The Most Beautiful Route from A to B

This is such a refreshing idea!

http://www.technologyreview.com/view/528836/forget-the-shortest-route-across-a-city-new-algorithm-finds-the-most-beautiful

It's a navigation app, much like Google Maps, but it takes users on the scenic route -- a welcome change.

I'll first caveat that for the most part, efficiency is a very good thing. When it comes to governments, corporations, public transportation -- it behooves the administrators to optimize for efficiency. But when it comes to the individual, there are many situations when one misses opportunities and inspiration by taking the most conventionally efficient route.

As a New Yorker, I'm the first to acknowledge that some of our subway stations, for example, are not up to scratch when compared with those in other cities. But there's an uncommon beauty to some of the cityscapes I've had the fortune to encounter in my years here. This is a view of an approaching train coming down the tracks, on a typical subway platform in the city:

And this is an evening view of the iconic Flatiron Building:

I'm a believer in stopping to smell the roses once in a while. I've had some of my best ideas while walking alone through the city, or people-watching from the window of a café, or even in a hot shower on a cold day. I find that beauty begets beauty, just as cunning design or sound judgment often prompts the same. The benefits of walking in beauty are often unseen and manifest subtly, so such pursuits are overlooked in the bustle of our lives. It's a shame, and I hope this algorithm helps users inject a little colour into their lives.

Cover Spy

I've recently begun following a blog/Twitter account that's too much fun not to share:

http://coverspy.tumblr.com
http://twitter.com/coverspy

It's comprised of a team of "undercover" New Yorkers (though it has since expanded to other cities around the world) who report anonymously on what the fellow denizens of their home cities are reading in public. It's a little like Humans of New York, but even more anonymous; public readers are never approached by spies and usually don't know that they've been featured unless they happen to read the Tumblr or Twitter feeds and find that the short personal description accompanying the book cover matches them.

I've always been a bit of a Cover Spy. I tend to notice what my subway-riding compatriots are reading (and sometimes peer surreptitiously at the running headers on e-reader screens). Obviously, as someone in the publishing community, there is a natural inclination to pay attention to these things, but work aside, I find that it helps me keep a finger on the pulse of the city. There's usually a certain correlation between the books I see on the subway and bestseller lists or trending news topics. For example, there was a "summer of John Green" on the F train at around the time The Fault in Our Stars first hit theatres, and a spate of nonfiction about modern European history as the Euro crisis has been playing out.

But New York's cultural milieu is more than what's current or showing at the cinema. I often see people reading books you'd never expect at first glance; sometimes those are the most thought-provoking (teaches you not to judge a book by its cover, ha), like the guy in the power-suit reading Betty Friedan, or the little Jewish grandmother nose-deep in a science fiction paperback. I sometimes make up life stories for them in my head. I do.

Sometimes anonymity can be entertaining. Sometimes a title and author allow a moment of genuine insight. Until they catch you staring, and you have to awkwardly look away, or feign interest in something behind their heads.

The People's Climate March, a Recap

Over the weekend, I went to the People's Climate March. I went alone, one of more than 300,000 people who attended the New York City event (similar marches were staged in cities around the world), and was warmly welcomed by perfect strangers, from climate scientists to concerned parents pushing baby strollers. There was universally an acknowledgement of solidarity, of common and overarching cause. There was a determination that the United Nations should hear us, on the weekend of the Climate Summit.

The March spanned more than fifty blocks on Manhattan's West Side, from 86th Street down to 34th Street. I joined about halfway through, having rushed across the river from the Brooklyn Book Festival, which was unfortunately on the same day. I tried to document what I could; my batteries gave out partway through...

I took this photo from just outside the barricade; it gives a good sense of the density of marchers along the route.

Marchers flocked to New York from colleges and universities throughout the Northeast, bringing handmade signs, slick printed banners, and matching t-shirts. (You know it's a real campus group when it has special t-shirts!)

There were also members of a diverse array of disproportionately-impacted communities, from indigenous populations to farmers to anyone who happened to live in a low-lying coastal region, included most Hurricane Sandy victims in the tri-state area (an unsurprisingly well-represented group).

Activists of all ages carried signs and slogans, and looked pretty happy to be here. It wasn't just young, idealistic college students!

These marchers, though, look like young, idealistic college students... The "fill-in-the-blank" signs were handed out to marchers at the beginning of the day. There was a wonderful diversity of answers, from the indisputably factual to the unflinchingly personal.

