There’s a big fuss today about NBC’s replacing New York City’s coffee cups to promote the Olympics this summer. But really, what’s the fuss? The Beastie Boys did this years ago.

In the few years I’ve lived in the neighborhood, Union Square has completed an extensive round of renovations. Metal rails have replaced chicken wire fences, concrete plazas have been resurfaced in stone, embedded plaques and sturdy park benches ring the sidewalks, and new plants and trees abound. Perhaps most importantly, though, is the resuscitation of the grass.

In recent years the parks department has done a commendable job with the lawns in the square: it spends 10 months out of the year fertilizing and watering, to the point where, come May, the central areas of Union Square look as good as a proud suburban yard. The rest of the summer is spent battling the masses as they slowly trample the lawns.

As a local dog owner, Union Square is, in a sense, my yard, and I am thankful for the healthy, fenced-in grass. In the wintertime, we let the pooch run free at night when it snows, watching him romp in untouched powder, sometimes with other joyous dogs and their owners, as the cold makes the square a semi-private play area. In the summer, though, the lawn, and the rest of the square, ceases to be ours. Long into the night it is wildly populated, with a mix of people and a palpable vibrance that shouts New York.

I find great joy in people-watching as I pass by the lawns, as I spy groups I encounter daily and one-off surprises: the bums that sleep flat on the grass, some face-up, arms over faces, some face-down like they fell there; the teenagers that lean against the rails and sit on the stone walls; young couples relaxing, snacking, laughing, necking; groups of NYU students sunbathing, the men shirtless, the women in bikini tops, as though water were nearby; the pair of didgeridoo players practicing together; the man emoting loudly to himself, deep in a soliloquy, warming up for an unspecified performance or audition; the off-duty stripper reading a book, her unrealistic implants causing double-takes; the boys with signs rating cute girls as they walk by, temporarily diverting their efforts to rate my dog. (They gave him 8s and a 10.)

It’s not a private, quiet backyard, but for now, it’s my backyard. And despite the occasional spooky moment, there’s something comfortably reassuring about the throngs of people across the street, who serve as a nice reminder that in this town, no one ever needs to be alone.

Call Continental Airlines customer service, and recorded and live representatives make it a point to state, “We know you have a choice with your air travel, and we appreciate your choosing Continental.” Ironic, then, that they don’t treat their customers that way.

This spring, I flew domestic and international Continental flights and booked a forthcoming trip with frequent flyer miles. Some of what I’ve experienced:

– Each and every time I called Continental, the customer service rep asked, “And will you be needing a rental car on that trip?” This was posed even when I was going places where their rental car partners don’t have a presence (Prague) or called to ask questions about flights I had yet to book.

– When I called to lodge a complaint about a delayed flight, a representative told me that only 75 minutes of my 150-minute wait was “Continental’s responsibility.” As a result, she refused to consider my flight “significantly delayed,” placing my complaint below the two-hour qualifying threshold for compensation. When I asked to be transferred to a supervisor the representative flat-out refused. (A supervisor called me two days later, apologetic, and as an apology sent me “gift certificate vouchers” that I haven’t yet figured out how to use.)

– On one trip, a flight attendant glowered at me and muttered under his breath when I asked for a can of soda rather than a half-full plastic cup.

– Having flown a variety of airlines over the past 12 months (American, Delta, JetBlue, Virgin Atlantic, EasyJet), Continental has the least amount of coach-class legroom.

– And the real kicker, in my book: following the safety instructions on my international flight, the airplane’s media system showed three minutes of commercials complete with loud audio accompaniment.

Compare these experiences to the generally superior legroom on American, the way JetBlue flight attendants give you extra snacks with a wink when you can’t decide what you want, the Virgin Atlantic representative who gave me her full name and extension so I could ask for her on return calls, and the time a friendly JetBlue gate attendant placed a block on the seat next to me so I could sprawl on an overnight flight. There’s no contest.

I may be a captive audience once my ticket is purchased, but airline travel from New York City is a highly competitive market, and it will be a while before I choose to fly Continental again.