Party Time

I've gotten used to leaving my apartment in the early hours so today, having overslept as much as I did, I'm surprised at how much light is out already. There's a fresh cool breeze though, which after yesterday's sweltering heat just about makes up for anything.

I head to the station, through the turnstiles, and down to the platform. Aviva P. is near the bottom of the stairs. As the train approaches, Ken H. walks by and we fist-five each other as he passes.

There are plenty of seats on the subway; I grab one and - finally off my video kick - start reading the New Yorker. I'm three months behind, but plenty of subway time to catch up.

At Rockefeller, as I get off the train, I spot Ilan K. in the distance. A guy who is very much defined by his curly hair, we have mutual friends and have met at various parties, including my some of my own birthday parties. And while the memory of those parties makes me want to head straight to any open bar, I follow the crowd up the stairs and to the office instead.

People and Opera

Just out front of my building, I spot Meyer B. walking across the street, probably on his way home from synagogue, which seems to have let out a few moments ago. Ken H. walks by too, and into the lobby (he and his wife live one floor below me), as does Mo H. Just as I start to walk down Bennett I run into Shuli B. I haven’t seen her in weeks and we both greet each other warmly. She gets annoyed that I am speaking to her through my sunglasses, so I remove them and, as an aside, comment that I like her rimless specs. She says she wishes she could wear contacts like I do, and we talk about dry eyes for the next couple of minutes.

Further on towards the subway station, I run into David M. who is curiously clad in a dark suit. He tells me that he occasionally meet with clients for whom he must dress up. I let him know he looks sharp, and head into the station. At the far end of the platform, where I can later exit one block closer to the bagel store, I chance upon a freelancing opera singer. Not much of an opera fan myself, I can still appreciate how well her voice projects, and consider an illicit cell phone recording for later post onto my blog. The train arrives too quickly.

Tourists

Ah, tourists.  Why anyone would travel to a winter clad New York, when the same money can get take them to the warm shores of San Juan or Miami Beach, is a mystery to me.  Next to me on the bench, waiting for the A train, are two foreign women scouring through subway maps of Manhattan and site seeing coupon books.  I'm trying to discern what language they are speaking when Miriam C. walks over.

Ken H. passes us on the platform and waves just as the train arrives.   Miriam and I ride together to 59th street.  I stick around to wait for the B or the D, and she walks makes the exit.  She turns around for a moment, to say goodbye, and WACK!  She slams right into a solid blue pillar.  I yell "that's going in the blog" with a distinctly evil grin.

Famous Sightings

Anyone who reads my blog regularly knows that I am regularly late, and today is no exception.  I have two additional stops before work - the garbage (and recycling) and the laundry.  Awkwardly, I try to carry everything down at once and call for the elevator.  Realizing just as I press ‘B’ that I have left gloveless, I run out and watch as the elevator descends without me.  Its Godly punishment, and a few more precious minutes pass while I retrieve my gloves and get the elevator back.

On 186th Street I see Mor R.  She is moving this week, and walking over to the new pad to clean up and wait for a furniture delivery.  A mother and child, no older than 2, are walking past the scaffolding on the side of 110 Bennett, where all the cinder blocks and a Porta-Potty are kept.   The child points to the blocks and asks what they are.  The woman responds that "they are doing construction."  Am I an overzealous non-parent for thinking this is a wildly stupid response?  It doesn't answer the boy's question at all.  How many two year olds know the meaning of the word construction?  And who, exactly, are "they?"

On the train, I sit next to a person I am convinced is Webster.  I try not to stare but the urge does not relent, so when a tube of Chapstick pops out of his bag and lands near me I am quick to pick it up and hand it back.  I am thanked by what is a very distinctly female voice, not very Webster after all.

A homeless man walks by and asks us for change, then sits on a nearby bench to wait for the next stop.  Next to him, a lunatic woman with a dirty yellow hat starts to mutter, gradually working up to a shout.  She-Webster looks at me, then points to the woman and makes a "crazy" gesture by twirling her finger near her head.  We both smile.

As I stand up to get off at 59th, She-Webster drops a glove without noticing.  I point it out and she thanks me again, and wishes me a good day.

Ken H. is on the platform at 59th, looking engrossed in music as he shuffles ever so slightly and taps his foot.  I like Ken and always enjoy talking to him, but I don't know if I should walk over to him.  After all, it's still early by many - if not my employer's - standards.

Getting off at 47th, I see Ken again and he says hi.  He is on his way to work, which is in the Newscorp building.  I tell him I used to work for Newscorp and after a bit more chat we part ways.  He heads to the office, I head for a bagel.

Clocks

It's an extraordinary long wait for the elevator, when there's a smelly garbage bag in your hands and an uncomfortable neighbor, who doesn't English, eyeing you surreptitiously. When the doors finally open, a slew of other neighbors are inside, Ken H. among them.

Ken is also on his way to work but, unlike me, he isn't late. He tells me its culturally acceptable at law firms to come in past 9:30. Banks are just the opposite. I drop off the garbage and rush to the station, stopping only to adjust the time on my wrist watch when I realize I have forgotten to set it back from daylight savings.

Agents Aboard

After a rough, sleepless night I am almost too tired to go to work but at least I am on time when I leave. I head downstairs and when I get out of the elevator, Ken H. gets in and we say hello.

There are two Orthodox Jewish girls loitering at the corner of 186th and Bennett. They both look familiar and I'm almost certain I've been introduced to one of them at some point in the past.

On Overlook, I spot the really tall girl who is friends with my friend Anna. She is meticulously dressed in a black top, plaid skirt, and shiny black high heels. Her glasses frame is funky, and her red leather bag adds the final touch.

Down at the platform, I see Rabbi B. He is a brilliant man, scholarly in Bible and a doctor of Math as well. I'll never forget how often he hosted me at his table during college. He says good morning and I respond in kind, then keep walking towards my spot.

I pass a woman, in beige pants and a brown flowery shirt who at first appears to be wiping her nose on her sleeve. Closer inspection, however, reveals that she is actually trying to peer into her shirt.

When the train arrives, it’s pretty crowded but I'm still able to get a seat. Somewhere near 125th street, as I'm emailing my friend Matt, who now lives in Israel, I hear someone calling my name. Its Tamar E. and her son Ezra R. She is sporting a Kindle, a gift from her job. It’s one of the perks of working for a literary agency. I work for a bank and wonder if they will ever give me money as a perk.

Since Tamar is sitting a few seats away, I get up to talk to her. She is on her way to drop Ezra off at her mom's and then head to work. Ezra, who is just a few months old, looks adorable all curled up and asleep in her lap. Tamar and I chat until 59th street, and I get off thinking this could be my big chance. She's a literary agent, and she knows she's going to be in my blog tonight, so she'll read it! It better be damned well written.