RIP Snot-Green couch

The Snot-Green couch at the start of her life

The Snot-Green couch after the "facelift"

The snot-green couch (may it RIP) finally had to be evicted.
One too many prong pokes from the bedraggled cushions.

After getting my second booster shot, I came home on the bus and got off right across from the furniture store where I’d bought SNC lo! these many years ago.

In I went and said “sell me a couch.”
If you ever need to feel loved, say that in a furniture store.

Bare-chested nubile young men arrived bearing chairs, coffee service, and a tray of delicacies.

A pleasant hour transpired while I viewed the options,  sat and re-sat, picked the one I wanted, pronounced it suitable, and handed over wads of cash.

Next day two hefty men who could clearly bench press a building arrived carrying the couch as thought it was a purse.

Up three flights of stairs in 90+ degree weather. More wads of cash into their mitts to say thanks.

Assembly ensued and now I sit on the new couch with nary a prod, prong or problem.


I'm now working on developing lolling as a fine art. 

 

 

New couch on Day One

 

No one asked, he just stepped up

I was on my way to lunch with an editor yesterday. It was raining the way it does in spring: torrents followed by buckets, followed by mist. Rain, rinse, repeat.  Sogginess all around.

In other words it was a wretched day to be out.

But it was a worse day to be in an ambulance.

Traffic was snarled. Tempers were flaring. The ambulance siren was LOUD. And it wasn't moving.

The ambulance was coming west on Fulton, about 200 feet before the intersection with Broadway which runs north/south.  The cars ahead of the ambulance on Fulton couldn't pull to the side due to the construction. They couldn't pull ahead onto Broadway because traffic was moving at a good clip with the light in their favor.

A man just ahead of me on the sidewalk stepped out onto Broadway. He raised his arms in the universal message of STOP.  He stopped all three lanes of traffic on Broadway, then turned his back and waved to the cars on Fulton. This time it was the universally recognized sign for "get your ass moving!"

And the Fulton street cars did, pulling aside in the space created at the intersection of Broadway and Fulton. The ambulance roared past. Without turning to anyone else on the street for any kind of acknowledgement,  the man continued on his way across the street.

At that moment it was clear I'd seen an everyday hero. He stepped up and did what needed to be done. No one asked. No one thanked him. The ambulance patient will never know about this moment.

But it's this kind of small but epic moment of which lives of uncommon valour are made.

I thought of this today because a friend lost her father this week. He had lived a long, well-loved life. He'd been married for 59 years, raised four daughters, one of whom I know to be the kind of person you want with you in the life boat.

Her dad was not famous. He did not have an epic resume. But it was clear to me in the space between the lines of his obituary that he was an everyday hero.

Now more than ever I need to remember there are truly good people in this world.

Tell me about an everyday hero you've seen.

Lunch ladies and drummers

This comment from Gypmar on Wednesday's blog post made me think of the elementary school lunch ladies I never knew, but loved a lot.

I did two years as a lunch lady at my kids' school, partly for the reason you mention! We live off my husband's income, and the money barely made a difference, but I felt like I needed to do more than be home all day while my kids were at school.

Two years were all I could take, but I did get some good stories. Nobody works or parties harder than lunch ladies! 

As you might imagine, I did not enjoy being a child. I hated being told what to do (still do). I hated having to get up early (still do.) I was relentlessly competitive and the first B I ever got made me mad (yup, still mad!)

And of course, I got in trouble for talking out of turn a LOT. And for being bossy (which was what they called girls who demonstrated leadership skills back in the day.)

I made more than a few trips to the principal's office for a scolding.

But sometimes, after those scoldings, when the whole day seemed bleak, I'd come out of the office into the hall by the school lunchroom. There, I'd be enfolded in the most delicious smell. The lunch ladies were baking chocolate chip cookies. Knowing there would be a warm cookie at lunch perked me right up. Those lunch ladies un-bleakened the day more than once.


I was not thinking about lunch ladies or chocolate chip cookies several nights ago on my subway ride home. The New York subway is full of buskers; some are terrific, and some plain awful. The most awful of the awful are the guys who beat on overturned plastic buckets with drumsticks. They might be talented drummers but on the subway platform the noise is LOUD, off-key, and dead ugly.

