Losing stuff is a daily occurrence in New York City and this is not just in reference to the propensity of subway riders losing their tempers in this congested metropolis.
An outraged response to MTA cheery self-promotion.
New Yorkers lose their cats.
Anyone seen Chester? Did you look under the sink?
New Yorkers lose their socks.
Sock Monster by the kids at PS 9. (Nice to know where the tubes I lost in the 80s went.)
Sometimes I draw the short straw and I’m the loser on the subway. Once on my way home from The Grind, I did not lose my temper, but I did lose my umbrella. This happened while I was sprinting across the 14th Street subway platform to transfer from a local train to the uptown express. While doing my anemic Usain Bolt impersonation, I unwittingly dropped my umbrella, but speedy me did manage to hop onto that express train just before the doors shut. The reward for my victory was reaching my stop three minutes and seven seconds faster and arriving home a helluva wetter.
Recently I thought I had lost a book, but fortunately, my pet puppet goat, Bill E. had it.
“I’m on page 103.”
Last week, I sliced my right index finger. I have no idea how this injury occurred, but I realized that I have now lost my chance to seriously pursue a mid-life crappy-hand modeling career.
“Let me see.”
More often, I’m the one that finds another’s loss lying in the street. Sometimes someone’s loss is my gain, such as when I found a dollar entering the 72nd Street subway station.
It pays to ride the subway.
I applied it toward my replacement umbrella.
Just this week I noticed a tie, a pair of gloves, and a potato.
Tie.
Gloves (flattened by cars).
Spud.
I am sure the rightful owners wondered:
Rightful owner: Gee, what happened to my [tie, gloves, potato]?
Then, there is stuff that someone no longer wants so they purposely leave it out in an act of passive aggressive charity.
One of a kind combo — microwave in chair.
Recently, I saw a sofa complete with detachable feet, a pair of men’s boots (people in New York are big fans of leaving shoes out), and some mats that I first thought might be for yoga, but upon closer inspection I ascertained better suitability to absorb car grease, or possibly candidacy for residence in a landfill.
Sofa with feet detached.
Leather boots going elf-toe route.
Mats. Next stop can to frame left.
I kept a close eye on the sofa. First the detachable feet went missing, then the entire sofa itself. I suppose what is one person’s trash is another person’s treasure, especially if you’re someone that treasures bed bugs.
I agree.
Considering the recent epidemics of these pests in Gotham City, I steer clear of street swag.
There are also some distinct intentional dumps of stuff, stuff that the former owners have decided must go so they just toss it in the street willy-nilly to sound as irritating as former Secretary of Irritation in the Shrub Administration, Donald Rumsfeld. In this case I have seen chair casters and last year, a movie-style popcorn popper filled with greasy unpopped corn kernels. It was as if this machine got ditched in mid-use possibly because the original owner has severe A.D.D. or was just a typical Type A orifice – no, not thinking the ear canal.
“I feel detached.”
Degrading departure.
Another New York City specialty is wild trash. Wild trash is trash that is not in a bag that’s deposited in a trash can awaiting pick-up. This is untamed garbage at its most feral. Newspaper is a popular breed of this type of refuse. If sidewalks could read, New York’s would be the most literate in the country.
Public health announcement courtesy of the pavement.
Although this has yet to make the evening news, urban wildlife out here is suffering an obesity epidemic. Who wants to peck at dry seed out of a feeder when the pizza is so abundant in the street? That would really be bird-brained.
Pizza party!
Notice how both the pigeons and the sparrows completely ignored the pencil — not a writer in the flock.
Finally, there’s what I call the hit and miss style of dealing with wild trash.
Side by side.
NASA can fly a vehicle to Mars but we’ve yet to equip a banana peel with a spring mechanism allowing it to bounce off the eater’s head into the trash can. Now that would be progress.
Lame Adventures 
It’d be hard to pass up that popcorn machine even though I read somewhere the artificial butter leads to Alzheimer’s.
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It was in that article published in that magazine, you know the one.
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It’d be hard to pass up that popcorn machine even though I read somewhere the artificial butter leads to Alzheimer’s.
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That made me Lick Otto’s Lederhosen.
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Suburbia has such lame street garbage. Although, there was that one time we found a Wal-Mart shopping cart on our street. No, forget it, even that was lame.
