Short Story, January 2007

From a wall at a construction site off Fifth Avenue in the West 30s:

"John: I've made $1. Bring me my dog!! I'll be on 34th Street. - Dawn"

Times Square, January 2007

There's a large mosaic map of New York City on the wall of the police substation in Times Square. It includes small metal symbols for some of the city's most prominent landmarks. But as you can see, it's suffered a bit of vandalism - someone has made off with City Hall and the Brooklyn Bridge.

This has been a wild week. Once again, my volunteer activities have ganged up on me, demanding attention all at the same time.

I'm helping with a spring fundraiser for the Zendo, which has taken several hours of work in the past few days, and I've been helping to put the finishing touches on our regular online newsletter. I’m also signed up for a retreat this weekend that will require my assistance in some ceremonies. On top of this, I'm the president of the board that runs the building where I live, which is undergoing some improvements and changes. And the organizers of AIDS Walk New York have started contacting me because last year I captained the team for the company where I work - and it's time to build a team again.

Good grief.

It's funny how things like this come all at once. All of these events and duties are important to me, but when they come on strong this way, my head starts to spin. I find myself taking a defensive stance - as if they're the enemy that must be vanquished so I can get back to living my life.

Instead, I have to remember, all these things ARE my life. They are not the "other." They are not obstacles.

And after all, I got myself into all this, so I can’t really complain!

W. 33rd Street, January 2007

Another view of the Empire State Building, this time looking straight up from its base. At first, I thought that tree detracted from the photo - I thought, "Of all the places on this block for that tree to be planted, why does it have to be HERE?" But then I incorporated it into the picture and decided I liked it a lot. It's a neat contrast between nature and industry.

I never mentioned the outcome of my speed dating. Needless to say, since I was writing about being single the other day, neither of my "dates" really took. I went out with each of them two or three times, but I can't say I thought we had much in common, ultimately. Oh well. Back to the drawing board!

Cheekz

These mysterious ghosty creatures are all over SoHo and NoLIta, signed "Cheekz." Rounded blobs with protruding teeth, they look sort of like schmoos with a creepy edge.


Most of the time, they're pasted onto walls. This is a rare example of a stenciled Cheekz blob.


I like this one a lot - a bit colorful and personalized to me. I'm not sure why his eyes are bleeding. I don't want to think about it.


Most of the time they seem a little perplexed or confused. This guy looks jubilant - but again, in a disturbed-looking way.

Upper East Side, January 2007

Sunday seems like the appropriate time to recognize Holy Hip Hop.

Did you all set your clocks ahead? One of my Peace Corps friends is staying with me this weekend, and we just realized that it's an hour later than we thought it was. Fortunately, our schedule is pretty flexible today!

Hell's Kitchen, December 2006

This is the back wall of the Adolph S. Ochs school, on the far west side. Blue and yellow go so well together, don't they? It was late in the evening, so the light was soft and the shadows weren't clearly defined.

This color combination reminds me of going out last night with my friend Dan and his partner Jimmy. We went to a sitar concert by Anoushka Shankar, the daughter of Ravi Shankar, who made his name by bringing sitar music to George Harrison and the Beatles. Anoushka, who's 25, is a musician in her own right, and the performance was great to hear. It was also great to see: She sat on a raised platform on the stage with some other musicians, backed only by two curtains and a blank wall. The wall and curtains continually changed colors, with lots of interesting and even improbable combinations: blue and lime green, red and purple, etc. Her lighting designer gets kudos from me.

I think I've injured my shoulder. Ugh! I had a deep-tissue massage when I was down in Florida last week, which involved the therapist "adjusting" some of my muscles and joints. I was fine until I then went to the gym four days later. I was lifting dumbells overhead when I felt my shoulder tear. Ack! My guess is, the massage stretched the connective tissue, and then the exercise pushed it too far. So I'm waiting to see how it heals on its own. It feels much better today than it did on Tuesday, when the injury first happened, and my range of movement is only slightly limited. I can reach everywhere, but at some extremes I get a little pain and just have to be careful.

Ludlow Street, February 2007

For some reason, this photo brings to mind my life as a single guy. Maybe it’s because there’s just one chair.

With that inspiration, I started to write something conveying my ambivalence about being single. But then I realized I’d done it already - in 1993, when I was 26 and living in a Moroccan village as a Peace Corps volunteer. Back then, I was torn. I liked the happy, independent simplicity of my life. But I was also aware that time was ticking, and if I didn’t want to be single forever, I’d better do something about it.

Almost 15 years later, I still feel torn. The "if" remains iffy.

-----

SINGLE MAN
(12/20/93)

For now, this is it.
My kitchen fits
On three short shelves,
Stacked up: three pots,
Three cups. I keep
Spices in old empties,
With faded labels
Ball-point blue.
Cumin, ginger, pepper:
Cued up, a choir
Waiting to sing.

I have a life.
I am midwife
To my candles, watching
Each one born and reborn.
They cry every time.
They know they’ll become nubs.
My tired jacket sags
From its wood hook
Like a punctured lung:
I am its oxygen.

I sleep narrow,
Imperiled on
A cliff of foam, from which
My blanket half cascades.
My feet peer out
Like two veiled brides,
Scrupulously white.

I am aware
Of my clock, its
Cycloptic stare, its
Apocalyptic tick.
I still have time
To settle in early,
To thumb my old books.
Yet, some nights,
I stir my hot tea
And watch its sweet steam
Thin and dissipate,
Wraith-like, before
My lineless face.