A Fungus Jungle: Riding the Subway

So, it's been a while since my first post. Not much has happened, but a lot has happened, too. My body has been reacting to the stress from the move now that I have a had a bit more time to relax. I got a throat infection last week and had to see a doctor (which I can't afford) and now I am having fungal problems with my feet as well as a clogged oil gland in my eye. Why do these things seem to happen when I can't afford to treat them? But at the same time, they provide me with the excuse of not having to look for work. I know, I know... I came to NY to pursue my career, but I am TERRIFIED! My fear must be pretty bad if I'd rather have pus on my tonsils and fungus between my toes while having a warm compress on my eye just so I can postpone auditioning. I'm not afraid of actually doing work. That I love! It's the constant waiting. It's the working to get work that seems so fruitless and unrewarding.

On a separate note, I have to say the first thing that annoys me about New York, and not surprisingly, has to do with public transportation. If it weren't bad enough that the incoherent signs underground lead you through a maze of tunnels and train stops only to lead you back where you started after half an hour, you finally get on the right train to find you are headed downtown instead of uptown. But wait, you were supposed to know that to get on the uptown train, you had to enter the station across the street down three alleys behind a dumpster. One hour later and with most of your hair missing after your ripping it out, you finally get on the train. Now, for me, subway time is ME time. After weaving through thousands of people for an hour to get to my correct train, I need some quiet time. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Then IT inevitably happens. Three or four thuggish looking ghetto types who get on at the same stop as I do, turn on their low-quality ghetto boombox at a very high volume and begin to breakdance. One time, this guy smacked his head into a pole. I secretly laughed. It's not real breakdancing unless you break your face which he, unfortunately, did not. Therefore, I didn't feel he earned his donation so I declined to give it to the thug with the hat. Sometimes though it's someone other than 80's wanna-be's. This other time it was a little Mexican or Spanish group like you see in the restaurants. They have two guitarists and even a double-bassist. Oh... and don't forget the man with the hat who collects donations. That music was nice and it sounded really nice, but I'm anti-hat. Five minutes after they left, a group of congo drum players get on the train and start beating the drums. They also had a man with a hat. So, all of these things tie into my annoyance with public trans in New York. I don't mind Subway entertainment if 1) it's good or 2) it happens when I'm in the mood for it, but it kills it for me when it's obvious they are shoving it in my face to earn money. It takes the joy right out of it. They may as well be homeless people asking me for a bite of my food while I'm in a restaurant eating it.

Anyway, those are my updates for now. I tried to keep it short but it didn't work out that way. Let's see if I can tie the two separate paragraphs together in some sort of metaphorical, cohesive fashion... Riding the subway in New York is a fungus jungle. There is always something about it that will crawl under and grow on your skin preventing you from having a stress-free existence which in turn hinders your career development. To make it simple, if you ride the subway, your career will die... just look at all those people performing there! :-)