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Lost shopping carts are ditched all over NYC. Feel free to visit with the family van if you ever need one. You can easily return home with five.
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It’d be hard to pass up that popcorn machine even though I read somewhere the artificial butter leads to Alzheimer’s.
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I think I may have heard that somewhere else before!
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Spud.
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I had to somehow work your high school prom date into this tale.
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yeah, he was a hottie.
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Did his aftershave reek of French fries? That’s an aphrodisiac.
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and ketchup.
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So that wasn’t your lipstick on his collar but his Heinz.
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yeah, and celery salt.
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Your celery salt by Prince Matchabelli?
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by COTY for SPUDS
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I forgot, you’re one of those girly straight girls.
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i guess.
oy vey i’m bored.
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That’s exactly what they say when they’re dating me, too!
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hhaaa. doubt it.
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You’re right. My unforgettable make-out routine centers around me wrapping my slithery tongue around the epiglottis.
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Okay. I am thinking you just crossed the line. Regardless of your use of anatomically correct yet obscure terminology, TMI.
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Hey, I’m a romantic!
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Maybe so, but you’re just begging Wendy from Quebec province to adapt your blog into one of her next pieces of erotica. Then again, maybe that’s a good idea.
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You’re taunting our friend! Right now, her latest object of desire is her shiny new apple green car.
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I have always depended the acts of passive aggressive charity of others for my livelihood.
R.
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You should live over here then Robert. This city is the gift that never stops giving.
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I was wondering where I lost that potato.
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Reading LA must feel like a blessing.
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Gotta love a post about trash being turned into potential treasure. That’s sort of my life story, I suppose. And LOVE that you were able to apply that dollar to an umbrella replalcement. Has the purchase yet been made? Have a decent day at the Grind, my friend.
Hugs,
Kathy
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Oh yes, it has — and that replacement one is about to hit the trash. Thanks buddy!
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Someone could open a second-hand shop with all those finds! I don’t think they would make much money….
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Especially when that shop is named Bed Bug Central.
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My skin is crawling just thinking about it….
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Me writing standing up?
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To bad Barbie never made it to your neighborhood. She is gone now. I will let you know whether and wherever she pops up next .
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She’s probably lurking on some urine soaked corner over here. I’ll keep an eye peeled just for you.
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You get some rest and then the prose flows like…what, urine?
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Yes, I power sleep and power pee.
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Sitting down I presume.
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I can write standing up.
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Didn’t one of the M7 link a rimshot a few weeks ago? Where is it when you need it?
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Did you?
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No it was someone with slightly more technical acumen. You run this thing, can’t you find it?
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Find what? My memory isn’t what it used to be on this thread. As Larry Gelbart once said, “Contrary to popular belief, it’s not the legs that go first, it’s remembering the word for legs.”
What the hell am I looking for?
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Rimshot. Isn’t it where you left it?
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What rimshot?!?
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Okay I will see if I can find the post.
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Okay, you do that. Enjoy your LA archaeological dig.
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It was LA 321 on July 9th from hairyrobert.
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Why didn’t you just ask me where did I post the pic of the guy flashing his butt? I completely forgot about him!
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Guy’s butts don’t phase me the way they phase my readership.
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There’s 20 minutes of my life I am definitely not getting back!
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Welcome to my world.
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Gonna have to forego the time I was planning on spending with Sasha Grey. Oh well que sera, sera.
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I’m sure she’ll wait for you.
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There are so many more awesome lost things in NYC than there are in the small town in North Carolina where I live! People around here are mostly losing used syringes and McDonalds wrappers.
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I guess compared to NC’s lost junk NYC is a Lost Junk Wonderland. Thanks for stopping by Emily!
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Another clear sign that McDonalds consumption leads to diabetes.
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Brilliant observation wingman.
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You should be expecting less? The simple connections I don’t miss too often.
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You’re on the right site for simple.
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I usually lose single gloves, not both at the same time… verrrrrry suspicious.
How one goes about losing a tie?
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I boneheadedly lost a pair of gloves in a cab. I was in a hurry so I put them to the side while paying my fare, and then left without them. Also I did not get a receipt.
Good question about how the tie went lost. Any clever thinking LA readers care to hypothesize?
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Only you can make street garbage into an interesting post. Here anytime you put anything decent out to the curb, it’s gone before the garbage truck passes.
