Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby

I think pictures of Old New York are fascinating. It’s amazing what this place wasn’t before it became what it is. The fact that the Dakota was this sort of looming estate in the farmlands of the UWS before it became both a fictional and real-life setting for some pretty dark incidents says so much how much this city sheds its skin and re-reveals itself over time.

The city’s Department of Records has just released an online gallery of over 870,000 archival photos of New York that’s absolutely worth perusing. From an architectural, history and cultural point of view, these archives give an unbelievable glimpse into what so many of us call home. Galleries will be updated regularly, so be sure to bookmark this one.

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To Live and Cry in New York

“How to Live In New York.” “Disappearing in New York City.” “My First New York Street Cry.” “On Moving to New York and Being Who You Say You Are.”

Are you having that thing where you feel like you know how to describe the iceberg under the surface of these titles, but you want to see how someone else describes it, because secretly you feel like you’re the only one who knows what it looks like, even though you know that’s a little crazy?

Are you in your mid-twenties? Are you not living in your dream apartment or dream neighborhood? Are you single, or in something complicated, or just out of something toxic, or just about to get into something precarious with another twenty-something? Do you live in or at least spend a lot of time in Brooklyn? Are you too square to be hip, even though square is so hip these days?

Well, then you’re either already a faithful follower of Thought Catalog, or you’ve just stumbled onto the very support group you’ve been looking for in these trying, early years of your New York life. Continue reading

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Train Wreck Tuesday: “The City’s Where It’s At”

We spend a lot of time getting in, out and around New York on trains. Between the MTA, Metro North, LIRR, PATH and NJ Transit, we are given an opportunity to commute with fellow city dwellers and outer-lying visitors and commuters every day.

Some days are better than others. Some days you put your headphones in, open a book, and dive deep into your own space. This may be public transportation, but your privacy is somehow maintained.

And then sometimes, you’re on the train with a bunch of assholes from Long Island on their way to District 36.

Give a warm welcome to the inaugural post of a new TooNYC regular feature, and in fact the inspiration for it—Train Wreck Tuesday. Without further adieu, a nauseating minute and forty-two seconds aboard a Penn Station-bound LIRR at probably 10:15 on a Saturday night:

I’d love to believe that this is a brilliant piece of guerrilla theatre, but it’s just not. (Gorilla theatre, maybe…*rimshot*) I recommend perusing the other videos this guy has posted on YouTube. One looks to be from earlier that night—mind you, I only got about two minutes in before some vague anxiety set in and I had to click away, but it’s a hell of a slice of life view into a world that doesn’t realize the rest of civilization mocks it.

I consider this proof that “Jersey Shore” is not 100% staged. These people exist, and they’re just a train ride away.

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Sorry, Guys, My Train was Massively Delayed

It’s a little known fact that it takes about a half Imagehour, on average, to get anywhere in Manhattan.

I don’t necessarily know why—I can’t figure out why it takes me almost as long to walk from Hell’s Kitchen to Chelsea as it does to take the train. (I use this example because I make this trek often; yes, because I’ve sequestered myself to gayborhoods in this diverse city full of cultural offerings.)

If you’re traversing boroughs, though, you give yourself a lot more time. The possibility of train transfers, service changes, underestimating how far 8 stops really is—unless you’ve got friends with a baby in Carroll Gardens you see on the regular, you never really know how long it’s going to take, so you tend to overshoot it. You plan for an hour, at least. You pack a granola bar. You bring two books.

As a general practice, I’m late, no matter where I’m going. If I’m begrudgingly trudging to the Ritz to meet friends—and mind you, I live down the street—I’m still there at least five minutes after I promised I would be. Maybe it’s because I hate the Ritz; maybe it’s because I hate to be the first person there. Maybe it’s both.

Or maybe it’s just that I’m terrible at time management.

Alas, I’m sorry I’m like four months late with an update, but I’m here now, and I’ll buy you a drink if you promise not to be mad at me.

Now where we?

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Pear Shaped in the Big Apple: Just Put Down the Turkey Leg and Eat a Lean Protein

Well, we’re ass-deep in the holiday eating season, New York.

The week or so before Halloween usually kicks things off with variety bags of candy dumped on common tables around the office. There’s the inevitable awkward costume party in the conference room, where someone in Finance has made donuts, and someone else brought in cheesecake bites, and for the love of god, who went to City Bakery and got these?

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Fellow Commuters: Halloween or Williamsburg

I know, we get it, Brooklyn hipsters are soooo annoying. The Brats of Bedford Ave, the Martians at the Marcy Stop, the Wild West of ‘East Williamsburg’—the phantom smell of Beacon’s Closet hand-me-downs is choking me like a really ironic choker just talking about it.

But I trudge on, because while hipster hatred is very 2010—hating on hipster hatred seems to be trending, but alas, the snake always ends up eating its own tail—I think this Fellow Commuter is worthy of a mention.

Gentle readers, have a gander at Halloween or Williamsburg.

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Sidewalk Semantics

Has anyone else noticed how aggressive tourist season has been in New York this year? Technically, the city doesn’t have a season the way, say, Italy does, though it’s generally understood that the summer is high tide. Well, I’d hate to be Al Roker here with the weather, but summer’s over, Europe. We’ve put away our whites, given up on our tans and dragged out our sweaters.

I suggest you go home.

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