These drummers are so common at the Union Square station at night, I take pains to connect to the L-train at another station to avoid standing on the same platform with them for four minutes.

So, when a man got on the Brooklyn bound L at Union Square and announced himself as a drummer, I cringed inwardly. I turned up my coat collar, sank into my seat and thought seriously about getting off at the next stop to wait for the following train. But I was tired. And hungry. And the car was really crowded so moving at all was a bit of a trick.

And then all deities, foreign and domestic, smiled down on us.

This drummer was not a bucket beater.  He announced himself as an ethno-musicologist, then asked a lady sitting near him if she knew what that was. She gave an inaudible answer so he explained the word to us, and how he came to be one.

And then he struck the drum he had. It had a warm, rich, living sound. The drum was made of skins and wood, carefully crafted to make a beautiful sound. It was akin to a plastic bucket as a goldfish is to a shark.

And then he played, and by played I mean he made that drum sing. And he added the vocal line.

It was almost magical how the mood of the car changed. How MY mood changed. Suddenly we were the audience to a glorious moment of living art.

It only lasted four minutes; the drummer got off at the first stop in Brooklyn. My fellow audience members plied him with currency. I reached in my pocket for what I thought was a dollar bill, turned out it was a ten. I gave it to him anyway. He was worth every nickel.


There is no great insight here; no inspirational message to keep you motivated. Nothing to print out and tape on your computer to get you through dark nights of plot holes and recalcitrant characters.

It's just that the lunch ladies and the L-train drummer were each doing their job. I'm sure every lady in the cafeteria kitchen would rather have been at home, baking cookies for her own kids; I'm certain the drummer had loftier performance dreams than being a busker for dollar bills on an L-train full of wet, surly Brooklynites.

But the work they did, even if they didn't know or care, turned out to be important to someone they'll never know about.

Sometimes when I'm doing the routine things in my day to day life, I need to remember that.
Do you?

We Will Never Forget

Blog readers coming to NYC for this weekend's conference

I'm seeing a lot of chatter in the comments about youze guyz coming to NYC for the Writers' Digest conference this weekend.

Here are some tips:

1. Don't take a cab from JFK if you're watching your pennies. The AirTrain at the airport goes to the A-train (subway) for $8.00

However, don't worry about being gouged by a cab driver if you do get an airport cab. The fares IN to the city are flat fee, and regulated.

2. If you're worried about the cost of food at the hotel, remember you are steps away from other places to nosh.  Get on your walking shoes and head EAST from the hotel to Lexington or Third Ave.   There are small diners, and what look like small grocery stores to you. Every small grocery store (what we call a bodega) has a deli and a grill.  For breakfast, they'll make you a bacon egg and cheese on a roll (or bagel) for $5.00 Add a large coffee and it's $7.00 total.  For lunch, a turkey sandwich on a roll is about $5.50.

Many of the delis have buffets too. They charge you by the pound. The buffets close to our office are $9.00 per pound.

Now I  know that's more than what you pay out there in places like Muncie Indiana (where I nearly fainted at how little it cost for great Thai food on Friday night) but it's cheap for NYC.

3. One of the best things to do in NYC is ride the Staten Island Ferry. It's free. Take the 4/5 train downtown, or the 1 train downtown. Get off at Battery Park, and the ferry terminal is right there.  Doing this at night is a GREAT way to see the skyline.

It's totally safe, even at night.  Be city smart of course; don't flash large rolls of cash and don't carry your wallet in your back pocket.

4. Don't be afraid of the subway. It's clean (by our standards) safe (by your standards too) and it runs all the time. So do the buses. Public transportation is really good in this city and MUCH safer than driving if you're not used to our pedestrians.

If you need to figure out which subway will take you to your destination, use HopStop

If you want to find out if your subway or bus is having issues, consult the  MTA site


5. Prepare for hot humid weather. Wear cotton rather than polyester clothes. Bring good walking shoes. Leave your heels at home, you do NOT need them here and those subway grates in the sidewalk are a menace to the unwary.

6. New Yorkers are kind to visitors but impatient. If you're lost, you can ask for help. Do it succinctly:
"Where is the subway"
"Is this the place to get the bus"
"Which way to the ferry?"

Under NO circumstances do you stand on the sidewalk with a large unfolded map trying to figure out where you are.  If you need to pause and reconnoiter, stand to the SIDE of the traffic flow.

