I saw a young woman crying on the subway platform today. From fifty feet away I could tell–her head was bowed, her hands covered her face. As I moved closer, she came into focus and yes, she was crying, the corners of her mouth turned down. My first instinct was to offer her comfort. That was quickly replaced by another thought–Who do you think you are, bro? What are you going to do? It’s none of your business.

Why was she crying? Did someone die, did she get into a fight with her boyfriend? I wondered as I walked past her and said nothing.

[Photo Credit: Le Xuan-Cung]

Tonight’s game has been postponed.

[Picture by Bags]

Dig what I came across in Midtown yesterday…

Although this is a 2009 vintage I officially nominate this vehicle as the 2011 Bronx Banter Scoretruck. Can I get a witness?

Fresh direct from the Lo Hud Yankees oven comes news that Rafael Soriano is sorry that he split without talking to reporters last night.

Here’s tonight’s line-up:

1. Gardner LF
2. Granderson CF
3. Teixeira 1B
4. Rodriguez DH
5. Cano 2B
6. Swisher RF
7. Chavez 3B
8. Nunez SS
9. Molina C
Garcia P

Forget the chumps–or that Chump, in particular–here comes Fab Five Freddy and

Let’s go Yan-Kees!

Ever feel lonely in the big city? I constantly talk to strangers, or communicate with them through eye contact or a head nod. My family is here. I’m out there in the world. But sometimes the loneliness is impossible to escape and it will creep up on you, even briefly, when you least expect it.

Here’s a 1969 piece by Jimmy Breslin from New York Magazine:

“Norman, let’s run.”

“I know, they spoke to me. But I have to clean up some business first. I think we could make a great team. Now here’s what I’m doing. I’m going to Provincetown for a week to think this over. Maybe we can get together for a night before I go. Then when I come back, we can make up our minds.”

“All right,” I said.

So two nights later there were about 40 people in the top floor of Mailer’s house in Brooklyn Heights. They were talking about the terrible condition the city was in, and of the incredible group of candidates the Democrats had in the mayoralty primary, which is on June 17. Norman Mailer began to talk about the right and the left mixing their flames together and forming a great coalition of orange flame with a hot center and I looked out the window at the harbor, down at a brightly lit freighter sitting in the black water under the window, and I was uneasy about Mailer’s political theories. I was uncertain of the vibrations. Then I turned around and said something about there being nine candidates for mayor and if New York tradition was upheld, the one who got in front in the race would be indicted. When I saw Norman Mailer laughing at what I said. I decided that he was very smart at politics. When I saw the others laugh, I felt my nerves purring.

Then he began to talk casually, as if everybody knew it and had been discussing it for weeks, about there being no such thing as integration and that the only way things could improve would be with a black community governing itself. “We need a black mayor,” Mailer said. “I’ll be the white mayor and they have to elect a black mayor for themselves. Just give them the money and the power and let them run themselves. We have no right to talk to these people anymore. We lost that a long time ago. They don’t want us. The only thing white people have done for the blacks is betray them.”

There hasn’t been a person with the ability to say this in my time in this city. I began to think a little harder about the prospects of Mailer and me running the city.

A different time, eh?

Big sports day, Yanks later this afternoon, Final Four this evening. The sun has returned to the Bronx. Enjoy it and we’ll be back later for the game.

Oh, and in case you haven’t been following, The Yankee Analysts have been absolutely killin’ it lately. Check ’em out!

Here’s some Saturday Soul for your face:

Opening Day, Part II, an open thread…

[Picture by Bags]

Water towers are an indelible part of the New York City skyscape. They are as New York as pigeons, pastrami, and “watch the closing doors.” Thanks once again to Bags for providing the picture.

I am fortunate to have a friend like Bags, a guy who likes to wander around with one of his many cameras and shoot the city. Today is dedicated to Bags. Keep ’em coming, Hoss, you make the Banter a richer place.

Let’s start with what a co-worker calls “brehfess.” Doughnut, anyone?

Gotta love an Opening Day win, huh? Now, go grab a nosh, ya hoid?

[Picture by Bags]

Opening Day. It is cold and rainy in the Bronx but it today is Opening Day and there will be baseball. It’s been a long winter and I’ve waited months to clap my hands and say the following:

Let’s Go Yan-Kees!

[Photo Credit: Pictures for walls]

Eh, I just had “Shattered” on the brain.

Via the Gothamist, check out this footage…I was 15 that summer (thanks to Bronx Rob, now Brooklyn Rob, for passing this along).

Last week, the gifted Jeff MacGregor, who has unfortunately been buried somewhere in the ESPN wilderness, offered up this gem about the cage down on West 4th:

There is no inside game at all, except on the putback. Nobody drives, nobody works down low or inside. Sometimes the airball falls straight from the sky, is caught, is lifted back or is lofted downrange. But it is a shooter’s game without shooters.

This is strange, because the game at West 4th is historically tough, all elbows and grunt and hard feelings. The miniature court rewards ruthlessness and body mass, not speed. Games here in August, played by older, angrier men, unfold like long-form fistfights in the heat. Not today.

