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Hearing stories of 14 people crammed into small dark apartments, garment shops being set up in these apartments, and bathrooms in the backyard made me realize both the space and the luxuries that living in NYC in 2004 can provide – at least with a good deal of money.  The tenement had no grand entrance, no frescos on the ceiling of the lobby, no doorman welcoming you inside after a long day.  Sometimes, a reality check is just what you need.

I have been slowly finding my place in the Dean campaign, and this past week has helped speed up the process.  I am now the Queens Volunteer Coordinator, which means I am responsible for approximately 3,000 Dean supporters who reside in Queens.  My job is to call and e-mail these people to try to convince them to volunteer for visibility and canvassing events in Queens. 

I settled down into my couch, sipped on some chicken soup, and began to watch the two main characters. Suddenly I found that the scenery looked very familiar and realized that the beginning part of the movie takes place in New York City. My attention turned toward the background of the scene, as I gazed at the very Rockefeller Center I had just been reading about in one of the required books.

Katz’s is an institution known for its enormous pastrami sandwiches. When you walk in there is a huge counter with dozens of workers taking orders. There is no line, so only the strong and aggressive survive. Once you’ve elbowed your way to the front, you can sample cuts of meat that they are serving. The food was great and very filling, and the atmosphere was even better.

The tour offered us a deeper look into the origins of “sweat shops” by presenting an actual tenement that dated back to the 1860s.  From this time until the 1930s, more than 7,000 poor urban workers lived in the house.  The building remains in its original state except for minor renovations. The Tenement Museum really shed light on the life and times of the average 19th century immigrant who came to New York with hopes of prosperity.

Four hours of waiting and waiting and waiting for a 10 minute diagnosis. That’s what I call efficiency. I promise, I will find it in this city; it must exist.

Until I really started to think about it, I never pictured New York buildings, especially skyscrapers, as “beautiful.”  I just thought of them as an economic necessity for the city. Now I have come to appreciate the skyscraper and its symbolism.

On Tuesday, I was called up to the 25th floor for a private concert with Matt Nathanson.  MTV has dubbed him "buzzworthy" and I was lucky enough to sit in a conference room and listen to him play. 

Black is the color of New York dress.  Everywhere one goes, New Yorkers are wearing the darkest and most inconspicuous colors possible.  I suppose the choice in wardrobe is consistent with the tone of the city.  In a society of anonymity, it makes sense that people would adopt an unremarkable uniform.  What I find interesting is that this style transcends social and economic barriers.

I took my roommate up on his offer to seek out a local eatery known as the Dumpling House. Although I was quite sure I didn’t like dumplings, my roommate made the place out to be some sort of holy Mecca of cheap dumplings, appearing once every 1,000 years for three hours during the Year of the Monkey. I was in no position to refuse.