Rivington Street, Sept. 2007

Hell's Kitchen, Sept. 2007

Proving that there’s a bit of the beast in all of us, I had an interesting experience with “customer service rage” the other day.

I went to Dunkin Donuts for a Baskin-Robbins ice cream cone. On the menu, it said double cones were $3.49, with waffle cones an extra 60 cents. So I ordered a waffle cone, two scoops, and paid with a twenty.

Only when my change came back did I realize I’d been overcharged -- the bill came to $6.50 or something. I pointed out the problem, but the counterman said I’d ordered two scoops, which is apparently NOT the same as ordering a double. He charged me for two single cones, plus an extra dollar (?) for the waffle cone.

I tried to argue my case -- that the menu was deceptive, that $6.50 was way too much to pay for an ice cream cone, that waffle cones were only 60 cents. Finally, I just told him I wanted my money back. He said he couldn’t open the register.

Throughout all of this I got more and more frustrated, because he also didn’t speak English very well. I could tell that as I was trying to firmly and rationally make my case, he didn’t understand a good part of what I said. He just had a sort of blank expression.

“Look, in ENGLISH, ‘two’ and ‘double’ are the SAME THING,” I finally said. And as the words came out, I suddenly realized that I was being a complete jerk. I was arguing over a couple of bucks with a guy who probably made that much in an hour, and by impugning his knowledge of English I was perilously close to making an ethnic or cultural slur.

All of which was quite illuminating. Zen teaches us that there are no divisions, that all our “us-and-them” ways of looking at the world are utter falsehoods. I saw that within me, at least at that moment, there was an “other” -- an angry man, maybe even a racist. I was also making an “other” out of the guy at the counter.

I don't think I was wrong in the dispute, but the whole episode was still embarrassing. I doubt I'll go back to that Dunkin Donuts any time soon. And if I do, I’m ordering a “double.”

Bushwick, Brooklyn, Sept. 2007

Lorianne at Hoarded Ordinaries calls these "alien eyes." To me they look a little like diamonds, at least in this case. The reflection came from a factory or warehouse window with a lot of little panes.

This summer has been so remarkable. I think I've run my air conditioner about five times! We've had a few hot days, but for the most part it's been very temperate and pleasant, and last night I actually got chilly enough to pull up my blanket.

I think it even smells a bit like fall this morning - crisp. The air trips a switch in my animal brain, telling me that slowly and surely, the season is changing.

Midtown, Sept. 2007

I dream’d in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth;
I dream’d that was the new City of Friends;
Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love -- it led the rest;
It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of that city,
And in all their looks and words.

-- Walt Whitman, 1860

In the days after Sept. 11, 2001, Union Square turned into a living memorial. Someone erected models of the twin towers of the World Trade Center on the plaza near 14th Street, and they were decked out in flowers and candles and notes of despair and consolation. I found the verse above on a card tucked in with the rest, and remember it as the most poignant message of all.

East Village, Sept. 2007

As I was walking in Chelsea Saturday morning, I passed a woman having a stoop sale. (That’s the New York equivalent of a yard sale, for those of us who don’t have yards.) I browsed her stuff and we began chatting. I didn’t really see anything I wanted to buy, but I did take a closer look at a black t-shirt.

It featured four portraits of Liberace, done Andy Warhol-style, with lots of colors. The shirt was from the Liberace Museum in Las Vegas. (Who knew?)

“Oh, that’s a great shirt. It’s five dollars,” said the woman, who proceeded to entertain me with a story of her visit to the Liberace Museum.

When I continued to hesitate, she said, “Tell you what - I’ll give it to you for $3.”

So I bought the Liberace shirt - more to help out this woman’s yard sale than anything else. Because as I walked away, I became more and more certain that I would never wear it. Though I admire Liberace’s ability to be campy before anyone really knew what that meant, I did not want to wear a portrait of him - much less four portraits.

As I continued walking and photographing for the next couple of hours, I carried that silly t-shirt, trying to figure out what to do with it.

Finally, about five hours later, I was on the Upper East Side. I’d walked all through Hell’s Kitchen, spent time reading in Central Park and was now going to the subway to meet a friend in Queens. All in the good company of Liberace.

Then I realized where I could get rid of him. Housing Works has a thrift store on E. 77th Street. So I took the shirt there, and sure enough, was able to donate it.

So all’s well that ends well: The woman sold her shirt and made some money; Housing Works got a donation; and I came away with a good story about a silly impulse buy!

East Village, Sept. 2007

You may have heard that Madeleine L’Engle died the other day at the ripe old age of 88. She’s the author of “A Wrinkle in Time,” which was without a doubt one of my favorite books as a child. One of my mom’s friends loaned it to us after her children read it and loved it -- she thought I might like it as well. I buried my nose in it and couldn’t stop reading. I took it along on a terrific beach vacation to Longboat Key, Fla., and the setting only added to the magic of the book.

It was a fantastic tale all about time-travel and psychic energy and, most fundamentally, love. I can still picture our beach cabin, with me lying on the worn couch reading, in a place I loved with people I loved. I was about 12. I was sorry when the book ended, but so happy with the places it took me.

So thanks, Madeleine, for that Wrinkle in Time!

East Village, Sept. 2007

My teacher gave a terrific talk on Thursday about intimacy. Not only how to be intimate with others, and let down all the barriers that prevent us from really knowing other people, but also how to be intimate with ourselves. Before we can know and trust anyone else, we have to really know, and really trust, our own self.

I am terrible at this. And even that sentence is an example.

I tend to intellectualize everything -- not that I’m particularly smart, but just that I see the world through a very cerebral lens. As a result, I often cut myself off from what I’m really feeling. My body and my emotions become secondary to intellect and reason.

I also label everything -- like calling myself “terrible” above. As my teacher said:

“For whatever reason, all the causes and conditions that have led to where we are right now, so often we pull away -- and we separate our self from our self. We tell ourselves we’re very bad or we tell ourselves we’re very good, and it really doesn’t matter which, except one feels a little better than the other temporarily. Or we ought to, or we should, or we can’t -- and we separate and we separate.”

She points out that sitting is a way of training ourselves to really BE with ourselves -- our physical being, our breath -- as we watch the mad scramble of our minds. It’s a way of learning intimacy. And boy, do I need that.

My teacher has been posting many of her dharma talks online, and if you’re interested, you can hear this talk here. It really spoke to me, reminding me of some of the elementary reasons for practice.