This is Why I Wanted to Live in New York

So I went to my first game at the new Yankee Stadium tonight and it was awesome. When the stadium opened in April there was a lot of criticism in the press about the new baseball parks in New York. It's all hogwash. The stadium is beautiful and the fan experience is better than ever.

I have gone to three major league games this summer, in Seattle, Oakland and New York. Nothing compares to the atmosphere in Yankee Stadium. The place was packed and the celebrities were in the house -- Jack Nicholson and Paul McCartney got the most applause -- and there was an electricity in the air.

The coolest part was in the seventh inning. Going into the inning, the Yankees had a modest 4-2 lead ... and then they started to pour it on. As their rally began, the place got louder and louder. By the time the Yankees had scored five runs to take a 9-2 lead, the place was going crazy and the fans still wanted more. The Yankees were blowing the other team away and the fans did not downshift. It's an enthusiasm for baseball I just don't see other places -- except, maybe (gulp) ... Boston.

The Lovely Aroma of West 49th Street on a Summer Evening

Garbage day on my street is very lovely. Often the piles of trash are up to your hips. I know that in 1968 there was a terrible garbage strike in NYC that lasted for weeks. I have no idea how people lived through it. On the bright side, while I was walking the dog tonight I saw the entrepreneurial spirit in action as people with shopping carts sifted through the recyclables for 5¢ deposits on cans and bottles. My ex-wife told me when we moved out of New York City in 1998 that it was because she couldn't live anymore with the garbage and the urine. She may have had a point about the garbage.

A Few Sights and Sounds from NYC on a Saturday Night

On the subway tonight, upon being told that she might not want to sit down because the air conditioning had left a puddle on the seat, the woman next to me said, "I don't give a rat's ass. It's that f^%$ing hot out." ... T-shirt sightings: one (1) "Hooray for Rabies" and two (2) "Don't Tase Me Bro"(s)... From the Department of "Look at Me! I'm a Tourist": spotted walking down Eighth Avenue, a slightly overweight Mom and Dad with matching fanny packs carrying shopping bags from the Hersey's Store and American Girl Place with pasty child tagging along behind ... one homeless guy on West 3rd street announcing to no one in particular: "I've gotta give up the beer and the cigarettes!" No argument here.

Something that Made Me Go "Huh"

When I got off the subway yesterday, I looked up and saw an amazing sight. Hundreds of rollerbladers were coming towards me. I didn't see anything that looked like an escort, so they were just kind of interspersed with the regular traffic. I'm sure they were coming from Hudson River Park, but I wonder were they a club? Was this some kind of event? Does this happen on Fridays often?

Just One Big All-You-Can-Eat Buffet

During a lull in our conversation my graduate school advisor would often ask, "so how's the dog?" Yes, THE DOG. My dog has been a big part of my life for the last 10 years and now we've hit yet another adjustment for him. Not only have I moved him from the comforts of suburbia to Manhattan, but he also has the pleasures of a 4th floor walkup to face every day. He seems to be coping -- maybe too well.

You see this is a dog who after six months of living with my parents could stand to miss a meal if you know what I mean. Anyway he has discovered that 9th avenue across the street from McDonalds, the area behind the hotdog cart on 50th street, 8th avenue near the subway all are great spots for finding food on the sidewalk -- like it's been laid out for him by a bunch of unrelated caterers. Two days ago I pulled a chicken bone out of his mouth and got my finger chomped on. What was on the menu tonight for my eskimo dog during our walk?

• One dropped soft serve cone (probably from the Mister Softee truck at 51st and 8th.
• Big thick krinkle cut fries (very unlike McDonald's)
• McDonald's French fries (exactly like McDonald's)
• One smushed piece of bread (I think)
• And the topper --some kind of regurgitated stuff at the base of a tree that just had to be vomit

This is one of those moments when my dog looks at me as if I am just plain stupid. I try to explain to him that eating garbage off the street is a bad idea. And he looks at me as if to say, "What are you an idiot? Free food! It's right here like 6 inches from my nose. Eating garbage is what dogs do. That's how we became domesticated!" I pull him away from whatever he's trying to eat and we begin walking again. He looks at me resignedly as if to say, "This poor guy. Doesn't know a good meal when he sees one and he follows me around cleaning up my poop. He pulled me away from perfectly good french fries tonight ... eh, maybe if I just pee on his bathroom rug he'll get the message. He does seem a little vacant though. Always asking me who a good boy is. How should I know?"

