how is this even remotely okay?

It's a little after midnight.

I hear a very loud crash. It sounds like someone has picked up an empty large barrel and slammed it onto the street. 

Some crazy night wanderer I think.

But then it happens again. And again. And again.

I throw on my sneakers and a coat and go outside.

There I find a construction site in the middle of 79th and First. 

There is a bulldozer that is lifting slabs of concrete and dropping them onto the street. The sound is deafening. The workmen say they will be there all night.

How can it possibly be that someone at DOT thinks that keeping an entire neighborhood awake makes more sense than to close off traffic to a small section of 79th Street during the day?

I call 3-1-1, hoping I'm not the only one.

It takes a while to get someone. I register my complaint. I am told someone will respond within 14 days — such a comforting response. 

There are very things about New York that I don't like. This is one of them.

a new york slice

I meet my anonymous friend X (her preferred moniker, not mine) to see a screening of The Baltimorons, with a Q&A after with the filmmaker and one of the stars.

Though it takes less than 30 minutes to get to the West Village, it is world's away from my UES neighborhood. Young. Hip. Criss-crossed streets with actual names. Tons of people everywhere. Loads of history and equal amounts of charm.

We get to the theater early and it's about a quarter full. We take our seats, and soon after an older woman enters (she's alone) and takes the seat right next to X. One seat in from the aisle. A million empty seats in other places, and she opts for this one.  That's bad enough. But then she takes out her phone and begins playing a video (not on mute). How can people be so annoyingly stupid? We move to another row.

The movie is fun, the Q&A great. We decide on pizza for a quick bite after. But not just any pizza. L'Industrie Pizza on Christopher Street.

According to Google:

L'Industrie Pizzeria is popular due to its high-quality, unique ingredients and a slow-fermented, thin and crispy crust, which elevates it beyond typical New York-style pizza.

The line (as expected) is long. And we're at least four decades older than anyone we see.

The place is packed inside too, while people await their orders.

Fortunately, X notices that the cute little place next door is filled with people eating from L'Industrie-labeled boxes. We ask if we can bring our pizza over, as L'Industrie has no tables. "Sure," is the response. "You just have to order drinks here." It's a nice symbiotic relationship, and works well for everyone. Even if two diet cokes cost $16.

The line goes fast and within twenty minutes or so I'm back next door where X is holding a table. 

So is it worth it? We both agree; it's a resounding yes.

short, funny true story

My friend Q is over (she does not want to be identified).

But I can say this of her. She is smart and tech-savvy. Extremely capable. She worked for many many years in television as a graphic designer.

I say all this only to make the point that Q is an intelligent, aware, NY-born person.

She's in my bedroom where I'm showing her something. She says something like, "You always have the most-up-to-date tech toys."

Then she looks at my desk and points to something and asks, "What is this?"

I follow her finger.

I think she's joking. She's not.

"Is this something to raise and lower your bed?" she asks.

Here is where she's pointing.

halloween in the city

As a child, I was always a hobo for Halloween. That's what we called it.

It was an easy disguise to construct — just some oversized clothes and a few facial smudge marks. The idea was to mimic someone more like Red Skelton's Freddie the Freeloader than someone homeless — a concept I didn't yet know. And one that seemed not to exist back then (though I'm sure it did).

Mrs. Kane, who lived in the last house on Brewster Road, would dress up each year in some imaginative outfit. She was the only one in the neighborhood who did anything special. The houses were all unadorned, except for maybe a carved (or plain) pumpkin on the top of the outside stairs.

But unlike my small Massachusetts neighborhood, I was surprised to notice how different my one is here. These I saw on a recent walk, just a few blocks from my home; some of these characters even move and light up:

And if I had to guess, I won't be seeing any hobos on Halloween night.

a simple pleasure

This should be an ordinary, uneventful thing, but so far it hasn't been.

When my son first moved back to the New York, my hope was to see him weekly (or at the least, every other week). Doesn't matter where; I'm flexible with both time and place. I envisioned brunches and dinners all over the city. Some home-cooked meals even. A weekly tradition that we both looked forward to (okay, maybe that's more a fantasy than an envisionment).

