Did you smell that?

It has been about three weeks since I first arrived in the Big Apple, and I’ve got to share an important lesson. Your nose can very quickly become one of your best friends.

You must be this tall to lose an eye...

During my first few weeks in New York City, I have learned that an umbrella is an invaluable tool for any New Yorker. Some days the weather forecasters are spot on, and you’ll be completely prepared for a downpour. This is, unfortunately, not always the case. The rain will start to trickle down upon you like a soft refreshing mist amidst stank garbage piles, and then bam! All of the sudden it’s a monsoon.

Luckily you have hidden inside of your bag…

…pause for dramatic tension music…

…your trusty umbrella!

Now if you’re like most New Yorkers, your sprinkle shield friend has seen a few storms in its time. Many people pop open their water flower only to show that it’s missing some of its petals. Or maybe the wind has tossed it about one too many times, and one or two of its phalanges are bent horribly out of place. Makeshift splints hold them together, but some are just too far gone. You almost feel sorry for the poor things.

That is until you remember that the wretched former umbrella creature is being wielded by a seemingly unfeeling efficiency machine (that’s a New Yorker, by the way) who seems to aim the jagged weather worn fingertips directly for your eyeballs!

I really think my issue is height related. At 6’2”, my eyes fall where most people’s umbrellas seem to rest. In the hustle and bustle of New York City life, people don’t generally take the time to watch where they’re going let alone where an extension of their arm should fall. My umbrella seems to easily glide above the heads in the crowd while I’m left to whip my head around in some complex neck dance. It’s all very Matrix, really. I don’t know how I’ve gotten out intact.

So what, dear friends, is the lesson of the day?

If you live in or are coming to visit New York City and you happen to fall in the height range of 6’-6’4”, I highly recommend you keep both eyes wide open on a rainy day. Even if you should forget your umbrella, the masses surely have not. And believe me, the majority of these trusty tools will unwittingly land directly at your eye level. Be warned.

And some advice for those of you below 6’ tall: please be considerate of your taller brethren. I know it’s difficult to notice every living soul in an endless sea of people, but it doesn’t take too much extra effort to glance up from time to time. Who knows? You might just save someone’s eye.

Lesson Learned: In NYC, 6’2” is just the right height to lose an eye to an umbrella.

Fun Fact: Did you know it gets hot here?

Holy ball sack, is it hot or what?

This might not surprise a lot of you out there, but it sure as hell surprised me. Just a little. My family warned me about how hot it could get here, but I took it with a grain of salt. The way I had been figuring it, my native Floridian nature would have prepared me for heat. I mean, come on. Florida is like the penis of the United States. Sure it’s good for a party now and then, but in general it’s hot, sweaty and usually uncomfortable all the time. That has to give me at least +12 heat resistance. So how hot could it possibly be this far north?

There must be an invisible force field keeping any Canadian breezes at bay, because it’s fucking hot.

It doesn’t help that the apartment has no AC. I mean, there are those little boxes that stick out the window, but I’m told running them with any regularity will make the electricity bill skyrocket. Water is unlimited, but cool air? Out of luck, I’m afraid. The fans help to at least move the hot air around a bit. Bright side: it is not stagnant hot air.

After a public facebook complaint, my dear friend Scott reminded me that “Brogan, many states have these things called seasons.”

For those of you unfamiliar with Florida’s climate, let me break the ‘seasons’ down for you really fast:

• Hot – This is generally the beginning, middle, and end of the year. If you didn’t catch that, this season is universal and all encompassing.
• Hot and Wet – This is when you know summer is on its way. Rain is intermittent and leaves the air with a rich, damp, stank humidity.
• Hot, Wet, and Windy – You might also know this one as Hurricane Season. Sometimes it’s less of a season and more of a game for the newscasters. ‘Which oddly named windbag do you think will actually hit us this time, Susan?’
• Mild – There is a patchy week to month long period near the end of the year where the southern parts of Florida finally dip down into the low 70s and the northern parts might even get cool. This is also called ‘Snowbird Season.’ Northerners who can’t take a real winter anymore travel down to the Sunshine State to laugh at us for wearing parkas in 60 degree temperatures.
• Fire – This would be Florida’s optional fifth season if it has decided to skip over ‘Hot and Wet’ before really hitting the summer heat. Daily news bulletins are posted showing where the next big wild fire is and which way the wind is blowing. Fun!

**Total irrelevant side note: If you want to see something really fun during fire season, watch the palm trees. They explode!**

Having just left a place with seasons like this, I thought for a brief moment that I would finally be able to escape the heat. Not so. I guess a warm summer is part of the cycle of real seasons, so I’ll tough it out. The rain here hasn’t made it nearly as humid as Florida, so there’s a plus. And after all of this summer nonsense is over, I know that fall and winter are close behind. I’m so excited to be somewhere where these things actually exist!

Now wait until December when I post about how unbearably cold it is without central heating.

Fun Fact: Being so close to Canada does not make it cold here. As of May 29, 2012…quite hot indeed.

