Reasons to just ridiculously love New York City: Because some things are still done the old fashioned way.
Chelsea, NYC.
Reasons to just ridiculously love New York City: Because some things are still done the old fashioned way.
Chelsea, NYC.
Throwback Thursday: Stress boobs.
Because it’s just been that kind of week.
Chinatown, NYC.
Ronald had come a long way, but he still wasn’t above adolescent humor.
Mayfair, London.
Always look for the ridiculous.
Place de la Concorde, Paris.
No walls were injured in the making of this photo.
Finger Sandwich Friday: Ridiculous people live in glass houses.
But then, you knew that already.
Dumbo, Brooklyn.
Throwback Thursday: When art and nature come together to form ridiculousness, it’s magical.
Please note the small leaves someone has attached to the bodies. Oh, humans.
Dumbo, Brooklyn.
Among life’s many thrilling experiences, getting stuck in an elevator is somewhere in my top ten. It ranks slightly below a good bout of food poisoning and just above more commonly enjoyed events like burning the hell out of my mouth and having my nose hairs freeze up.
Yes, I am living quite an amazing life.
Of all of life’s experiences though, being stuck in an elevator offers the uniquely ridiculous combination of total surprise and life threatening reality that few non-violent events can achieve. It happens quietly, but suddenly. You step into the box, the doors close, life is in peril, you’re screwed. Perhaps you get stuck right away, or maybe you started to ascend and now you’re dangling somewhere between the ground and the top floor (ah, these metaphors for life just keep coming). Whatever you were doing when you walked in, whatever you were thinking about, all of it is stopped short.
Actual elevator of entrapment.
While getting trapped in an elevator is in no way an event singular to New York City, it sure feels like it. With roughly 75,000 elevators in the NYC metropolitan area, the city is literally full of elevators. So, odds are you’re on an elevator more than you would prefer. The majority of the city’s elevators are in small office buildings and residential addresses where technology is not paramount, nor is any real upkeep beyond the requisite repairs mandated by the city’s inspections every few years.
I have been stuck in an elevator in NYC multiple times, the most recent of which is evidenced by the stunning photograph above—I know, it’s riveting. I have been trapped in both large, corporate office building elevators where a team of people was dispatched to free me from the confines of the metal box and random, nameless buildings where the shabby condition of the elevator probably should have tipped me off, and where I may never have been discovered. In both scenarios freedom was neither swift nor easy. And I like my freedom like I like my men, swift and easy.
The thought process you have while realizing that, much like R. Kelly who was “trapped in the closet,” you are, in fact, trapped in an elevator goes something like this:
Each time I was trapped I told myself I would be more cautious in the future, remain on the look out for a questionnable car, and avoid using an elevator altogether when I could. But as the sting of my forced confinement eventually wore off and the elevator went back to being the necessary norm it is, I let my guard down.
The few times I have been stuck, I’ve been lucky that I was alone or with only one other person. My nightmare (jinxing myself right now for sure) would be a crammed elevator where there is no room to sit down, the collective body temperature makes for sweaty confines and some self-nominated bright light starts coming up with ideas on how best to free ourselves. No thank you. I would also never want to be stuck in an elevator at a tourist attraction. The St. Louis arch comes to mind as the worst possible elevator to be stuck in; no windows, about three square feet of space and the all the charm of a port-o-potty. Death by electric toilet.*
So, the next time I get trapped in an elevator, I will do well to remind myself that, in addition to the creature comforts I’ll be enjoying during my time in there, no one knows where I am, no one knows who I am, and I could be stuck for days without food, water or a lifeline to the outside world before anyone even realizes I’m missing. That heartwarming message should help to pass the time in between cursing my phone and renditions of Destiny’s Child hits.
There’s nothing so ridiculous as the doomsday scenario-ist within, especially when stuck in an elevator with no music.
*Going atop my list of potential band names.
Let no man say New Yorkers are sanctimonious about their taste level.
Lower East Side, NYC.
Throwback Thursday: Che often walked a fine line between self-deprecation and ridiculousness.
Lower East Side, NYC.
He had come to feel like Tina Turner was speaking directly to him, telling him that he was simply the best, better than all the rest, better than anyone, anyone she’d ever met.
How he loved Tina.
Chelsea, NYC.
New York City: Where Christmas trees go to die.
West Village, NYC.
And thus we begin 2015 with realistic expectations.
Lahaina, Maui.
Kara Walker’s epic “Sugar Baby” at the old Domino Sugar factory in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.
If you are anything like me, 2014 was a very ridiculous year. To say nothing of your sorted personal life, global ridiculousness reached epic proportions as governmental secrets were revealed, the Sochi Olympics apparantly took place, we all figured out what Alibaba was to the tune of about $25 billion and, in the midst of volatile protests in Ferguson, Missouri, Berlin celebrated an anniversary of freedom and the restoration of the most basic of civil rights, a dichotomy rooted in the very essence of harsh ridiculousness.
In the US, another election cycle brought the ugly combativeness that has become commonplace in the never ending battle of my beliefs versus yours and gravely misdirected voters voting against their own best interests. The worst drought in twelve hundred years ravaged California while the East Coast was annihilated by snow. People with functioning brains became obsessed with cat memes and Twitter exploded with demands for an NSYNC reunion—as if they could get across the street without JT.
It was one ridiculous year, but before we tack up our 2015 “Haunted Lighthouses of New England” calendar and feverishly look to see what day our birthdays are on (“Tuesday, shit.”), let’s take a moment to reflect on some of the more ridiculous aspects of 2014; the good, the bad, and the absurd, as only Ridiculous in the City can do.
Oh, 2014:
Yes, people, 2014 was full of ridiculousness. Many ridiculous things came to an end while new ridiculousness began, the life cycle of the ridiculous. But that’s what makes the world great, always something more ridiculous around the bend. And doesn’t that feel good?
Global ridiculousness, it warms the heart. Auf Wiedersehen, 2014.
*Some of the facts revealed here may not be entirely true.
Reasons to just ridiculously love New York City: Because even the pizza place at JFK has a signed picture of Barbra Streisand.
Jamaica, Queens.
Most ridiculously overused phrase by someone astounded by their own hilarity at the Hoover Dam: “Damn it!”
Boulder City, Nevada.