There were some interesting pieces of green technology along for the ride. I was especially taken with this tiny solar-powered vehicle, which reminded me of a cross between a VW Beetle and a golf cart. (It was moving at slow enough speeds that children could clamber on.)

I fell in with a group of scientists, some of whom had come all the way from the U.K. to participate in the march. They had an incredible prop: an enormous rolling blackboard covered in real data. The evidence was clear, from more than ten feet away!

And of course, the scientists came prepared with clever exoplanet jokes.

This photo was taken towards the end of the march, as the afternoon was just giving way to early evening. As the lighting is lacking, the signs read "Tuvalu," "Save the Arctic," and "Stop the tar sands at the source." This was indeed the delegation representing the tiny Pacific archipelago of Tuvalu, which is in danger of being submerged by rising sea levels. Some of them probably came a very long way to be heard in front of the United Nations.

As for the media round-up, my favorite pieces about the March:

• The New Yorker ran an excellent article about the event, as well as a interview with the environmentalist and scholar Bill McKibben, one of the primary organizers of the March.
• The New York Times also covered the March, including audiovisual material that gives a great sense of the numbers and diversity of the marchers. A follow-up article provided deeper analysis of the economics behind climate change mitigation.

The U.N. appears to have gotten the message -- but it remains to be seen in the months and years ahead how seriously its member states take their new vows on climate action. It will require intricate policy and sustained initiative to see them through the vagaries of politics, of course. But no country can claim that its citizens do not care or will not be affected by climate change.

Cover-a-Week #39: "Stand By Me" by Ben E. King

Here's another ukulele video! It's another foray into more old-school material:



http://youtu.be/iPJV9PwKLLE

And as mentioned in the video, if you're a dancer in New York these few weeks, you should definitely check out Midsummer Night Swing!

Jazz Age Lawn Party

I haven't indulged in historical costuming for quite a while -- ever since I finished college, I haven't had much occasion to do so. Yesterday, however, I went with a contingent of friends to the Jazz Age Lawn Party on Governor's Island. The "party" is a twice-a-year festival celebrating the spirit of the 1920s in America, complete with a live jazz band, a dance floor, and merchants of all stripes -- from food vendors a cut above the ubiquitous to milliners, cobblers, and tailors. People dress up in their best Prohibition-era garb to picnic on the lawn. I had a lot of fun -- too much fun to take many pictures, considering it was definitely a photo-worthy event.

A photo of the jazz band and their vocalist, taken from the dance floor. You can see some of the garb, like that of the man wearing the beribboned hat and waistcoat, which was just excellent.

Two talented dancers (whom I don't know) performing on the dance floor. The Lawn Party was well-attended by people I recognize from swing dancing in New York. (Also, as is evident from the onlookers in the background, there were people who looked like tourists as well as people dressed for the occasion.)

This is the only picture of me that I have from the event, taken by my friend Mike. It doesn't afford the best view of the dress, which I found in a thrift shop for about $12. Aside from altering it for length, it required very little adjustment for the era; the pleats, the shimmery material, and the cut were all period-appropriate.

And this is a view of lower Manhattan from the Governor's Island ferry as we departed the festival. The skyline has changed in the past few years; the spire and glass facade of One World Trade still takes some getting used to. But this is still New York, still beautiful, and still home.

An Extremely Literary Week: BEA, Housing Works, and Shakespeare

I have just had possibly the most literary week of my life (outside of majoring in English at university), and it was spectacular. Here are some of the highlights:

BookExpo America

This is the annual trade fair for publishing in the US (which also attracts a lot of foreign exhibitors). As I did last year, I borrowed a pass from one of my coworkers and attended the fair for a few hours on Thursday. I got to gawk at the exhibits, catch up with some former colleagues, and grab a pile of galleys that I'm very excited to dive into (not literally):

And parked right in the Javits Center was the Penguin truck!

The moment I spotted this reminded me of being seven years old again, watching the ice cream truck come around the corner. (Maybe I was a weird kid.)

