What is Up with New York Anyway?

New York is a weird place. We live in extremely cramped quarters for extremely too much money. We are in the company of thousands of people each day but ignore almost all of them. We pile our trash on the street at the end of each business day and wait for hours until the trucks come by at 3 a.m. and pick it up. We live amongst rats and no one really seems to care. We essentially (and sometimes literally) share tables with people at restaurants. It's a place like no other, but, for the most part, that's why I love it. Here are three decidedly New York things that have happened to me over the last few days.

Question: Why do we live like this?
They're renovating the apartment above mine, so I hear men taking wood and tools and other renovation equipment upstairs a lot. And I hear banging and screwing (not the good kind, clearly) in the walls, usually followed by the sound of a sand-like substance falling between the sheetrock. They were doing a lot of work in the bathroom above my bathroom a few days ago, but all seemed fine. When I walked in on Friday and stepped on my bathmat, though, it was soaked. I looked up and the fan was leaking, turning my super-absorbant bathmat into a shitsponge. I called the super and I guess he fixed the problem because it isn't leaking anymore, but when I walked into the bathroom earlier this evening, there was an odd combination of two unsettling smells: mildew and poopoo. It was subtle, but I knew the smell. Air freshener sprayed and year-old bathmat tossed safely in the garbage (and hands washed 10,000 times), I'm now only slightly disturbed and trying to avoid thinking about what was dripping.

Wtf fan? (Okay so really I just needed a photo for this entry.)

Question: Why are we so mean?
I was waiting on the Shuttle to Grand Central at the Times Square station earlier tonight, and about 10 yards away was a circle of about 25 people singing contemporary Christian songs and clapping. They were wearing shirts that said things like "PRAY." and singing and dancing, which is fine and not all that unusual. However, about six feet from me waiting on the train was a completely normal looking young woman who appeared to be in her mid- to late-20s, and she'd had enough. "GOD, WHY won't this FUCKING TRAIN just GET HERE!?" she hollered. I looked at her and gave her one of those 'yep' nods where you roll your lips into each other and give the 'darn it!' face. She took this as a sign of commiseration and went on. "I don't want to stand here at listen to this FUCKING SINGING! This is SO ANNOYING. I HATE all this FUCKING SINGING!" While noises in public are annoying, come on, lady. Chill out. I awkwardly avoided looking at her again, and next time I'll be more careful about where I send my 'yep' nods.

Question: Why aren't we terrified?
I got off the train at the 103rd Street stop, as always, but when I climbed the stairs and reached the street, a section of it was blocked off with police line tape. There were about 15 policemen walking around the area, and no one was allowed to go inside the bodega on the corner. Lights flashed and detectivey-looking men in suits were chatted with a few police officers. I was walking behind two women who approached a guard and asked what was going on. "Somebody got stabbed," he said nonchalantly. I didn't want to eavesdrop so I kept walking as the woman asked, "Was it inside or outside?" as if she was asking, "Do you want a regular Coke or a Diet Coke?" I didn't hear the answer, but I didn't see any blood or outlines on the street. This is the first evidence of "real" crime I've seen since I moved here. Across the street about four feet from the police line tape, a woman bought a bag of grapes from a street fruit vendor. Just another day...?