The Cage is filled instead with city peacocks. Black and white and brown. Dazzling and radiant and useless.

Perfect.

[Photo Credit: NYC Gov Parks]

My first few apartments in New York were near the 6 Train. Using the 6 Train as your primary train is like eating from a salad bar and filling your bowl with only croutons. It may work for you, but only if you have specific, limited requirements and a tiny imagination.

It was several years before I felt comfortable with the rest of the system. If I was on the West Side and I needed to get to Yankee Stadium, I had to actually consult the map and think twice.

Now I live Uptown, work in Midtown, and have a wide variety of routes at my disposal. The labyrinth went from over-my-head to back-of-my-hand, though I can’t pinpoint the moment when the information fully settled. But it’s there now and it feels good to master something that seemed so complex at first.

As long as we’re not talking about Brooklyn and Queens. That’s just a mess.

When you leave New York people tend to be more open, easier with saying “hello” or “thank you” if you hold the door open for them. That doesn’t mean that we’re unthinking brutes, even if we are rough around the edges. It’s just that New Yorkers are more measured with their kindness. It doesn’t come automatically, which makes you appreciate it more when you find it. I’ll tell you this, though–I’m a hopeless snob against people who move to New York and are unfriendly. Maybe they are just trying to fit in, but hey, pal, it doesn’t hurt to be nice.

(more…)

Alex Rodriguez has enjoyed a monstrous spring. Here’s hoping the good times roll into the season.

There is a new book out from W.W. Norton, “The Times Square Story,” by Geoffrey O’Brien that looks like a keeper.

Over at Bombsite, O’Brien is interviewed by Banter favorite, Luc Sante, where the talk is about the old Times Square:

LS Times Square has been the madcap entertainment capital of the world since at least 1906. But there is a special potency to the postwar era. It seems like the one that will be engraved in collective memory; there’s an enormous subculture based on Times Square in the 1950s and ‘60s—books, videos, CDs, Psychotronic…

GO It’s the old seediness, the old sordidness, which has a completely different meaning now. Part of what changed in Times Square was the advent of hard-core pornographic movies at the end of the 1960s, which put the previous movies in a very different light. It’s as if everything up to that point had been a long, complicated tease and then finally the tease was over. The character of Times Square changed drastically in the ‘70s; by the early ‘80s it was a pretty scary place. It certainly was a different place to walk around in than it had been in the ‘60s. Having grown up in suburban Long Island, I had never seen anything like that. There was really a sense of, Oh, this is the culture I live in. This is what our culture is really thinking about underneath everything else: gigantic forms, enormous shapes, all the hot buttons being pushed, the beautiful unsubtlety of everything. At the same time, there were all kinds of strange subtleties to be discovered. I’m thinking about the movies I watched in the ‘60s, Italian horror movies, science fiction movies, all those spy movies that you and I both seem to have been marked by.

…LS Now, in a way, Times Square is everywhere.

GO Times Square was a kind of zoo of images which are available everywhere now. There is almost no more need for Times Square in the same way there was no need for porno theaters after video came out. You rent movies now about mad doctors dismembering people or people being held in South American prison camps or whatever your particular fancy is. So Times Square is everywhere in this sort of disembodied form, but without the smoke, without the hot dogs, without the peripheral population of people which made it human and which made it seem like part of the world. Now it seems like some weird hyperspace culture of self-replicating images.

LS That is the shape of the future. All of culture is disembodied. You and your 75 friends on the Internet who are interested in H0-scale railroads have never actually met. In city after city, whatever was the equivalent of Times Square is gone, though you can see its vague outline. I was in Seattle last month and realized my hotel was on what used to be that strip. You could tell because across the street there was still one pawn shop and one gun shop. All the movie theaters were gone.

GO I had a similar experience in San Jose, which has otherwise been dismantled and rebuilt as a theme park called Downtown San Jose. I went wandering and found a strip with some funky little stores that were selling bizarre memorabilia and old knickknacks. That general air of rotting paper is always a clue you’re getting near. The only beautiful building I saw in San Jose was a battered old movie theater, which I was told was the subject of a massive political struggle between the people who wanted to preserve it and the developers who wanted to tear it down. It had become the battleground for the preservation of some kind of ancient, sleazy, downtown culture.

The book is about the 1960s but I remember the Times Square of the early ’80s.

My old man lived in Weehawken for a year in 1981-82 and we often walked across 42nd street from the Port Authority on 8th Avenue to Grand Central on the East Side, where he’d put us back on a train to Westchester. I always felt safe with my dad but I remember feeling danger and unease every step of the way. I’ll never forget the signs for Kung Fu movies and the Porno theaters–what was the difference between X and XXX, anyway?–the hookers with bruises on their legs and the men looking at you with screwed up faces.

“The Times Square Story” is out now. Check for it.

Yanks and Knicks on TV tonight…

[Picture by Bags]

Here is an interview with the filmmaker over at Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York.