Housing Works Book Fair

Over the weekend, I volunteered at the Housing Works Book Fair. It's a great organization -- all proceeds from the bookstore go towards combating homelessness and AIDS. They have a street fair every summer where used books and media are sold very cheaply ($1 books!), with food, live music, and other festivities. There were pavilions full of books, which I was helping stock:

And at the end of the day, there were still boxes upon boxes of books remaining, so we constructed a great wall of books along the sidewalk (from which the books were loaded onto a truck):

Shakespeare in the Park

Tonight, my friend Deb won tickets to Much Ado About Nothing, the first play of this summer's Shakespeare in the Park. I adore Shakespeare, and though I've entered the lottery for (free!) tickets many times, I've never won. I was thrilled to finally be able to partake of this New York summer tradition, and it was every bit as excellent as I expected. I'd forgotten how funny Much Ado About Nothing really is (I read it years ago), and it's so much better live than it is on the page. I can't wait for King Lear during the second half of the season!

And that was my week. I'm looking forward to more literary pursuits in the coming months!

R.I.P. Rizzoli Bookstore

As the bibliophiles and New Yorkers among my readers might have heard, the city's iconic Rizzoli Bookstore is being evicted from its iconic Midtown premises, to be replaced by a luxury high-rise. Despite petitions and protests, this historic location was denied landmark status on a pure technicality; the bookstore is housed in what used to be a piano showroom, with vaulted ceilings and massive cast-iron chandeliers that make visitors feel as though they've stepped into the pages of history. (Appropriately, Rizzoli is known for its stock of art books.) Today was the store's last day in business, and it feels a bit like the end of an era.

There's been an outpouring of grief and outrage on the internet, unsurprisingly. One of the most moving  and articulate pieces about Rizzoli is this rather personal New Yorker article by Jon Michaud:

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2014/01/rizzoli-and-selling-books-to-madonna

It recalls an almost Gatsby-esque old New York, doesn't it? (And of course, the pictures are stunning.) I love the idea -- and it's more than a mere idea -- of a bookstore as the sort of village that raises exemplary young adults. It seems to be a recurring theme both in literature (Christopher Morley and, more recently, Robin Sloan come to mind) and in real life, and it saddens me to think that such an education might no longer be available to coming generations.

I will have more thoughts on this later, I'm sure. For now, though, allow me to wallow.

BuzzFeed: The Strand Proves That Bookstores Are Not Dead

The Strand is one of my favorite New York bookstores, so I was especially pleased to see it featured in this holiday piece:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/regajha/the-86-year-old-strand-bookstore-just-proved-that-bookstores

There's been so much media buzz about "the death of the bookstore" in the wake of e-commerce gaining marketshare, but I think there's something to be said for a well-stocked, well-curated neighborhood bookstore with a friendly and helpful staff. Also, their Twitter is fun and their rare books room is wonderful. (I'm guessing that the Christmas shoppers weren't there for the rare books room, but nonetheless...)

Just a bit of holiday cheer for bibliophiles. :-)

Empire State Sunset

A view from my office window at sunset:

It looks like a watercolor, doesn't it?

io9: The Downs-Thomson Paradox is the Bane of Commuters Everywhere

This io9 article reminded me quite a bit of public transit in California (one of the things I definitely don't miss about university). It's also interesting to consider given the recent spate of service disruptions on MetroNorth (I have a few coworkers who commute from suburbs north of Manhattan).

http://io9.com/how-the-downs-thomson-paradox-will-ruin-your-commute-1152573927

Vehicular traffic, especially of the diesel variety, a huge environmental and economic impact on urban centers. There's debilitating smog (Beijing) that contributes to global warming and respiratory problems, and hours-long traffic jams (Los Angeles) that seriously decreases productivity and happiness, among other problems. Most urban planners, I would imagine, give serious thought to methods of reducing the number of cars on the road. 

The optimization of the weekday commute in urban centers is one of those challenges that is more important than it seems at first blush, and is extremely difficult to implement. It's largely due to massive user inertia, and the difficulties of transition. One of the major issues with any major urban infrastructure project is that the construction required to overhaul the system affects the millions of people who need to use said system every day. In order to avoid such disruption, most updates simply involve adding to, rather than substantively changing, the existing system. That's how we get, for example, redundancies in subway lines, or routes and hubs that are sub-optimal because population densities and distribution change with time. Over the years, problems in transit systems tend to be compounded precisely because our networks are augmented rather than remade anew. And, as the article points out, these inefficiencies drive people (no pun intended) to use cars instead of public transit. Who knew there was a formal theory to describe it?

Morley Walk!

This is what I did last Sunday (August 18th):
http://morleywalk.tumblr.com

Christopher Morley was a novelist, poet, and journalist -- and the founder of the eminent Sherlockian society the Baker Street Irregulars. However, he is perhaps most well-known as a tireless advocate for the book trade. One of his best-beloved novellas, The Haunted Bookshop, is set in a used-bookstore in Brooklyn, and is essentially an ode to bookselling, wrapped in a cute romance and a quaint mystery.