Kindness in Unexpected Places

I got off the train at 50th Street last night and a very smartly dressed women in a flowery red dress walked past me quickly. She was one of those elegant Manhattan women with long legs and fancy clothes. I imagined she was off to a show or a fine restaurant. I see these people all the time in the city and wonder what their lives are like in their doorman buildings with their sophisticated friends. And then the picture I was forming in my mind just went out the window. She spotted a woman (pictured) with a baby carriage facing the two flights of stairs out of the station. "Do you need help?" she asked. The mother gladly accepted the offer and the two trudged up the stairs in front of me, carrying the baby carriage together. Honestly, I wouldn't have even thought to have offered to help. There's something about living in the city so close to other people that makes moments like this the rule rather than the exception. People do care about each other -- even if they're strangers -- because there is a we're-all-in-this-together kind of spirit. One of these days I hope I stop looking at the people around me as things to be observed and more as someone who might need a helping hand. I want to be the thoughtful person who looks out for his fellow New Yorker.

Yeah, But Do They Have Cheesy Breadsticks?

One thing you notice living in Manhattan is the piles of takeout menus that end up on your doorstep. There are so many restaurants within a few blocks of my house I have never felt the need to order delivery takeout. (Maybe that will change in winter.) That's not true of the lady who lives at the bottom of the stairs on the second floor in my building. The delivery guy happened to be at her door for my dog's Friday evening and Saturday morning walks. Now that I think of it, maybe she's got something going with the delivery guy... but I digress. The main reason I haven't ordered food in is because the intercom in my apartment doesn't work, so I can't buzz the guy in when he gets to the building. I collect the menus anyway. We get menus for Chinese food, pizza, burgers, everything you can imagine. New York is an interesting food town. You actually can get any kind of food you want.

I thought I had seen a menu for every type of cuisine, but the other day I found one I never thought I'd see: Ariana's Afghan Restaurant. Most places I've lived I had a choice between Pizza Hut and Papa John's. Here I get to choose between Afghan or Bangladeshi.

And then the same day, when I thought I had seen everything in the menu department, I got the takeout menu from John's Shanghai Chinese restaurant (in the mail!) ... in Chinese.

Although I find all this interesting, the avalanche of menus is annoying litter to most people. Next time you're in New York, maybe you'll understand why this sign is posted everywhere.

Sunday Afternoon Just Slightly South of Manhattan

This afternoon I made an excursion with a friend to Governor's Island out in New York Harbor. For many years this was a Coast Guard and military base, and just recently it's been turned over to the national park service. To get out to the island there is a free ferry and it doesn't take 15 minutes to get there -- and it's pretty much security-free unlike the nightmare screening you have to go through to get to Ellis Island or Liberty Island. The island has bike trails, art exhibits, great picnic grounds and even a little entertainment venue complete with a sandy beach, DJ and booze, Water Taxi Beach. Today there was even a Civil War reenactment going on. The amazing views from Island make it a very worthwhile stop: from the Statue of Liberty to the Manhattan Skyline to the East River Bridges to Brooklyn and the Verrazano Narrows. I'd love to share these views with you, but of course, I forgot my camera. (I include a couple of snapshots from my phone.) There was one weird thing. At a certain point on the island there was this eerie female singing going on over the loudspeakers. My friend swore she heard them sing about the devil but I cannot confirm that. Despite that, I highly recommend a visit.

Downtown Manhattan as Seen from Governor's Island

Civil War Reenactors [?!] -- (They're Everywhere!)

