Seen a few weeks ago on a warm night in Times Square.
Emily and I said congratulations as the bride and groom swept passed us.
“Nice quiet getaway,” I said. “Don’t worry, nobody will notice.”
A few people around us laughed. It wasn’t an imaginative thing to say but the moment cried out for a remark and it’s better to try and fail than to keep quiet. At least in this town it is.
Before cell phones and before Purell I never thought twice about using a pay phone. Yeah, I’d look at the receiver before I put it to my ear but don’t recall getting all Felix Unger about it. Now I can’t remember the last time I used a pay phone, can you?
Seen in the bathroom of a bar in the East Village.
In case you’d forgotten: Dylan is the Still King.
Dial “W” for murder.
A photo gallery of Weegee’s murder photography over at the most wunnerful How to be a Retronaut.
Here’s another Weegee gallery, this one at the New York Times.
There was a cool photo gallery of Steven Siegel’s photography yesterday at The Gothamist.
Check this out:
I saw a couple on the train this morning who were not shy about showing their affection. It was as if they were all alone, or perhaps they just get their kicks smooching in a crowd. Who knows?
It was warm on Saturday afternoon. Here’s the wife as the 1 train rolls into the station. Yup, she’s a good one.
The Iron Horse in the Bronx.
Sure, there can be problems on the train. If you live uptown, service can be sketchy on the weekends. But it’s incredible to me that the trains run as well as they do.
Before I walk into an elevator I look up at the mirror. Force of habit from when I was a kid. Maybe “Dressed to Kill” got into my head. More likely, it’s a reflex I developed growing up in New York during a time when you expected to get mugged at any moment. I know it might be extreme now, but the mirror is there for a reason. When the elevator doors open I brace myself and look up at the mirror. Just in case.
I saw a kid on the train today with a Daniel Boone hat. Go figure that. What’s old is new.
The platform at 238th street this morning was almost empty. So was the train. Not a bad feeling, especially knowing how mad Manhattan will be come tomorrow night.
Going to the movies in a snowstorm? Now, that’s a good idea. I saw “The Color of Money” during a blizzard. What movies have you seen in the theater when it was snowing outside?
[Photo Credit: Pete Turner via the incredible site, This Isn’t Happiness]
The sun is bright today and we haven’t seen any snow yet in New York. With only a few days before Christmas I’m sure there are some who’d like to see that change.
In the meantime, check out another wonderful photo gallery from our pals at How to Be a Retronaut.
[Photo Credit: Alfred Stieglitz]
Picture this: I’m over-dressed in my goose-down winter coat this morning looking like the goddamn Stay-Puft marshmallow man. My backpack is loaded with gifts that I’m bringing to my family’s Chanukah party tonight. I’ve got two shopping bags, one with more presents, the other with the cabbage salad I prepared last night. By hand, dammit, I sliced four heads of cabbage–thin!–by hand.
“Why don’t you just use the machine?” said the wife.
“Tradition!” I say, referring as much to the masochism as the end result.
So I get on the subway with all my junk, neck still sore from leaning over the cutting board, and sit at the end of the car, next to the wall, so that I’ll only have a person to my right. In no time, the train is crowded. And then, at 181st street, the subway moment I dread–hot food.
Two people, two sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches. Nowhere for me to move. Trapped.
And they housed that shit by the time we got to 137th street. Believe it.
It’s hard to figure that it’s almost been five years since my Dad passed away. I got to thinking about him on the subway this morning when a man came on the train with a bible in his left hand and started talking about Jesus. The man through the packed car slowly and was ignored by the passengers. I smiled as I remembered something Dad once said to a subway preacher. Dad looked up from his book when the preacher got close, looked up at him and in a loud, clear voice said, “Sir, your arrogance is breathtaking.”
Ah, the old man was a good one.
The street photography of New York in the 1980s by Jamel Shabazz still sings.
Peace to How to Be a Retronaut (the gift that keeps giving).
