Why you don't need telly here.

It's a truism that life is fast here - already it's Saturday night and now it's after 11 o'clock. Earlier tonight, in the flats behind, there was a great family party - clapping, singing, kids playing, parents and I bet grandparents, music and food. Last night, the first night without oppressive humidity, there were many families enjoying the clear air on the sidewalks.
It's hard to know what to write about - the wonderful collections of paintings in the Metropolitan Museum of Art or the compelling human drama of the subway and buses!
First things first.
Public transport here is like nothing I've ever experienced. People here in general are not backward in coming forward. Three episodes happened over three days.
Subway situation no 1: on Tuesday night we met a chap who told us that as night manager of the Chelsea Hotel back in the 60's he became a great family friend of a well known Australian artist and his family. In fact he ate with them every night and babysat their child. As a gesture of friendship he was given a painting. He sent this work to Australia for a retrospective exhibition but it was never returned. The chap is now an artist and probably about 60. He has tried for many years to get his painting back. I suggested the Arts Law Centre as a follow up. The work would literally be worth a million or more. It's quite amazing who talks to you when they hear your accent.
Metro Bus situation no 2: a very crowded bus at peak hour. A very large, very loud, young mother with four tiny children are the first in line to get on. The bus driver tells people to move down the back of the bus and, at the same time tells the hopefuls on the sidewalk that the bus is full. The mother who has already sent her two little boys forward is unmoved. Firstly, as she squeezes onto the bus, she gives the driver a mouthful. ' Excuse me bus driver but there is no way that I am not getting on this bus. You want me to stay here on the side walk when my children are already on the bus? No way am I not gonna be with them. You think I would let them on and not be with them? ' So, two dear little boys squeeze past into the body of the bus. Then a tiny little girl in school uniform sits next to me. The woman with another even tinier two year old in tow then booms out to the whole bus. 'You mother f...'ers down there, move the f'ck down the f...'king bus. There's room there, you mother f..'ers.  You just show no respect. Do you think I'm gonna let my 2 year old go down the back of the bus without her mumma to be snatched by some mother f..'king pedo?  No way! You f.'king bitches betta watch out or I'll get yo'all off this bus fo' sure.' It was incredible. The white people on the bus, basically, the two of us, were making ourselves quite small.  The Latinos seemed nonchalant and the African Americans were sort of chuckling to themselves. The 'object' of the congestion was a very cocky little 10 year old who refused to move. He was having his own drama. It was a David and Goliath moment.
Metro Bus situation No 3: Friday evening, peak hour, on a crowded bus up 3rd Ave all the way to Harlem. I squeeze in between two women. Across the aisle I notice an older white women with plastic bags spread over two seats oblivious to all. An old Chinese lady with a shopping trolley is next to her. Soon a very young and tiny black boy, about three years old if that, trips down the aisle with his young mum who is carting a substantial carryall from a stroller. All eyes are on taking a peep at the darling newborn asleep in the carryall - except the women opposite me, now draped over two seats perusing the dockets from her overflowing wallet. But it seems all good. Then, all hell breaks loose. An older man starts abusing an even older women for not moving her trolley. The elegantly dressed women tells him to 'f'ck off' in no uncertain terms. He says if you had half a brain you'd know to move the f'cking trolley. She says go to hell you mother f'cker don't you kick me. Meanwhile the woman opposite me, oblivious to all is getting ready to exit. Her shoulder bag strap is tangled up with something, so she gives a hefty elbow to her right and nearly hits the baby's head. The four of us seated opposite are united in horror. She doesn't give a glance. It's rare to observe such self centredness. But more to come ... the mum and newborn are settled. She is now on the mobile (as half of NY is at any given moment). The elegantly dressed older lady with the piled up white hair and  shopping trolley is now having an altercation with the Chinese lady avec equally large shopping trolley. (To set the dimensions of the scene - a Latino lady with walking frame sits opposite the white women so there is no space in the narrow aisle.) The Chinese lady can't get through and asks the other white haired old woman if she could please move her trolley. The while old lady declares 'No way am I moving - you're gonna have to f'cking well lift the mother f'cker over the top.' The Chinese lady gives  her 'what for' in Chinese. All the old people were giving as good as they got - absolutely fearless. I guess if they could survive the Depression, war and revolution then the M15 Harlem bus was chickenfeed.
This is where my neighbour and I started our conversation. 'Well' she said, 'I hope I am as sassy as that lady when I get old'. We admired their forthrightedness. I commented that at home I'd never witnessed such a confrontation on a bus and that if something similar happened on public transport at home people would probably be silent but seething and surly and then everyone would probably end up with cancer. I commented that Australians were by nature rather reserved in such a situation. She said in contrast that here everyone says their piece. I reckon that's very healthy, better out than in.
By this time the white woman was off the bus and the Chinese woman was getting out too. 'I hope she gives her a head start or they could have a go on the footpath.' 'Well we won't need to watch any telly tonight.' 'This is street theatre'. The whole bus was united in sort of glee - relief and enjoyment all rolled into one. I think everyone relished the uniqueness of the situation.
Maybe we are a bit of a novelty in Spanish Harlem - two middle aged white women in E118th Street. Even the painting teacher today was a bit surprised when he heard we were on E118th and gave us the name of a favoured restaurant famous for its 'soul food'.
Lastly after class tonight at about 6.30pm it poured. Wet, cold and tired of waiting for the M1 bus to 116th on Madison Ave I decided to walk from 108th Street to E118th Street up Madison. The bus eventually beat me by minutes to 116th but then I made a bet that I could still be first home five avenues across to the east.
Well, to end a long tale we both made it to our apartment at the same time (but I had made a detour to the closest bottle shop - the one without the bullet proof windows through which you order).