The Morley Walk, organized by Melville House (which publishes what is likely the most recognizable edition of The Haunted Bookshop and its prequel, Parnassus on Wheels), was splendid. It was a reading crossed with a walking tour of independent bookshops around Prospect Park. A small horde of bibliophiles descended upon the streets of Brooklyn, where we attempted not to get run over by passing cars, parents pushing baby strollers, and over-eager dogs as we migrated en masse from shop to shop, taking turns reading aloud from a copy of The Haunted Bookshop.

There were some people who thought we were a cult -- come to think of it, passersby mistaking Morley for Scripture in a mob of bookish people is actually rather fitting. I doubt I shall see most of the other participants again, but for an afternoon, we had found our tribe. And much like a novella, it was over far too soon.

BuzzFeed: A Tale of Three Bookshops

This is what bookshops in Britain do on Twitter:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/aarong31/three-bookshops-had-a-twitter-fightand-it-ruled-dmhw

To all the bookstores in the US (but especially indies): please have an internet pissing contest. It would make my day. (@McNallyJackson, @StrandBookstore, and @StMarksBookshop, I'm looking at you!)

New York in Pictures

The past two weekends, I had two of my friends from college stay with me for a few days each. We explored the city, of course. It's always refreshing to experience one's hometown from a non-New Yorker's perspective. Much like how one gains a different understanding of one's native tongue in teaching it to a student of the language, there are certain aspects of place that are easily overlooked if one is immersed in it every day, that

Julie and I went for a bit of a hike in Central Park. We happened upon this interestingly-shaped copse of trees, and I couldn't resist a photograph:

Naturally (no pun intended), I was reminded of one of my favorite Robert Frost poems, "The Road Not Taken." (A pity it's not autumn; it would have been a beautiful picture with the thicket melting red and yellow around her.)

I also took her to see Alice, one of my favourite statues in the Park:

One of these days, I will sit by (on?) the Alice statue and reread Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. (It's somewhat fitting, methinks, that there's a little girl (wearing purple, Julie's favorite color) climbing on the sculpture in the background.)

There were a few highlights that I ended up visiting twice in as many weeks, but they were absolutely worth seeing more than once. The High Line is, for instance, one of my favorite places in New York. This is probably the cleverest billboard along the path:

And yes, it's situated above one of the few street-level car parks in Manhattan (which appears surprisingly empty).

Lucas and I also spotted this intriguing bit of text writ large on a dark wall across from the High Line:

It's ironically (or perhaps intentionally) located next to a tavern/restaurant called The Half King (its sign is partially visible in the lower left).

I also went to the Met twice in as many weeks, because if you have out-of-town visitors, they absolutely must see the Met. We ended up in the musical instruments section twice as well, and Lucas and I had the same thought about this sculpture:

Air guitar! Given the style of the statue and the position of the hands, there was probably a lyre or a harp at some point. A disappointment for all of the Guitar Hero players out there, I'm sure.

We spotted this on the subway, and my first thought was naturally, "it's a policy tub!" (A debate thing. I did LD, PF, and college parli, mind you -- not CX.):

Julie had a bit of a laugh at my expense. I don't mind at all. :-)

I love having friends in from out of town. Come visit me more often!

New York at Dusk

There are times when I walk alone in the streets of New York, when I'm surrounded by looming glass behemoths against the deep blue dusk, when the air is crisp and a fine mist of rain coats the pavement, when the hum of human activity permeates the corners of the city -- times when I'm happy to be alive and grateful to live in such a magnificent, vibrant place. There's nowhere quite like New York.

I took this picture near Rockefeller Center a few weeks ago (the lights of Radio City Music Hall are visible in the lower left). Something about the lone building lit up against a swathe of clouds reminds me of Egypt, of obelisks and monuments erected by long-dead Pharaohs.

This photograph was taken from the High Line. The red-and-white illuminated building in the center is the Empire State Building (I love the way the spire disappears into the clouds). The polyhedral glass rooftop structure, I discovered, contains what appears to be a small library, replete with armchairs, lamps, and a few shelves of books. (That has to be one of the coolest library designs I've seen!)

I took this picture a month or two ago at the piers on the West Side. (The "BEA on a Boat" party happened on that boat, actually.) I was struck by the "halo effect" of the setting sun behind the mast; the boat and the play of light on the water reminds me of the elven ships sailing into the west in The Lord of the Rings.

