City Snake Adventure Tours of NYC

It's been an interesting few weeks.               

                                                                                 

It began with a trip to California for a wedding, and to visit my family. To keep it short, it was nice to be there, but as I normally do, I felt an immense sense of excitement to be back in NYC.

The day after we returned, I was laid off.

Now, this should seem like something that would upset me more, but really it has been a tremendous relief. I disliked working there, disliked the increasingly toxic nature of the environment there, and disliked many of the people I came into contact with regularly.

I am now in a position to seek a new career path, as well as to watch the World Cup uninterrupted.

When we first moved here, I found myself becoming a little unhinged. With no job, I sat at home applying for positions for hours, leaving only to take the dog out and to go running. I am not making that mistake again.

I took a trip to the Met, ground zero, Roosevelt Island (via tramway), Tudor City, and Grand Central

 This picture does not do justice to how large and impressive this painting is.

I find these places to be inspirational. Their architecture, their history, their significance - these things gave me a lot to think about. I saw a draft of the declaration of independence, an exhibition on children's books, spoke with protesters angry at the Chinese Communist Party, and discovered parts of the city I had never before been.

A field trip is always a good thing, I cannot recommend it enough.

World Cup Ennui

What I am about to write is more shocking to me than anything else I have ever shared.

The 2014 FIFA World Cup begins on Thursday, and I have never felt less interested. Normally, as the date rapidly approaches, I begin to experience and extreme level of excitement. After all, it determines which national team, and therefore, which nation, is the best. It showcases the greatest talent, the most exciting players, and the global passion for a sport enjoyed (almost) everywhere.

I normally begin to find myself in the throes of "World Cup Fever", a 6 week long malaise characterized by screaming, heavy drinking, getting up at odd hours, a shirking of life's duties, and night terrors. I will go much of the summer with a sore throat, hoarse from games played on the other side of the globe. I compulsively post the TV schedule for upcoming matches, and meticulously fill out my WC chart, and plan my days around games.

I now find myself in a strange place, completely unexcited, disinterested in the one event I am sure to see plenty of coverage about. I cannot seem to figure out why, though a few reasons do come to mind.

I watch a lot of Soccer. All year long, I watch it. I follow the Premier League, I watch all of West Hams matches, I read all the news, I talk to people with the same obsession. Is it possible I have burned myself out? As time has passed, I have only become more interested in the sport, and have found more ways to think about it. Am I possibly in need of a break? I do like having "summers off" from the game. It allows me to watch baseball or rugby, gives me an opportunity to sleep late on weekends (something I normally do not allow myself during the season,) and, perhaps most importantly, gives my fiancee a much needed break from one true vice.

Is it the rather uninteresting nature of the last few World Cups? As excited as I have been every time, the reality is that some people have considered a number of recent competitions to be a little lackluster. Certainly there have been some less than thrilling finals, save for some theatrics. I can't help but wonder if I have just been hyping this competition to myself for as long as I can recall.

Another consideration might be adulthood. During past cups, I have been a student, or have been in the midst of periods of unemployment or underemployment. This has allowed me to watch every game. Every single match. The entire competition. I am faced now with the reality of having a job, of having responsibilities, of having obligations to which I have committed myself months in advance. Some part of me can't help but wonder if what I am feeling is a sense of "sour grapes" - this is going to be a boring World Cup because I can't dedicate a third of my summer to it.

Certainly there is much to hate about these kinds of events, this World Cup in particular. Brazil is experiencing even more unrest, following many months of protest and aggravation, which, while about many issues, are inextricably linked to the World Cup. John Oliver's take on this has been circulating the social media world in recent days, and he does a wonderful job of summarizing the many things to hate about 2014:

And yet, with only 3 days to go, I can't help but feel I will start to become very eager for the cup. One of my earliest sports-related memories is watching the 1990 world cup final with my dad. In fact, I have watched every world cup since 1990, including a number of finals with my dad. I have watched the US National Team get steadily better with friends. I have gathered with complete strangers to share joy at games that were completely inconsequential. It is the very nature of these shared moments that play such a big part in why my level of enthusiasm is normally so great. Will I, come the end of this week, finally feel like my normal self?

D-Day at 70

I once sat in the living room of house in which I lived with two other roommates, discussing our grandfathers. "WW2 in HD" had just premiered, and it inspired a rare moment of household-wide reflection. We considered how much our they had achieved and how many stories they could tell, particularly as all of our grandfathers had served in some capacity or another between 1939 and 1945. That they had served, witnessed the terror of war, helped to shape history, to then continue achieving great things was particularly incredible to us. 

Between the three of us, our grandfathers had fought against the Germans, Italians and Japanese in the Pacific, in North Africa, and in the case of one of my grandfathers, in Vichy-controlled Syria, acting as a sleeper cell in case of German advances into the Levant. They had gone on to become a professor, a doctor, a founder of a nation, a business owner. They were community leaders, respected amongst their peers. They married, had children, and then grandchildren. 

