Changing Channels

I knew my husband was becoming New York-ized when, in during an apparently boring bit of the NBA match on cable TV, he turned the remote towards me and attempted to select his wife for between-rounds conversation.

New York - where human intercourse takes place between other activities - during commercial breaks; in between work and home on the buses; when the day's chores are done and before retiring to bed. While waiting in line at the bank, supermarket check-out, or post office; while on-hold with yet another customer service inquiry; in the elevator in the mornings with a fellow condo resident...

There's an ad on TV here where three women describe their last evening's meal - some left over order-in fried rice, a stale bagel; a rotten banana. The ad is promoting a supermarket pre-cooked take-out which was so inspiring I have absolutely no memory of it.

Ah - the richness of life in Manhattan.

The other morning I was sitting next to a woman on the bus. She was reading a V.S Naipaul novel - "The Mystic Masseur". As Mr. Naipaul is one of my favourite authors, and as it is quite acceptable in New York to start up any sort of conversation with a complete stranger, I remarked to her on how much I enjoyed Naipaul's writing. Turns out she'd never heard of him, until her Barnes and Noble on East 86th Street had set the novel; for the next month's "Book of the Month". You enroll at the book club by filling out a form; then you get a list of books you need to read by every book evening. Sessions are every first Wednesday of the month. She suggested I come along.

Human contact! I almost turned up; but like most New Yorkers I was too tired. In any case it is years since I read "The Mystic Masseur". I could hardly read it by the next Wednesday. Like most New Yorkers, "Who's got the Time"?

My fellow commuter told me she'd have no time at all, except the time she spent, on the buses. And I was not at all surprised.

There's no time (or is it energy) for friends in this town. Most New Yorkers spend Saturdays recovering from the previous week, and Sundays having brunch around 2 p.m. and then preparing for the forthcoming work week. My friends in Australia continue to ask about my "friends" in New York. They've seen Seinfeld and think that everyone has an Elaine and a Kramer. I like Seinfeld - I think it gives a fairly accurate picture of New York - except for the existence friends.

Don't get me wrong - New Yorkers would love to have friends. They just don't have the time. Once, after another article on friends, a New York woman emailed me to say that I was wrong - New Yorkers were very hospitable, and to prove it, she invited me to her home. I was just to name the date.

"I'm free all the time", I emailed back. After all, the only number I have programmed into my phone is the local Chinese take-out.

Clearly ataken back, my New York reader emailed back. Sure, I was welcome; she'd let me know.

Predictably I never heard back..

When I discussed this with another New Yorker he explained that New Yorkers mean the invitation at the time, but are just unable to follow through.

It used to annoy me immensely, but I've "acclimated" as they say. I've become one of them. "Sure, we'll have brunch", I'll tell an acquaintance, meaning, "in another time and place we'd surely have lunch"; but this is New York.

Nevertheless, for all its faults, it is a great place to be. Close friendships are easily replaced by the occasional conversation on the bus or subway. We can watch CNN for our news of the world. We can vent our anger on customer service reps. We can buy aerosol cream to spray on frozen cheesecake - if we happen to feel like a home-cooked meal for a change. We can wear white between Memorial Day and Labor day, or pink it we want to be mistaken for mid-Westerners.

And it we are fortunate enough to have a spouse, we can look forward to being switched on by the cable remote.

Kate Juliff
New York
April 2002