On Friday afternoon a friend of mine called from the subway platform on the 7 line in Queens. He was above ground and freezing his tucchas off. He said that when New York is this cold, the streets white from the salt, he is reminded of the scene in “The French Connection” when Gene Hackman is shadowing the Fernando Rey character. Popeye Doyle is standing outside in the cold, shivering, on the stake-out, for what seems like hours, hopping in place, trying to stay warm, while Charnier is comfortably eating dinner in a toasty, upscale bistro. That’s what New York is like when it gets this cold, he told me. Gray and unforgiving. Ain’t it the truth.
Our weekend travel plans shelved, Em and I got up bright and early on Saturday morning and headed down to the big Fairway store, off 125th street and the West Side Highway, where we do our weekly shopping. We knew there would be a rush what with a snow storm on the way, but dag, by a quarter-to-nine in the morning, the place was ridiculous. “Dogs and cats, sleeping together…” It was retarded. Leave it to New Yorkers to get nuts over a foot of snow. We weaved and dodged our way through the panic and managed to get home a few hours before the snow actually hit. Ahhh, so what to do during a snow storm? Why make a home-made chicken soup, of course.
Which is how I spent my Saturday. In the evening, when cabin fever began to set in, Emily dragged my ass outside for a walk. She loves the snow, and we had a good time doing the snow-angel thing, trooping around the neighborhood, taking-in the silence, admiring big patches of virgin snow. We returned home for some hot chocolate and watched “Cutter’s Way,” a slept-on 1981 Jeff Bridges thriller, that featured John Heard’s breakthrough, if hammy, performance. Emily got distracted and was up puttering around about half-way through the movie. I hadn’t seen it years and think it holds up pretty well. But then again, I’m a sucker for Jeff Bridges, who is almost always good.
Not much happened in New York baseball over the weekend. The Mets are still in the hunt for Carlos Delgado…or are they? Meanwhile, the Yanks picked up Rey Sanchez to be their futility infielder. Sanchez played with the team briefly in 1997 and got along famously with Derek Jeter. I know the guy can’t hit, and I don’t know how much he’s lost in the field–he used to be reliable–but I’ve always liked him, scrub or not.