The discussion we had about our grandfathers left us feeling profoundly sub-par. By the time they were 30, they had helped to determine  the course of western civilization, has established themselves in their careers, and were building families. In spite of how silly "the Greatest Generation" sounds, it seems so fitting for men that had so much determination, and who had shown so much courage.

It is that same sense of insignificance and inferiority that I feel today, the 70th anniversary of the D Day landings. The courage and determination exhibited by the men who were there is nothing short of astounding. 

The Second World War would last another 8 months in Europe, another year in the Pacific - there would be many more acts of courage to follow. Yet there is a symbolism attached to Operation Overlord that cannot be diminished. The images of Americans, Britons, and Canadians storming into France through German fire, in order to open another front in Europe and thus defeat Hitler, represent the bravery and resolve of allied soldiers in all theaters. 

Alongside the men of the allied forces were Poles, Czechs, Frenchmen, Belgians, Dutchmen, Australians, New Zealanders, Norwegians, and Greeks - soldiers from all over occupied Europe, who also participated in this day. 

I have been moved today by the many articles about the anniversary of D-Day. The Atlantic published pictures of Normandy then and now, which are fascinating. There have been tributes made all over the world of social media, which have been very powerful.

I have felt extremely saddened though, as I consider that this generation is continuing to fade away. Again, I can't help but think of my grandfathers, who both passed years ago. As their contemporaries become but a memory, we lose the connection we have to their unparalleled bravery. We will forever rely on footage of their battles and literary accounts of their bravery, but few of us still have the privilege of hearing them tell us how they felt or what they saw.

No one can put to words the importance of what they did, and we can scarcely come to terms with the immensity of the sacrifice made by the thousands who died on the beaches of France. But we owe it to ourselves to try, at least.

Joseph Tserman

I am quite accustomed to hearing buskers on the Subway. They normally step into the car, play a portion of their song, and then stop so they have enough time to ask for change before exiting at the next stop. Presumably, this is so they can try their luck in another car, or another train altogether.

I really don't mind hearing performers in the train stations, positioned in high traffic areas or even on the platforms. I have heard people playing classical music with exceptional skill. I have listened to people playing traditional music on folk instruments from every corner of the globe. I have seen the officially sanctioned artists, as well as more risque musicians who play for their own enjoyment. I usually enjoy these experiences, and if I don't, it is not a problem, as I know I'll be on my way in minutes.

The people who play on the train, however, almost always annoy me. There are a few reasons for this:

1. I am listening to music on my headphones. This is my time. This is when I zone out for the ride, or when I leave my workday behind me. I do not want to have to hear someone over my own jams.

2. They are not usually very good. There are a few exceptions of course (Queensboro Plaza Clarinet man), but by an large these are not people I want to have serenading me.

3. I really hate being asked for my attention and being denied a full song. I don't care if we just got to the station, FINISH THE SONG. ALL OF IT. TO THE END.

It is strange then that I feel like Joseph Tserman is such a wonderful performer, and that I am genuinely looking forward to hearing him on my next ride on the N or Q train.

Joseph Tsermans music is not normally the kind of thing I would like, much less listen to. His songs are slow, depressing tunes, set to violins and slow pop beats. He sings in what I believe to be Russian, or at the very least another Eastern European tongue. The music blares from speakers contained within a collapsible black shopping cart, the kind elderly people always seem to have, which he wheels into the car with some difficulty. You can hear him whether you are talking to someone beside you or listening to your own music, as the entire train car fills with the sound of his voice and his maudlin soundtrack.

Yet for some reason, I love it.

Joseph Tserman doesn't care if you want to hear his music. This is not to say that he is uncaring or rude - he is neither. When you tip him, as I did, he puts his hand over his heart while singing, and bows his head graciously. He does the same for anyone who puts money is his cap as he walks about the car, bowing and making gestures of gratitude. But he does not care whether you want to hear him or not. He arrives on the train with his cart, turns his soundtrack on, and proceeds to sing his heart out. He doesn't seem to give a damn whether or not you want to hear him.

Another reason I love his performance is that he seems so damn sincere. It's not to say that other performers lack sincerity, but I am just not wowed by some bored looking girl, playing her uninspired version of Lorde's "Royals" as I travel through the depths of Manhattan. Joseph Tserman looks like he means it, and he certainly sings like he means it. His face look anguished, as if some long forgotten agony were suddenly spilling out of him for all of us to feel. He looks like he might shed a tear as he recalls some personal horror, his voice wavering for just a second as his baritone enouncements reach their climax. You cannot help but feel the raw emotion.

What I love the most about Mr. Tserman is that he will sing a song in it's entirety. The songs are too passionate, too reflective (I think - they're in Russian after all) to share only partially. He will start a song, and he will keep going until it is over, not stopping even as the train doors open at whichever station we have stopped. He respects you, the audience, enough to give you everything he has.

I don't care if I can't understand him, I don't care if the songs are depressing, and I don't care that I have to turn my music down as he sings. I love it. I love that he will do it no matter how much it seems to bring everyone down, which actually might be what I like the most.

Joseph Tserman is the greatest on-board performer in all of the NYC Subway system. Perhaps, if you are lucky enough, you too will have a chance to hear him.