The train was packed this morning. The space is filled, summer is over. Folks have returned from vacation, kids going back to school. It is gray and raining but the faces I saw are still tanned. There are new clothes, bright and crisp. My only complaint is that some of the perfume and hair product that came in my vicinity was enough to knock a buzzard off a shitwagon.
Otherwise, welcome back, World.
Walking down the street today I saw a big woman having an intense conversation. She didn’t look pleased. But we made eye contact as I passed by and without thinking, I smiled. I was by her when she cut off what she was saying.
“Hi, Love,” she said to me.
“Morning,” I said.
Who says New Yorkers aren’t friendly?
[Photo Credit: Joel Zimmer]
I’ll meet you at the Bat.
…under the Big Board.
…next to Alice.
…under the Button and Needle.
…sitting near the Fountain.
…at Love.
“At the Bat” and “Under the Big Board” (at Penn Station) have backfired repeatedly, yet I still use them all the time.
Where do people meet you?
This is the first thing I saw when I walked out of the subway onto the street today.
Goooooood mornin’. Toon Town, NYC Style.
The subway trains ran this morning, but for whatever reason, there weren’t too many people underground. Originally the Mayor said we shouldn’t expect public transportation to be operational today. Maybe some people just left it at that. Maybe they had aftermath to quell.
There are days like this, usually around the holidays, when the crowd on the train shrinks past the usual density into something comfortable and quiet. It sets up a gentler day, and that’s certainly welcome after the big storm.
Photo by Kitty
This is one of my favorite weeks in New York, the last week of summer. The town is quiet, but this morning it was especially still. It was also cool too, a distinct hint of autumn in the air. It was a relief to hear the chugging sounds of the subway. Back in business.
[Photo Credit: Herve Bertrand]
No games today. Just storm watch. We got batteries, life jackets, water, an ark. We should be good to go.
Hope everyone stays safe.
[Photo Credit: Craig Robinson]
In light of the news that Derek Jeter and Minka Kelly have split up, please see Jon’s New York Minute post from yesterday. Leave a comment while you are there if you are so inclined.
I love legitimate theater.
Would a ticket to a night of one-acts inspired by Derek Jeter constitute the greatest gag gift ever given to a Red Sox fan?
I see a tough girl from the Bronx with a huge crush on Jeter. Her lumpy boyfriend, who is sweet but dim, takes her to a game for her birthday. Bleachers of course. He proposes at the game, fans jeer. And her answer is…?
Or a couple of low-lifes drink beer in a dark apartment working up the courage to go out and rob a convenience store. The ballgame is on in the background as they alternate between bickering and goading. The game turns dramatic, Derek Jeter sends it to extra innings with a clutch hit. Do the guys still commit the crime?
What do you see?
I saw the King this morning. He was slinking after a squirrel. Then he saw me, came over, meowed, and let me pet him. Then he walked off and took a bath.
It’s good to be the King.
Just felt a minor tremor here in midtown. Everyone on the floor is buzzing about it.
[Photo Credit: Set Babies on Fire]
Every now and then I have to be at work very, very early. Walking to the subway as dawn creeps up from below the elevated IRT lines. Sharing the subway with a sparse collection of early risers. Arriving at the office and flipping the lights on before anyone else has even turned on the shower.
I’m exhausted at the start. Can barely keep my eyes open. But damn, if those aren’t the most beautiful commutes.
The farmer’s market wins again. Really, it makes life in the city even better than it already is.
A few weeks ago I saw a cat sitting outside of my apartment building. I looked at his tag and called the number. Maybe he was lost. No answer. I assumed it was a “he,” don’t ask me why but he looked healthy. Didn’t look lost either.I pet him and the cat meowed and I left for work. A few days later I saw him up the block. I passed by and said hello and he meowed back. Then this morning I saw him around the corner, standing guard. I wasn’t worried about him anymore.
A beautiful young women boarded the train this morning and sat down in the seat right next to me. Right behind her was a dad and his pre-teen daughter. The dad suggested that the daughter shift one seat to her left so he could sit next to the beautiful young woman on her other side.
He turned away from his daughter and started talking to the woman. They were strangers, but had just met on the platform when he noticed she had some paperwork from a graduate program he recognized. What followed was possibly just normal chit-chat, but I viewed it as a come-on all the way.
The dad was speed talking and never once turned back to his daughter. They lived in the same area and he mentioned that he had a dog and it sparked something in the young woman’s memory. “Do you have that little, black dachshund?” she asked.
He was wounded. “Do I look like the kind of guy that would have a dachshund?” he answered in a tone the demanded an answer.
“Well, no. I guess,” she said. But she was just giving him what he needed at that point.
“I’ve got an 80 pound lab, a real monster.”
I don’t know why the whole thing seemed so creepy. It probably wasn’t, and the guy was wearing a Yankee hat. Maybe it was just because the young woman was so attractive and he appeared so eager. The part that really made me uncomfortable was the way he boxed out his daughter. But maybe she had a book to read. I got up and left them the first chance I got and I didn’t look back.
I returned to the city yesterday after five days in Vermont. Took a cab home from the airport and had an engaging conversation with the cabbie who is from the Ivory Coast. He has been in the States for fifteen years, lives in Harlem, and is married to an American. He told me that some of his wife’s family looks down on him. One cousin called him “a stupid African.”
“This is someone who lives on public assistance,” the cabbie told me. “If you come from a poor country you never think to take the government’s money because it doesn’t exist for you. I have lived on three continents, I speak three languages, but I am a stupid African?”
I asked him how he dealt with the cousin.
“My father used to tell a story. If you are a taking a shower and a man steals your clothes, you do not chase that man because then you will look even more foolish than him.”
Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep, Yeah.
[Photo Credit: Brian Hillegas]
Yesterday morning on the A Train, I gave up my seat for a Sox fan on crutches. I got to work early to cancel all my credit cards and order a new driver’s license for my new wallet. It was annoying but over in twenty minutes.
Quitting time was fast approaching, but I still had piles of vacation work to catch up on. I had made my peace with the Yankees, Rivera, the Red Sox and their nation as I worked. I got a call from home. They found the wallet. Almost everything in it is now useless, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved. I hate to be careless, though I know I am prone to lapses too often.
I jumped down to the 1 Train to go Uptown, put on my music and opened my book in something resembling a good mood. I got bumped from behind as I waited for the train. It was a strong shove, enough to move my feet but not enough to knock me off balance. I looked up. It was the same Sox fan on crutches. So hard to navigate those platforms on crutches.
He apologized needlessly and started to move down the platform but then recognized me from the morning and stopped as I pulled out my earphones. I had an idea to tell him he had starred in a New York Minute, but decided that the minor thrill wouldn’t be worth the voluminous exposition.
We boarded a rush-hour 1 Train and some other guy saw his crutches and hopped up for him. We looked at each other and he laughed out loud.
P.S. The wallet was in the oven.
