There’s an awful lot of electricity being used inside of this alleged Amish Market; maybe the entire store is being run by kids on rumspringa. That does seem unusually enterprising for a bunch of 16-year-olds on vacation in Never Never Land, however.
This has probably been going on for much longer than I realize, but it seems like every time I get on public transportation lately, there’s a woman knitting somewhere in the car. I might expect this as a suitable diversion for matronly old ladies, but lately, the knitters are actually younger women in their 20s who fuss with their ball of yarn in knee-high snake skin boots while humming along to Duffy on their iPod touch.
It’s actually kind of interesting to watch, but I have no idea when this old-world craft suddenly overtook plugging away on a pink Nintendo DS as the most popular activity for trendy single ladies. I’m guessing it was recent because, as far as I can discern from my limited knowledge of the trade, most of these girls don’t seem to be very good at it. Nevertheless, I wish someone would tell me what episode of Gossip Girl featured a subplot about knitting or show me a picture of Kristen Davis tying together a bonnet at LAX.
More than anything, I’m concerned for the recipients of these shoddily made crafts who were unpleasantly surprised on Christmas morning with a hideous, itchy toboggan that has no corresponding gift receipt. I have witnessed a few men wearing frumpy, frazzled scarves lately that don’t look artfully distressed enough to be from a real designer but are too detailed to be from The Gap so there may be a connection. Hopefully for them, it’ll soon be warm enough for the scarves to get tossed in a closet only to be miraculously lost or, for the more creative, errantly left on the couch one afternoon only to be destroyed by That Darn* Cat.
Luckily, the knitting craze will probably be over by the next gift giving season (February birthdays, beware) only to be replaced with cat’s cradle, recorders or coloring books.
*Get it? “Darn” cat? Like with stitching? And that movie? Nevermind… it wasn’t that funny.
Again, I wish I had better picture but the best I could do to sneak one is to pretend I was looking at my phone.
They’re jeans, but with a lattice pattern cut on the front side and some sort of white linen pajamas hanging loosely inside. They’re structured like Aladdin pants–baggy at the top but tapered at the bottom so they can be stuffed into your weird-ass boots.
I have no words…
As I was descending into the 23rd St. CE station at around 2:30 AM, an entire uneaten piece of German chocolate cake was inexplicably sitting patiently on the landing.
There is in fact a 24 hour bakery right at the top of those stairs that I’m fairly certain the cake came from. Nevertheless, what could possibly cause someone to walk into that bakery, buy a piece of cake that probably cost 5 or 6 bucks and then immediately abandon said cake completely untouched less than 50 ft. away?
He couldn’t have simply decided he didn’t like it because not even a single bite had been taken. The lid on the to-go box was opened so maybe he got the wrong order, but the bakery was still open only a few feet away so he easily could’ve gone back to exchange it for what he asked for. The presumed discovery was even made on the outside of the turnstile so he wouldn’t have had to worry about wasting a MetroCard swipe.
It’s possible that he bought the cake and later decided he didn’t want it but this seems unlikely given how quickly he would’ve had to have changed his mind. Who buys a whole big-ass piece of German chocolate cake and, seconds later, says “meh… nevermind,” and discards it on the street. If nothing else, you’d think he’d just take it home and save it for later.
It crossed my mind that he thought he was doing something nice and leaving a treat for a homeless person. If that were the case, he should’ve picked something different since a lot of people don’t like coconut. If I were homeless and, in my travels, hawk-eyed a large, fresh piece of cake sitting in a box on the stairs, I’d be quite crestfallen when I got close enough to see that it was German chocolate. I suppose that I’d still eat it but it would be reduced from “pleasant surprise” to something I was just eating because I needed something to eat. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.
*Epilogue: When I was riding home on election night, the lady who made a cameo appearance in the second one-act play had a to-go box of her own. Since she didn’t want to hold it as she napped, she put it on the floor. Food. On the floor. Of the A Train. Gross.