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Flattery will get you perks with me Wendy. Here’s a recipe I devised with trash while waiting for a subway train while staring at the soggy refuse puddled in the tracks:
Recipe: Manhattan Subway Track Chowder
Fetid rain water
Rodent droppings
Cigarette butts
Candy and chip wrappers
Gum (preferably, chewed)
Splash of urine
Fruit peels (season to taste)
Floating beer can and/or plastic bag (optional)
Let sit for a week or more. Serves 2 – 4.8 (million).
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What about the spit of a thousand morons?
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Thanks for pointing out that omission. It’s the garnish.
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I felt it was my duty. Your welcome. 🙂
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I’m so lucky to know a gourmet.
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Seeing as how you feel fortunate to know me, can I call you something other than lame? 😛
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Call me V.
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V? As in vagina? I feel so naked….you know my entire name and what I do in hopes of becoming famous one day…
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Your secrets are safe with me. As for everyone else on the web, you’re on your own. V also means Valenki (warm Russian felt boots). Just pointing that out …
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Sorry if I jumped to conclusions. I do that sometimes. My bad.
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There you go with the urine again. Advice: cut down on water intake. U have pee on the brain.
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I suppose we had not being FPeed on the brain this week, Dad.
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Feel like Bill Murray with Scar Jo: lost in translation. WTF was that?
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You weren’t following Le Clown and Weebles sites this week of ALL weeks?!
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Sorry. But I can only obsess about one thing/person/blog/porn site/fill in the blank at a time. I take being your Jersey Wingman seriously.
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It’s an honor to be your thing/person/blog/porn site/fill in the blank wingman. Now I need to pee.
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Remember to leave the seat up. You never know when a guy may need to use the WC.
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That’s not a problem over here. My landlady makes me use a bucket.
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Pre-Victorian plumbing to go with the Pre-Victorian wiring. Makes sense. Why break up a good pair?
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ahh interesting spectacle on how the other half lives.. no wild trash around here– only bears and raccoons scouring around.
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Yeah, if we had a bear in Manhattan that would make the news, but we do have skunks in my neighborhood … not that they’re comparable to bears unless you never learned the difference between the two species; kinda like a security guard I once knew named Daze that confused my friend’s cello with a trumpet.
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skunks are hell.. have them too. If they spray to close to the house– we gag for days on end.
Cello trumpet? there is a difference?
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Not that long ago someone in my building either got sprayed or they were dating a skunk (hey, it’s NYC — anything goes over here) for there was a week when the vestibule reeked. I wondered what that was about but I reverted to typical New Yorker-dom and minded my own business. Who am I to judge if it’s consensual?
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Not really different except the resin. With a cello you resin the now, with a trumpet you resin your lips.
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That would be the *bow.*
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Thank you for the clarification Stradivari.
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That’s Yo Yo to you. Yes, I did play the cello in Jr High. No that wasn’t a problem on Friday taking the fucking thing on the school bus in bucolic Feeding Hills, MA. Yes, I said Feeding Hills. Don’t get me started. Go ahead, Throw it into Wikipedia and see what you come up with. You can follow it up with Agawam, MA. Cuz FH is a part of Agawam. Don’t ask how you subdivide a one horse town, but they did it.
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Who got the horse?
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The Spalding factory in nearby Chicopee. I am not making this shit up.
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So the horse became the factory’s mascot, right?
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Yep. Or maybe a box of baseballs.
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I think baseballs should go vegan.
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What’s “the now”? Are you having iPad techical difficulties again?
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“Banana peel with spring mechanism,” Ha! Yeah NASA get on that. Yeah street swag is something I tend to avoid. I think pigeons got dibs on that one. But I love how you ran across a random spud on the street and your “anemic Usain Bolt impersonation,” but sorry you didn’t catch the closing doors.
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In my next life I hope to return as a New York City pigeon. This is an all you can eat town plus you get to fly and crap on anyone. What charmed lives they lead.
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Looking at the masthead of your blog it would appear that you have the flying part already mastered. For the crapping on everyone might I suggest a simple alteration in the angle of your your tushie? Once you’ve got that fixed I think your crap will land where you most likely intend it.
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Thanks for the encouragement to continue being a class act.
