It's called the Web for a reason

I would try to write something substantial here, except that I'm short on time. I've blown the last hour puzzling over my stats on Flickr, tracking links that people have made to my photos there.

I just discovered this stats application, and it showed me, for example, that someone posted a link to this photo from a Web site called Cinema Treasures, which is for lovers of old movie theaters. And that makes me really happy, because of course that's why I posted the photo in the first place - so people would remember the old theater.

The Web is so interesting, the way it all fits together. It's like Indra's Net, each jewel connecting to another ad infinitum. Which, come to think of it, is the way the entire universe works.

So, wow, not so insubstantial after all!

(Photo: Sunset from the Pulaski Bridge between Brooklyn and Queens, Dec. 2007)

Wandering

I'm having a great weekend! Went to the gym and had a massage yesterday, which is always welcome, and then met up with my friend Rob to wander through Central Park and the Upper West Side.

Central Park was chilly and the day was gray, but it had a kind of stark beauty: the bare trees, the steely sky. We sat on a park bench by a playground and I was absurdly reminded of the Simon & Garfunkel song "Old Friends," in which two old guys sit quietly together on a park bench. One of the lines is, "How terribly strange to be 70." At 41, I don't think I deserve a starring role in that song just yet! (And Rob's younger than I am!)

We eventually made our way to the 3 Star Coffee Shop at 86th and Columbus, an old-fashioned diner I've wanted to try. The pie was very average, but the ambience was great - a handful of vinyl-padded booths and lots of formica, and a big hand-painted mural of the acropolis on one wall.

Then I came home and watched "Barefoot in the Park," with Jane Fonda and Robert Redford, in which the delightful Mildred Natwick steals the show. Neil Simon, as usual, wrote dialogue that was a bit too clever to be real - but still, it's a fun movie. And it was great to see the footage of Washington Square Park and lower Fifth Avenue in the mid-1960s.

(Photo: 3 Star Coffee Shop, Upper West Side, Jan. 2008)

Reflections

(Photos: Reflections in the East Village, Dec. 2007)

Numb

Oh MAN, is it cold. It was around 10 degrees yesterday morning. When I’m walking straight into the wind, parts of my face go numb. Nature demands mindfulness!

Last night I had dinner with some friends from the High Atlas Foundation, a development organization that plants trees and runs other development projects in Morocco. Several of these folks I know from my years in the Peace Corps. (I sat across from another blogger who I hadn't met before. Small world, eh?)

We had an interesting conversation about the moral value of supporting culture (the Metropolitan Museum was the example) versus development or animal-rights causes. One friend argued that it's more worthwhile to donate to animal groups than museums. I argued that supporting the arts has a humanitarian effect, art being an international language that can bridge cultural divides. (Not that I'm against animals!)

Anyway, it was kind of an apples-and-oranges conversation, I suppose, and maybe you had to be there. But I thought it was interesting.

Then I walked over to Avenue A to try to photograph the groovy sign at Mo Pitkin’s House of Satisfaction, but it was dark. I’ve been by three times recently and the darn thing is never lit.

(Photo: Plaza near the Javits Convention Center, Nov. 2007)

Not a Jefferson

When I lived in Florida, I owned a condo on the second floor of a low-rise building, with verdant views of trees and woodlands. Herons waded in the creek outside my window.

Then I moved to New York, and wound up on the first floor, in a 9-foot-wide apartment facing East 90th Street and overlooking the garbage. I joked that I was the only person to move to New York City, land of skyscrapers, and wind up on a lower floor.

I didn’t mind my street-level apartment, but it could get noisy at times - like when the garbage collectors started banging around below my window at 7 a.m. I was much happier when I moved to my current apartment on East 29th Street in 2002. Here, I’m on the third floor.

Before I came to New York, I’d always wanted to live in a high-rise. It seemed so elegant, the idea of standing before my full-length windows, looking out over city rooftops. The pose almost demands a tuxedo and a martini.

But then, I’m not really a tuxedo kind of guy. (Martinis occasionally!) I have a couple of friends who live in high-rises, and while their views are fabulous, I’ve detected a few drawbacks.

In my apartment, I have a tree right outside. My window looks onto its branches and I feel connected to nature. I hear just enough urban hum to tie me to the city and its street life.

High-rises, though, seem a bit lonely. You’re so far up that you don’t get that connection with the world below. Sometimes you get sound, but overall it’s a little isolating - just you and clouds and rain and pigeons. (And your dwindling bank account - high rises are much more expensive.)

So for now, at least, I’ve come to like the third floor. Unlike the Jeffersons, I won’t be “movin’ on up” any time soon.

(Photo: New condo tower at sunset, East Village, Jan. 2008)

Normalcy

I stand corrected - it’s what you do on New Year’s DAY that you’ll do the rest of the year, not what you do on New Year’s Eve. (I guess that does make more sense. Otherwise an awful lot of people would be partying constantly.)

In that case, I will spend the year sitting, reading, walking around New York, taking photos, and helping out the folks at the Zendo. Doesn’t sound so bad, right?

My fellow sangha members returned from their Connecticut retreat yesterday, and I helped them unload the truck and reset the Zendo. It was nice to be back in the old space. The holidays are fun, but they’re kind of like vacation - the best part is coming back to routine and normalcy at the end of it all.

Here’s to a great 2008!

(Photo: New Year's debris on Avenue A, Jan. 2008)

Happy New Year!

This year, for the first time I can remember, I had nothing special to do on New Year’s Eve. At first, I wasn’t too happy about that. I felt like I should be marking the occasion.

But every time I thought about calling a friend or going out somewhere, I considered what the night would inevitably become - one too many glasses of wine, and this morning, a champagne headache. I didn’t want to celebrate New Year’s that way. I did it every year in my twenties, and it was fun then, but those days are happily past for me. I couldn’t think of a friend who wouldn’t be busy and who would appreciate moderation.

(And I certainly wasn’t going anywhere near Times Square!)

So what did I do? Well, as it turns out, I had a FABULOUS New Year’s Eve. I came home and read on the couch with the cat. I did laundry. I had soup for dinner.

Then I sat for a while, listening to the hiss of the radiator and the occasional whoops from partygoers at the bars on Third Avenue. I actually felt very connected to the celebrations, just hearing them. And I felt connected to the folks in my Zen group, simultaneously finishing up their own retreat in Connecticut.

And then I went to bed.

They say you’ll spend the year doing what you do on New Year’s Eve. If that’s the case, I’m happy. What better way to treat New Year’s Eve than as an ordinary night?

(Photo: Street art, East Village, Dec. 2007)