It's not them, it's me.
While Helena was in New York with me last week, I stopped by her hotel in the wealthy neighborhood of Gramercy Park. I've only been here in New York for less than 2 months and most of that time has been spent in various Starbucks and subway stations -- in that regard, I guess I'm assimilating into New York culture just fine. In any case, it was news to me that the park was not open to working class people like me. In fact, keys to the park's gates are bestowed upon a select few: those who own the buildings (not the condominiums) surrounding the park.

At first I thought it was admirable that only the elite could go for a walk, read, or take a piss in Gramercy Park. I liked learning tidbits of Manhattan's cultural history. I liked imagining Cartier-Bresson-esque figures strolling through Manhattan in the 1930s. Aristocrats of another time walking in the city where I now live. It's a romantic idea, really.

While still in California, I read New York magazine every week. Its articles described an amazing place full of haute couture, big apartments, and a sleepless populace. I was in love with the fabulous life portrayed in Sex and the City realized in the pages of this magazine.

Allow me to add that I never expected to have such a lifestyle before I moved, nor do I expect a lifestyle "upgrade" anytime soon.

Six weeks into Manhattan, however, and I am surprised by how often I am reminded of my social status. I do not live on the Upper East Side, I do not have a doorman, and I certainly can't go inside Gramercy Park.

I live in a Polish neighborhood, I make trips to the laundromat every week, and I take home pastries from work so my roommates and I can enjoy a free breakfast every morning. Late at night, I don't take a taxi home because walking is an option. I'll take a taxi when it's too cold to walk. I got to read an issue of New York magazine today because the library is free and watching a movie is not.

I read about Donna Karan, who just returned home from a 3 week African Safari. She was interviewed in her 7,000 square foot apartment on Central Park West.

I don't want to be rich. And I certainly don't want to be a rich New Yorker. God forbid I would ever have such an awful accent.

I simply ask not to be bombarded with a lifestyle I don't have. I live half a block from a beautiful park with a playground that always has a Mr. Softee truck and a hot dog stand. I would never dream of locking rich people out of my park.

New York City is a lot like Disneyland
After 3 weeks of having zero access to the NY Public Library, i was forced to face the New York state government system to get my replacement social security card (the old one is lost, and besides, it says my name is Jaonclaire). I need my social security card to get an NY id card for proof of residence required to obtain a library card. And so begins today's adventure.

So i stood in this line for 40 minutes.

It was kind of like waiting in line at Disneyland--long lines, people from all different parts of the world, and crying children. Except no one wore a clapping Goofy baseball cap nor was anyone drinking those lemonade quencher things that look like they really are worth the $6 price tag.

but anyway. On my way out of the SS office, I asked the 45 year old security guard if there was a Chinatown in Brooklyn so that I wouldn't have to go to Manhattan. He laughed in my face. He also tried to pick me up and wanted my phone number. I went back to Manhattan.

Every Chinatown sounds and smells the same to me. I needed a walis. An asian broom. I also found egg custard and soy coconut juice (okay probably gross to some of you) for $1.45. I was so happy to find something good and cheap in NY, i had to take a picture of it.


I also got a coconut bun and a roast pork bun for $1.35. breakfast and lunch tomorrow. Oh, and i got a big umbrella for $5.

So far, i've absolutely enjoyed the transition. Even the experience of getting a common household broom is exciting. I wanted to have a picture of the Chinese women behind the dessert counter hurrying to ring me up at the bakery.

And i finally got a second job. I hope it's not a hassle.