There's something melancholy and fiercely beautiful about this city when you're alone, spending some quality time with it, just drinking it in.

R.I.P. Met Admissions Tags

Just a few days after my trip to the Met, I saw this article in The New York Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/2013/06/28/arts/design/metropolitan-museum-sheds-its-metal-admissions-tags.html?hp

Starting today, the Met is retiring its iconic metal admissions tags in favor of admissions stickers. While it's a logically sensible decision, the child in me mourns the passing of an era. I hung out at the Met in high school (I probably went there about as often as most normal girls went to the mall), and amassed quite the collection of Met tags:

Yes, I have a special bowl for them. I think I'm still missing one or two of the "official" colors (and I likely have a few colors that have since been discontinued):

It'll be a bit of an adjustment next time I go -- I'll receive a sticker, and stare at it for a second in bewilderment, before realizing that the colored tags with their Leonardo Ms are no more.

Today

was wonderful and quintessentially New York -- the sort of day that makes me enormously thankful to live in such a vibrant, diverse city full of old friends and affable strangers. I don't mean to turn this blog into a series of diary entries -- that would seem rather self-indulgent -- but today was full of sights and sounds and people that I want to remember.

It began with brunch with a dear friend who is returning to the city after college, a relocation for which I'm grateful because I've missed her these few years. We go back a long time; we played together as children, went to the same elementary school and Chinese school, and have seen each other through our best and worst moments ever after.

We ate at a Greek place in our neighborhood in Queens; we've been coming here once or twice a year since high school. I had an excellent crêpe and we caught up on each other's lives -- we talked about work and friends and our grand ambitions in life. She's one of the few people with whom I discuss the latter topic; despite pursuing radically different fields, we have similarly coherent and somewhat lofty visions of the future. Kindred spirits, I'd say.

After brunch, I met up with a college friend in Manhattan. On the way there, I spotted a group of people in 1920s garb:

There seem to be a number of Jazz Age-themed events going on this summer, even more so than usual (likely prompted by the recent The Great Gatsby film). I was reminded of the Gatsby party I attended in May -- exactly a month ago, as it happens -- which was an industry event hosted by Fitzgerald's publisher and included a costume contest. (I dressed up but didn't win; there were some truly spectacular costumes!)

So I got bubble tea in Chinatown with my friend (it seems like I have quite a few moments that involve bubble tea...). He's a Californian who moved to New York a few months ago, whom I didn't realize was in town until I bumped into him at an alumni event on Monday! He was a few years ahead of me in school and we'd lost touch for a while after he graduated, but he's now working at a start-up in Silicon Alley and lives downtown. 

We met up with one of his friends in Central Park, who was hanging out on the lawn with a few other people we didn't know. It was a gathering of, at least from my perspective, friends and strangers connected to each other by a few tenuous degrees of separation. Though it seems unlikely that I'll encounter these people again -- and in a few months I would be hard-pressed to even recognize them on the street -- for an hour or so, we shared a blanket, a conversation, a patch of sunlight in the Park -- a tiny slice of New York.

At one point, there was a moment of silence -- a completely natural, contented lull in the conversation. We watched a group of small children chase each other around on the lawn, and soon observed that they were all following one small boy who held aloft some sort of styrofoam disc. I was distinctly reminded of The Lord of the Flies -- it was an uncanny analogue of the conch! I said as much to the others, and we had an entertaining few minutes trying to spot the Piggy of the group.

Our group splintered apart in twos and threes. My friend and I wandered through Central Park conversing and taking in the sights and sounds of summer. We stumbled upon a guitarist/vocalist duo performing in front of the lake (with a very professional sound system) and sat in the grass for a few songs. We found a large, fenced-off section of road where people were rollerskating in circles around a rock band which had set up in the middle of the walkway. There was a chalked-off section next to the band where people were dancing, and so we ended up swing-dancing to live music in the middle of a roller derby! (My friend is, incidentally, an excellent dancer; it's a shame we didn't overlap at school for longer.) We also happened upon trio of busking musicians consisting of two drummers and a bagpiper:

The snare drum (obscured in this photo by the man in black), the djembe, the bongos, and the bagpipes seem like a highly unlikely combination (especially the bagpipes!) but they work surprisingly well together. It was a perfect microcosm of the diversity and cooperative spirit of this extraordinary city. (My friend got their card, afterwards; apparently they have a website.)