Lesson #1

It’s taken me a while to decide how I wanted to start off with this blog. I mean, beyond the OIP which is by definition obligatory, there’s just so damn much about New York City to share that it’s very difficult to know where to begin. So the past few days I’ve allowed myself to collect pictures, have new experiences, and just see where the stinky winds of this city would take me. And then out of the blue, inspiration hit me! It hit me square in the bladder.

Let me paint the picture for you. I’m looking super snazzy cute with my boots, dark jeans, trendy t-shirt and hipster vest. I’ve made my way onto the 7 train to head into the city. Until I have a job, I might as well explore a little, right? Right. Still new to this whole public transit business, I didn’t have a book or any music on me, so I did what comes naturally. People watching isn’t weird as long as you don’t stare.

BAM!

The second cup of coffee was a bad idea. We’re only half way to 42^nd Street, and I’m forced to regret my gluttony. Why couldn’t I have just left it at one delicious cup-o-joe?!

Luckily I’m 23, and the muscles keeping all the urine inside of my body have not failed me yet. How much will I pay for this statement when in another 10 years? We’ll see. I was, however, fortunate enough to squeeze hobble stride (this is an effective method of travel when about to burst) my way into a Starbucks…this time.

In all honesty, the second cup of coffee is not to blame. I love you, coffee. Please continue to make my mornings smell so nice and taste bitterly divine. No! The blame rests squarely on my shoulders. In this frantic almost catastrophic episode, I learned what may very well be the most important lesson of all about daily living in New York City:

Before you go anywhere, pee first.

You may not feel like you have to just yet. You might think to yourself ‘oh, I’ve only got a 25 minute ride, I’ll be fine.’ Perhaps you are just a polite soul, and you want to give Mother Nature the chance to call you. Don’t! Before you walk out the door, you better ring that ho up and force her hand.

Aside from the endless number of ways in which your public travel times can be messed with, delayed, extended, and obliterated thanks to the diligent work of so many workers (I’m looking at you 11pm construction crew), you may not always have somewhere convenient to go once you get to your destination. Many roadside shops don’t have public restrooms. Most restaurants and bars have tiny signs saying that only their customers have permission to pittle there. I’ve been warned by real New Yorkers that a large number of free restrooms should be considered health hazards and avoided at all cost.

Safe bet? Find a Starbucks or a shopping mall. Those seem to be pretty well kept and don’t require the purchase of some overpriced entrée to gain access.

Safest bet? Pee before you leave to go ANYWHERE!

Who knows what might happen when you go downstairs to drop off some mail? Adventures seem to sweep you away at the funniest times here. So be prepared, dear reader. Be prepared.

Lesson Learned: Always pee first.

Hello, hello! (Obligatory Introductory Post)

Hello to you my dear internet explorers, web surfers, online adventures, friends, family and otherwise worldly types. My name is Brogan Wikarek, and this is my Obligatory Introductory Post. That’s OIP for short. I actually kind of like that. Let’s be sure and make it a thing.

I am a native Floridian who just made the big move up to New York City! My flight landed on May 18^th, but it hasn’t really set in yet that I’m not going back. I’m getting settled in slowly but surely, and before you know it I’ll be in my own tiny box of a studio living the life of the starving artist. I’m sure this big, bad city will welcome me with open arms.

“Hello, New York! How are you today?”

“Get out of the way, fuckin’ asshole!”

Ahhh, New York City. How I’ve longed to call you home.

For the sake of formality, I’ll go ahead and at this point assume you have no idea who I am or what I’m doing here. So let me clear some things up.

Who am I?

I’m the only Brogan I’ve ever encountered. Wait, I take that back. I met a girl in college, but she spelled her name Brogen. Weird, right? Either way, there aren’t many of us out there. But I’m the only one that happens to be me. I am 23 years old, have a penis, feel most at home when I’m up on stage acting/singing/dancing (or any combination of the three), would be first in line if public nudity became legalized, quite enjoy all kinds of wine, drink tea like it was water, drink water like it was arsenic (but I’m trying to get better), have been a serial monogamist, fall oddly into the gay stereotype, and consider myself imaginative, creative, and an all around adventurer.

What am I doing here?

Pretty much my entire family is from New York City, the immediate folks at least, and moved down to Florida before I was born. As I grew up, more and more of my family migrated down. Something about Florida seems to fascinate and entice those from the North. Maybe snow really does suck that bad. Well you know what I think sucks? Palm trees! Now that I’m done with University, the time has come for me to flip the family trend on its ass and move some Floridian blood up into the Big Apple.

Any time I’ve visited New York City, I have had to fight the urge to stay. Well I’m done with that. Bring on the city, baby.

And what am I doing…here?

This, being the OIP (make it a thing!), is just me trying to give you all a sense of my style and vibe. From here on out, I’ll be writing about all of the New York City experiences I have along my way to wherever this life takes me. You can laugh with me, laugh at me, learn with me, and otherwise just take from my posts what you will.

So to answer more clearly, I’m here to share my adventure with you. My new life, my new home: New York!