a more proactive awareness of your surroundings is required to make it out alive.

This is where I come in. I'm a New Yorker born and bred. I've lived here for 34 years. My first great subway experience was during the big New York City blackout of 1977. Just a few weeks shy of my first birthday, my pregnant mother and I were stranded on the No. 2 line for three hours in pitch black before help finally arrived. You can almost say I was born on the battlefield. I started riding the subways to school on my own at the age of 9. Mine has been a continuous love/hate relationship with the MTA system ever since. In that time, I've learned the map inside out. I've seen acts of overwhelming generosity and abhorrent horror -- sometimes on the same commute!

And I'm here to present my tips and observations to you, visitor and citizen alike of this great American town. The Subway Survival Guide is meant to keep you alive and well to live another day in New York City. Ignore its warnings at your own peril.

Now then: Let's get started, shall we?


Part 1 - Trust No One!
-------------------------

This may seem like a no-brainer to most. After all, we all know how hard and tough living in New York City can be. And yet . . . AND YET! . . . I can't tell you the number of times I've seen people open their hearts during the long commute when in reality they should be closing their wallets and purses.

Look, it's simple: When on the subway, always keep your money to yourself.

Now, I'm not talking the obvious, like not counting your wad in plain sight of about 50 other nosy bodies in the same car with you. No, most people already know better than this. What I'm referring to are the countless scams in operation on any given day throughout the entire MTA. Scams that are technically illegal, but which law enforcement doesn't actively seek out to prevent.

The most notorious and, in my mind, the most obvious is the panhandler -- those who solicit you for a personal donation into their cups. These are the miserable wretches who come aboard during all hours of the day and feed you a variety of bullshit depending on the individual trying to tug at your heartstrings. In the 80s it used to be the legless Vietnam vet. But now that most Vietnam vets are either dead or too old to panhandle anymore, the story has changed to just simply being homeless. Sometimes they'll embellish their stories by saying they've been abused at the local shelter and must now live in the subway. Or sometimes they'll say they have two children waiting for them back home, but that the city has cut off their welfare allowance.

Btw, it's always two children. Not one, not three, but TWO! And their public aid status is always currently under appeal, but in the meantime . . . can you please help tide them over until they can get back on their feet?

One time an obvious dope whore came aboard and claimed all of the above (except the Vietnam war vet story, of course. That would be too obvious), AND that she was currently two months pregnant to boot. Tears were streaming down her face, and she looked a horrible mess. Mostly women riders on the train gave her some money. I, on the other hand, sat there wondering just what exact percentage of this pitiful woman's "earnings" was going to go straight into her arm later that night.

Now you might be saying: Batista, come on! I know better than that. I would never give a homeless person money. I'd give them food or clothing or something non-monetary in value. And I'd reply: good for you, Jack. But that's not the reality that I see every day. Most of you give money. LOTS of money! Quite a few of these panhandlers make more in one day than I do.

And you know, some of these other scenarios might not even seem like scams to you at first.

Take for instance the teens who roam the train cars carrying boxes of candy for sale. The story they spin to peddle these overpriced goods changes every several years, yet they are always the same down to the very last kid. And, in fact, the evolution of the tale can be a nice study in group psychology.

See, years ago when these kids first started to show up in earnest during rush hour, their story went something along these lines: "Hello, we're selling candy to raise money for our high school basketball/football/baseball team's uniforms. All we have today is M&M Peanut and Starburst. 1 dollar, 1 dollar. Does anybody want to buy some candy?"

That was the pitch, and people fell for it. Which I never understood. I don't even have kids and I knew this story was full of shit. What parent would rightfully allow their school's sports faculty to send their Junior Varsity child out into the mean subways of New York in order to peddle Snickers bars for funds? I mean, seriously? At one point it even got to be an epidemic on the trains. Sometimes I would see these kids three or four times in one day!

No, like other sob stories on the subway, this was just a scheme to get people to cough over more money for something which costs half the price at the newsstand or corner store. Do yourself a favor and don't fall for this.

Nowadays, the story has curiously evolved. I guess they realized people weren't buying the "school uniform" crock. So now these kids come aboard and don't even try that bullshit anymore. Now they try the honesty approach which, predictably, is still not the truth. Their pitch these days goes something like this: "I'm out here selling candy trying to make money. Not for my school team, not for my church, but for myself so that I have money in my pocket and a reason to stay off the streets out of trouble. If you would like to buy some candy, I only have M&M Peanut and Starburst left for 1 dollar each. Does anybody want to buy some candy?"

