New Yorkiversary

It was ten years ago today that I moved to New York, which, by the prevailing definition, makes me a New Yorker. I can't find the source of this conventional wisdom (the closest I came, after some cursory Google searches, is this brief Gawker article). As an alternative, I offer the following formula courtesy of WNYC's Jody Avirgan (via the Brian Lehrer show):

From here

Beyond time, tears shed, and MTA knowledge, here are a few of the things that make me feel like a New Yorker:

1. I never pay full price for Broadway. Growing up on Long Island, I was acquainted with TKTS (or "the two-fer line" as my grandma called it) at a young age, but living here has opened me up to all the various ways you can see a Broadway show at a significant discount. The best way: be friends with people in the biz.
2. I know the secret parking spots. It's a fairly uncommon thing to have a car in NYC (and yet, there are cars all over the place!), so driving in the city would seem to make me not a New Yorker, or at least not a typical one. What sets me apart from the visiting motorists is that I know how to get around on four wheels in this city. I know that sitting in traffic on the FDR is better than navigating the streets of East Harlem. I can parallel park like a boss (ask anyone), and no, I'm not telling you where the secret parking spots are.
3. I know what time brunch is. It's at 2pm. It's called "brunch" because breakfast slammed headlong into lunch and they both tumbled into late afternoon.
4. I sleep on the subway but always* wake up at my stop. *except when drunk.
5. I understand that $3 umbrellas are single-use.

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Missed Connection

I order my cat supplies from wag.com. Because this story will quickly veer away from the subject of cats and cat supplies, here is some adorable product placement:

You hope the cat goes in the box but you live with what you get.

Wag.com is great because, above a certain amount, they will deliver next day for free. I placed an order on Friday, and my packages faithfully arrived on Saturday, but apparently not to my apartment. I was awoken yesterday (Sunday) by a loud rapping at my door. I opened it a crack to see a stranger (not someone from my building) who calmly explained that my (large) packages were delivered to him by mistake. He was on his way to church, but he'd stop by on his way back so I could come pick them up. I said thank you and he left.

As I gradually woke up more and my senses returned to me, I realized I didn't know where he lives (he identified himself as a "neighbor" of mine, but I didn't know on which side or if he was using the term more broadly than next-door), and I didn't know how long church was, but I'd probably be gone for the day before he returned, and I had no contact info for him. I wrote him a note with my phone number explaining myself as best I could and left it on the front door of the building. I also tried peering into each of the buildings on either side of mine to see if I could figure out where my packages were, but no dice. I set off for the day and hoped for the best.

The day went by and I didn't receive a call from him, and I returned home to find my note taken down, but no correspondence in its place. I had enough cat food for a few days so solving this package problem wasn't a top priority, but it still galled me. Today I received a text from the president of my co-op board saying a note was left for me today with a phone number on it. I assume it was from him, but the phone number was one digit short. I remain at an impasse.

To be continued...