7. Do not ask a cab driver how to get to your destination. Simply give him the address. Many cab drivers now have GPS and don't need directions. Asking a driver is asking him to take the scenic route.

8. ALWAYS note the cab number of the cab you get in. If you lose something, that's the only way you can get it back.

9. If you're hailing a cab, you may be approached by town car drivers. Be aware these guyz are UN-metered cars and frequently upcharge from what you'd pay in a taxi. Negotiate before you get in the car.

10. NYC seems hot dirty and impatient to many visitors. It may be, but it's also the center of the world, and full of people doing amazing things. I love this town with a passion that borders on the irrational and I hope you'll see some of why I do while you're here.

WIR will be delayed today

comment column is open. Speak very softly, please.

We will never forget

Snow!

From "Dancers Among Us" one of my favorite books of all time

"New York's year round foliage"

A lovely little 3minute film for you today

"I became a reader of the exiled books"--Jonathan Lethem

Here's my favorite Jonathan Lethem story.  Long before he won the National Book Critics Circle Award for MOTHERLESS BROOKLYN, or the MacArthur genius grant for being ..well...amazing,
Jonathan Lethem was an author on book tour.

I met him out in the hinterlands when he was touring for AS SHE CLIMBED ACROSS THE TABLE.  I'd read about 30 pages of it.  I loved it. It was full of physics and science and it was hilarious.

I nattered on about physics and various physicist's books I'd loved but Jonathan Lethem didn't have much to say. Well, maybe he's just bored with people talking science to him, or he's tired I thought. No matter.

He signed the book and off I went.

Only as I continued reading did I realize the book is a satire.  All the science is made up stuff. Jonathan Lethem didn't know a quark from a quack.  When I figured that out I laughed so hard at myself I had to go out and buy the rest of his books.

And when I ended up reading MOTHERLESS BROOKLYN about two blocks from the epicenter of the novel, well, that became one of my all time favorite  Why I love Living in NYC moments.

Here's a great interview with a wonderful author about how he works.  There's a series of these at the Daily Beast that are worth your reading time as well.

We will never forget

What's wrong with this picture?

Post your answer in the comments column!

I love NY!

Signs of Spring in NYC!

The squirrels are enjoying take out!

I love NY!

Lighting a candle, not cursing the darkness

I love New York.

(it's worth the stupid 15 second commercial wait)

This is NYC

 

Even our coffee machines have Attitude!

In case the subways flood again

Photo credit: blog reader Alina! (thank you!)

Remember all that waiting in line at BEA?

you thought this was to get one of the books for the Dark Days tour didn't you?


Well, it was actually practice for this:


 This morning, I walked into the school I’m supposed to vote in, made a U-turn, and went right back outside. The line was snaking up and down the hallways of the school! It looked like a mess! I’ll go again after work where I can sit on the floor and read my book for as long as it takes! 





Happy Election Day everyone!

my brush with election intimidation!

As you might guess if you read this blog, I love to vote.

This morning I looked up what time the polls open in NYC and skedaddled across the street bright and early to cast my ballot.

There's construction at the school where I've voted for years so it was a new entrance. But, they had signs up and I found my way through the twists and turns to the gym. There was a table staffed by a serious looking lady with a voting roster.

I told her my name.

"ID please," she said.

Well, no. You do NOT need ID to vote in the great State of New York.  You never have and you don't today.

I mentioned this.  I was rebuffed. And rebuffed again by the uniformed member of New York's finest sitting next to her.

I have ID of course. And I did show it. But I asked if they had the statute there in writing cause I knew I wasn't going to be the last to question this. No they did not.

I had a lovely conversation with the NYPD officer.  He's one of the things I love about this city: he's from somewhere other than the US, came here, became a citizen and he votes.

I mentioned that this was election intimidation and he was probably going to hear more about it in the day to come.  And bless his heart, he checked with the election supervisor and sure enough, I was right.

I'm not sure why the first woman at the door thought she should ask for ID. Maybe it's cause we're so used to doing it these days.

But, you do NOT need ID to vote unless your name is not in the poll book or someone challenges you there at the poll site.  If that happens, you have the election supervisor come to you and you vote in a different way. BUT you get to vote.

Don't let anyone make you think you can't vote today if you want to.  And I hope you do want to.