We then got coffee with a third friend, another Stanford alumnus making his way in New York. We only had an hour, but it was an hour well-spent: a potent reminder that even in this bustling, hectic place, we make time for each other because it's the small moments as much as the grand gestures that comprise any human understanding.

We had dinner near his apartment in Greenwich Village with his roommate. We tried an American restaurant she suggested, and passed a merry hour or two getting to know each other. She's an architect from Hawai'i, so naturally I broached the question of whether she can play the ukulele! (Passably, was the answer.) My friend plays the guitar and also, to a lesser extent, the ukulele, so we're going to play for each other sometime. (I didn't know this about him until today.)

And then we went our separate ways, the two of them to catch a film in the Village, and I to the F train headed into Queens. I spent a quiet hour reading on the subway, with the rumble of the train and a dozen indistinct conversations in the background. In Queens, I stopped by my favorite neighborhood bakery to buy a cake for Father's Day tomorrow.

All in all, it was a lovely day in the City. Here's to more such days in the future.

BookExpo America, or, "Hey, Look, a Galley!"

Today was my first time attending BEA (BookExpo America), which is the largest publishing trade fair in North America (and possibly the world, though the ones in London, Frankfurt, and Bologna are probably bigger). It's held at the Javits Center, which might be one of the most inconveniently located spaces in New York. 

BEA was... huge. I was not expecting it to be quite so huge, even though, considering it's attended by all of trade publishing in the US, I really should have known. I saw some old friends from Algonquin, snagged a cupcake at an author signing, and of course, picked up a tote bag-full of ARCs:

(The tissue box is there for perspective. I lugged that pile from the West Side back to Queens in ninety-degree weather, and it's absolutely worth it.)

Advance reading copies -- and free finished books -- are one of the best perks in publishing (which, admittedly, is an industry without that many perks). I have fond memories from my college internship days of scouring the Penguin Classics overflow shelves for books on my autumn quarter syllabi. This time, the loot is mostly historical fiction, literary fiction, and women's fiction, with a random cookbook that I got from a friend at Workman in there (third from the bottom).

Other things seen at BEA:

I think they're Pokemon? (How many sales assistants does it take to assemble a five-foot Lego statue?)

This, too, might have looked more normal at Comic Con... :-P

Themed cupcakes!

(The post title is an inside joke, for those of you who are really confused.)

The Economist: Piero della Francesca at the Frick

I saw this article about the Piero della Francesca exhibition at the Frick, and went to see it over the weekend:

http://www.economist.com/news/books-and-arts/21571857-introducing-early-renaissance-master-american-audiences-divine-splendour

The show is well worth seeing, though I admit to being somewhat biased because I'm a fan of the Frick. It's one of those small, very specifically curated museums that a visitor can see in its entirety in just a few hours. It's worth visiting more than once if you live in New York, though -- there are always a few special installations (often pieces on loan from other countries, such as the above) -- and it's the sort of place one visits to soak in the ambiance. It has this beautiful central courtyard vaguely reminiscent of the villas of Classical Rome (covered, though), and a few surprisingly well-known works, including some lesser-known works of rather famous artists.

Anyhow, the Piero della Francesca exhibit. If you're at all interested in Renaissance art history, and you're in the City, go see it.

Abstruse Goose: The Beneficence of Others

My mother reads the Chinese newspapers, which are chock-full of articles that aren't quite news (recipes, health tips, celebrity gossip, &c.). There was recently a spate of (somewhat alarmist) reports about a few instances of people falling, or even being pushed, onto subway tracks here in New York; she has subsequently warned my sister and I, in all seriousness, that we had to hypervigilant, in case crazy people randomly went about pushing us into the paths of oncoming trains. 

I thought this Abstruse Goose was fitting:

http://abstrusegoose.com/479

Social Dance in New York

One of the things I miss most about college is social dance. I was told by people in the Bay Area dance community that there is little waltz in New York, but a lot of good swing dancing. I've attended exactly one dance event in the city thus far; I enjoyed it, even though the turnout was unusually low (thanks to a rainstorm), but noticed that the style here is rather different (more structured, for one).

I came across this article about swing dancing in the city:
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/23/arts/dance/swing-dance-clubs-go-retro-in-new-york-city.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0

Of course, this means I'll have to really learn how to swing if I'm to dance here. (I know enough to hold my own for a few dances, but I was always more of a waltz person.) There are also classes at a lot of New York dance halls, but that's a whole other level of commitment.