He moves into his own place in July, and since then, I've seen him not often enough in my opinion, and too much in his (I'm guessing). 

Last night I text my son and suggest brunch. To my surprise, it takes just a couple of quick back and forths and we finalize a plan.

We meet at Sarabeth's Kitchen on Central Park South, across from the park. It's a perfect fall day. Crisp air. Sun out. Great for doing anything.

 

As long as I stay far away from any of the questions I know he views as nagging ones, we have a great time together. 

He is really loving NYC. It's fun to hear him talk about it from the perspective of a young adult. Although he grew up here, his experiences now are more like someone who is seeing the city for the first time.

Maybe today is the start of a new beginning. 

I am now back to envisioning weekly get-togethers and hoping it's not a fantasy.

bad knee news

I walk 30 miles/week. So I should be in great shape from my knees down. 

But I'm not.

My left knee is perpetually swollen and often aches. 

It doesn't inhibit anything I do, but it frequently hurts when I'm doing nothing, especially at night.

So I finally schedule an appointment with a recommended orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Roshan Shah. I see him in June. He takes a bunch of x-rays and then schedules me for an MRI. My second visit, earlier this month, is to review the results.

"The MRI was very surprising compared to the X-Rays," he begins.

"Much better?" I ask hopefully.

"No, much worse."

Ugh.

He then points out how I have no ACL (which I knew), a big blob of something that might be synovium, my medial something separating from something else, and a host of other things I don't fully understand. But I do understand his conclusion:  knee replacement surgery (he suggests knee-resurfacing), sooner rather than later. 

"It's not going to improve on its own. And it's better to get the surgery when you are young and healthy,"  he says. I love that he uses the word young, but what he means, of course, is that today is the youngest I'll ever be.

I really like this doctor who has gotten great reviews. But he does his surgery at Columbia Presbyterian which is very far from me (166th St. on the westside). 

I will get a second opinion, though I am pretty certain it won't be much different.

Doctor number two is Jose Rodriguez at Hospital for Special Surgery. He too, comes highly recommended.  And his office is just a few blocks away.

Getting an appointment is not easy. I sent him my records and am then able to get a first appointment for early January. 

I'm already thinking about the things I'll need, and how I will do this with no one living with me to help.

Many others have survived this, and I'm sure I will too. 

It's just not something I want to do.

two nights of off-broadway

When asked, some people say, "I'm thrilled I finally made it into your blog."

Others say, "Let me see any pictures first," as they only want good ones posted (totally understandable).

Then there is, "Sure, I don't care."  John is an example of this category.

Some say, "You can post about me but I want to see it first."

But then there are those who say, "Don't write about me. I don't want people knowing anything about what I'm doing."

These people are ok with my changing their identities.

All this to say, a good friend of mine (I'll call Q) is visiting NY.

Q hates theater but does go when she is in NY, even though:  

• The seats are always uncomfortable. 
• I don't want any audience participation if there's a chance I could be picked. 
• The plays are generally too long. 
• The topic sounds boring. 
• Getting there is difficult (Traffic in NY is often bad and Q doesn't take public transportation).

I convince her to see a downtown, one-woman show called The Least Problematic Woman In the World with Dylan Mulvaney. Robin decides to join us last minute. 

This colorful show begins with a series of unfunny jokes, but soon transforms into a heartfelt mini memoire of a very talented and beautiful trans women who is sometimes gay. What a complicated life she lives.

Tonight we venture out to see The Pitch. This is in a small synagogue that has been converted into a theater. This drab, uncolorful stage sets the tone for the play.

Act 1 begins with a guy scratching his balls. This is followed by a slew of F-words and a description of a clogged toilet. The next scene shows a financially strapped father who has recently lost his wife to cancer. I am not enjoying this.

I don't need a play to be funny; I actually prefer a good drama. But I find this play uncomfortable and not in a good way.

Grateful for the intermission, we have no idea how Act 2 begins (or for that matter, how it ends).