Now, you see, isn't it obvious what's going on here? Somebody is buying these M&M boxes in bulk from wholesale, then sending these little ragamuffins out into the subway to hawk them at a marked-up value of $1 apiece. By my calculations, they can be making AT LEAST $25.50 in profit off of each bulk box (you can buy a 48 count box from Costco for just $22.49). If you have a gang of 20 kids working the system, and each kid sells through only just one box during the course of the day, that's a net profit of $510 per day per gang. BANK!!! I would imagine whoever is organizing this has drug connections. Except, selling M&M's is a lot less incriminating and something younger would-be gang initiates can do to cut their teeth before they move up to the really lucrative illegal stuff.

So, honestly, do you want to support this illicit empire? Really? Is your sweet tooth going to suffer that much? Can't you wait until you get out of the subway and find the nearest Pakistani newspaper vendor who will sell you M&Ms and whatever other candy floats your boat for cheaper? I think you can.

Yeah, I know what you're probably thinking: Damn, dude, you're one seriously cynical bastard! But point is, don't fall for these schemes to depart you of your hard-earned dollars while riding the subway. The cost of ridership is already criminal as it is, wouldn't you rather be more safe than sorry?

And to be honest, this is something tourists don't have a problem avoiding. For most part, out-of-towners are overly cautious, having probably been told horror stories by their tour guides or hotel concierges about what to expect in the subterranean no-man's land of this great big city.

No, sadly, the easiest dupes are New Yorkers themselves. Maybe it's out of pity, maybe they actually believe these maudlin tales of woe. But take it from me: you must have a heart made of stone when you ride these trains. If someone is selling you a story during your evening commute, that is all it is: a story. What they intend to do with that money afterward is entirely of an unsavory nature.

So, keep your money to yourself, traveler. Don't give in to the sob stories. This is New York -- everyone's a crook! Or at least, that's what you should be telling yourself when you ride our subways.

It's the number one and most fundamental rule of survival here: trust no one but YOURSELF!

(To continue on to Part 2 of the NYC Subway Survival Guide, CLICK HERE.)

Friday, August 21, 2009

Top 10 Ways In Which Zombies Are Misunderstood


Face it, the shuffling undead get a bad rap these days. In Hollywood, they're either abysmally slow or freakishly fast, but ALWAYS jonesing for a good meal. Is Tinsel Town implying that these poor people are smoking the wacky tabacky?

In video games, zombies are the endless fodder for gleeful trigger-happy teens racking up points to make up for that hollow feeling left behind by mommy and daddy's neglect. Is that all they are to us, lumps of meat for hormone-fueled target practice?

And what do the zombies have to say to this? Like with all ethnic groups portrayed in lump-sum fashion by the media, zombies are a misunderstood race. They have feelings, too. And some of the stereotypes propagated by pop culture today can be hurtful, not to mention downright debilitating, to a humble zombie's self-esteem.

I aim to get to the bottom of this by dispelling 10 of the most egregious generalizations aimed at our hard-working zombie brothers and sisters (and pets).

Here we go:

10. Zombies constantly try to keep a good civilization down.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Zombies are not to blame when the government decides to collapse and anarchy reigns supreme. If the living masses are dumb enough to go screaming their fool heads off in the streets, the least any good, god-fearing zombie citizen can do is to catch up to their frightful neighbors, arms stretched out wide, and say: "Hey, Seth! Bro, you don't have to run from your shame. We can pull out of this tragedy together!"


9. Zombies disturb the peace with their incessant moaning.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This one I lay completely at the feet of the ignorant "fleshies." If the living would simply pick up a decent Zombie-English dictionary (Webster sells an abridged one for just $15.99!), you'd figure out that our undead friends are simply asking you about your day. Or when you last had a good meal. 99% of all zombie-human altercations could be avoided if we all just learned to COMMUNICATE with each other. Love begins with listening, people!


8. Zombies are angry ALL the time.
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I place the blame for this stereotype squarely on the shoulders of smarmy, fleshy movie directors. Many of whom have never even bothered to understand zombies, let alone invite one into their home. If they had, they would have noticed that zombies approach their food with thoughtful consideration and--dare I say it--a gourmet's sensibility. They don't snarl and jump on their meals with barbaric abandon as the movies will have you believe. When was the last time you lashed out at a hamburger or steak dinner? Exactly. Don't assume other cultures are less evolved than your own, and you won't find yourself the main ingredient in an ass and pickles sandwich.