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I tend to walk with my head down scanning the sidewalk and the area around me for goodies. Shiny things will always catch my eye. You can tell a lot about a city by the crap you find lying on the ground. You won’t find that info in a travel guide, however. Thank you for this assemblage. I now know a bit more about your neighborhood.
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I agree with you that you can tell a lot about the city. All of NYC’s reeks of attitude. We also have drug dealer drops of cash. One of my friends once scored around $80 that way, but someone may have gotten pulverized over that loss.
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Wow. Maybe I need to take a short vacation to NYC. Mama needs a new porch.
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Is thatwith a rocking chair, or 4 wheels?
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That would be with a rocking chair with beverage holders.
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Touché.
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I initially misread porch as “pooch”. Good thing wingman stepped in so I finally got the joke. Maybe I can find an iron skillet on the street today to pound some sense into my head.
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The few times I’ve visited NYC, I found myself looking up. Maybe I should be looking down…
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It might behoove you to look down from time to time just to keep an eye out for what you might step in.
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The remaining trash that you missed photographing blows into my flower bed, landing beneath my walnut tree.
Thank you for your kind comment on my blog. I have replied. I set it up to notify readers of my replies. I don’t know if you are notified or not. My friend R says he is.
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All roads lead back to you and your walnut tree these days!
I like that you added that reader notification setting on your replies. I was notified.
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That’s sweet.
And thanks for letting me know you were notified.
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This made me chuckle. It’s amazing what people will discard, and you inventory had the most perfect timing.
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A reality TV series could be based on the junk strewn all over New York City (probably as soon as I finish writing this sentence it will go into production).
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It sounds like Baltimore is a lot like New York, except, you know, smaller and sadder.
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Except New Yorkers are New York-ers. Not New York-rons. Like in Baltimorons.
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But there are plenty of morons in New York that fail to ditch their banana peels into the trash and toss their slices of pizza into the street.
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Don’t knock Baltimore. It is the birthplace of that national treasure and my spiritual leader, John Waters.
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I realize there is rich history there as it is the final resting place for E.A. Poe and H.L. Mencken. But in terms of modern culture all we have is Strohs, Ho’s and Nattie Bo’s. For those of you haven’t lived in Maryland, I apologize for this digression.
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Supposedly, John Waters picks up his mail at a bookshop in my neighborhood. I’ve never seen him, though.
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Huh. If you can hear the sound of the wheels in my head turning, I’m now wondering why he doesn’t just have his mail delivered to his house or held at the post office? Do you know? Mike G, if you’re out there, maybe you’ll weigh in.
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As a member of your federal law enforcement bureaucracy, AND an aficionado of John Waters’s work, my supposition focuses on what it is that he’s receiving. I have a few friends with the US Postal Service in their criminal investigations/inspections unit. You want me to find out?
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That’s a tempting offer but can I raincheck it and save your Fed skills for the next time I get shit-hammered and lose something personally valuable like my favorite leather jacket? That hasn’t happened yet but I’m not getting any younger and all arrows are indicating that I am growing dumber.
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I’ll have to take that one under advisement. You see, unless your getting, as you say, shit-hammered on the border or it’s taken by an undocumented alien I cannot intervene. Now, I do have a few contacts at NYPD. So we’ll just have to see.
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Good to know. Haven’t lost anything much of value yet, but there’s always a first time.
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I think it’s fan mail. I also think he likes having local neighborhood cred with an indie bookstore, but I may be reading into it.
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I think you might be onto something.
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Found your blog through your comment on the NYTimes “50 Objects” article. I’ve worked in NYC many years but have never found a potato. Needless to say, I am very jealous. I need to start hanging out in different neighborhoods, I guess. Also, I’m intrigued by the microwave oven with its own chair. Is the idea to heat up the seat? Or is the microwave sore and in need of its own padded chair? The possibilities are endless. OK, not endless, but there are a few interesting ones, anyway.
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First of all, thanks for taking the time to visit Lame Adventures Dave B! Running into that potato on the street was just my great good fortune on par with choosing the faster check out line at Trader Joe’s. You raise great LA-type questions about that microwave. I actually saw the owner put it outside. I wanted to ask him if it works for I’ve never had one, but he seemed cranky so I kept my yap shut. And you know, once something in on the streets of Gotham, you have to keep it there. I don’t want to be the first to get bedbugs from an appliance. I hope you visit again. It can get pretty silly over here.
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