7. A pack of zombies are dumber than a sackful of hammers thrown down a rubber chimney.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Again, Hollywood's continuing campaign to disparage our zombie neighbors is truly shameless. Why in the films do zombies *always* get tricked by the sly and fast human fleshies? Seriously, do you honestly think a ladder or a dynamited bridge is going to stop a group of intelligent, well-meaning individuals just wanting to wish your family a "how-dee" and good night? And people say the undead are antisocial!


6. Zombies take a half clip, or two or three shotgun blasts, to bring down.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I see this mostly in video game land. Hello? How is this even legal? You're giving kids bad ideas, game designers! You're telling our impressionable youth that it's okay to empty 6 or 8 rounds into their undead buddies, and that Zed will simply pop right back up EVERY time when they do. No, stop this! It's spreading misinformation and, more importantly, is downright criminal. Zombies are fragile beings. Their arms and legs are not strong enough to withstand even 4 rounds, let alone an entire barrage from a policeman's special. They are not conducive to target practice. Populate your games with rightful fodder: aliens, Nazis, and of course . . . virginal elf princesses!


5. Zombies smell like the grave.
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Correction: the *DEAD* smell like the grave. If you'd paid attention in your social sciences class, you would've learned that zombies are the "un" dead. Offensive body odor is just the by-product of your wasteful caste persecution of the livingly-challenged. What you're really smelling is the odoriferous guilt of your own fleshy bourgeois lifestyle. Zombies do the jobs you are too self-important to take. They toil in your garbage, slog through your sewers, and slay your livestock so that you can live high and mighty in your gleaming castles on well-manicured hilltops, feeling safe and secure. Just remember that the next time you bite into your nice filet mignon, madam! Chances are, a zombie had to procure that meat for you.


4. Zombies are not suitable to take on dates. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Let's not even touch on the collective apathy living folk seem to feel towards human-zombie interracial relationships. That's a regrettably touchy subject in this day and age. Still, when a music video comes along depicting an innocent looking zombie schoolboy going all freakazoid on his fleshy date, it kinda stings. Zombies don't go to the expense of paying for two movie tickets, PLUS a large tub of popcorn and drinks, only to bring their would-be paramours into the woods afterwards and scare the bejeebus out of her with dated, awkward dance moves. I mean, pulleeze, Mr. John Landis! Like any yellow-blooded American zombie boy, he'd want a little action first.


3. Zombies have nothing better to do than to scare fleshy.
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Contrary to popular belief, zombies don't get their kicks from terrorizing the living. The next time you see a shuffling group of moaners heading your way: relax. Don't panic. Pull out your trusty English-Zombie dictionary, raise one hand in greeting, and welcome your rapidly approaching new acquaintances. Before you know it, you're making fast friends for life (however much of it you have left, anyway). And you know what they say: once you go undead, you'll never eat bread. Yeah, think about it.


2. Zombies just want to get close enough to eat your brains.
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I'm sure you don't need me to point out the ridiculousness of this shopworn trope. I mean, serious? Brains? As if! No self-respecting zombie would be caught alive eating such bland grey matter. Who do you think they are, the British? Show me a hungry zombie and I'll show you a fellow who enjoys a nice, succulent rump like any other hot-blooded American. Just make sure you don't turn around, or--HEY!


1. Zombies are out to convert us all.
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This is perhaps the most hurtful stereotype of them all. It lumps our undead friends in the same sorry group as Seventh-Day Adventists, or worse--the Scientologists! But this is a blatant misdirect by the media. Zombies don't need to do anything silly like bite you on the arm or suck your brains out to swell their ranks. How gauche! No my friend, the zombie conversion is quite simple: sooner or later, all us fleshies must meet our end. Be it in bed through natural causes, or a friendly down-home rampant apocalypse to spur things along, the undead know that it's only a matter a time before we're all of us zombies, one and for all!
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I hope this little tutorial has taught you the difference between the real world and that which you see on the dumb box. Zombies have rights like the rest of us, and it's high time society took notice and welcomed them into our midst. Take heed and keep an eye out for our undead pals. Chances are there's one walking right up to your door as you read this.

Is that a curious scratching you hear?

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