Hey, Put Down that Broom, You Have To See This

I recently got digital cable TV service. Like most Americans with such a service, I have a million channels and watch about 10. I truly believe that the days of paying for access to shows that you don't watch is going to be a thing of the past as people get more and more of their content from services like YouTube and Hulu. In the meantime, I stumble onto stuff that I would never otherwise interest me by doing some old fashioned channel surfing.

This morning I saw a show on BBC America called "How Clean is Your House?" in which two affable British women come into homes (in the UK and the US apparently) and tell the people they're living like pigs, complete with taking lab samples of bacteria! The filthy conditions the homeowners live in in these shows are appalling. On Style TV, they have a similar show called "Clean House" which is pretty much the same premise except they have a yard sale to get rid of the junk in the house and then do a fabulous makeover. (They've apparently upped the ante with their search for the messiest home in America.) You can still catch reruns of TLC's "Clean Sweep" which is basically a less over-the-top version of Clean House. On FIT TV they have a show "Neat" in which a persnickety Canadian organizer lady comes in criticizes how people live in filth and then they clean the place up and fill it with baskets from IKEA. We have an obsession with gawking at obscenely disgusting homes, and then revel in watching them get transformed.

Now why on earth are people all over America sitting on their couches watching this stuff? I think it is part of the reality TV phenomenon were we feel better about ourselves if we can see less fortunate losers on TV expose their weaknesses to us. It is totally disturbing to me to think that behind the closed doors of suburban streets all over the country are houses brimming with crap and dirty toilets. What does it say about us as a society that we are drowning in consumer goods and trash? What is equally disturbing is that people are probably sitting in those dirty houses amusing themselves watching shows about people with dirty houses. Wouldn't this be a better world if people turned off the TV and actually cleaned their houses for an hour with no commercial interruptions? People should do what I do: live clutter free ... by leaving all their clutter in their parents' basement, like I did.

I think I'm going to go read a book. And then clean the house.

A Brush with Greatness(?)

A couple of days ago I was walking by a restaurant (Roberto Passon) at the corner of 50th and 9th. I saw an odd-looking guy eating in there who looked really familiar. It struck me that he looked exactly like the wacky former UN Ambassador from the Bush Administration, John Bolton. But I dismissed that thought -- he probably just looked like him. Then it occurred to me: no one looks like John Bolton. It was most definitely him; not a great celebrity sighting by New York standards, but it was just in time for him to start squawking in the newspapers again. Apparently Mr. Bolton thinks Bill Clinton's moment in the sun, escorting the detained journalists out of North Korea, was a very bad idea.

Well I have a message for Mr. Bolton: Hey John, your mustache is white. Please tell the rest of your hair. (Oh and next time you're back in Hell's Kitchen, look me up.)

Nitpickers Spoiling a Good Time

So a Long Island Railroad Engineer is in big trouble. His crime? He merely let one of the passengers drive the train (allegedly). Gosh, what happened to the good old days when random people could try their hand at driving a train filled with hundreds of passengers, barreling along at high speeds, and worth 10's of millions of dollars? I mean they're all so bogged down in details of training, safety, and blah blah blah. How hard could it be? I'm pretty sure the guy had a driver's license. And besides, he's just going in one direction. It's not like it sets a bad example; I've ridden the trains a million times and I've rarely had a desire to take over the controls. What could possibly have gone wrong? -- the train is on a track for heavens sake. We all had train sets as kids. They're probably worried that if this happens too often lots of people will start putting in their two cents worth and be back seat drivers: "Hey Mr. Engineer, my grandmother could decelerate into a station better than that!" etc. And for all the excessive worriers out there who want the authorities to come down hard on these harmless goodtime-Charleys, I have a word of warning. Sure, it's all well and good to keep ordinary citizens from haphazardly taking over the controls of a moving train, but this is a slippery slope. Next time you want to try your hand at a nighttime landing on your next U.S. Airways flight and get turned down, you'll know who to blame.

Painting the Town Red

I didn't want to let August 1 get too far away without once again saluting my family dog who passed away in 1992, Stroodle. Born to a purebred poodle mother, Stroodle was a mixed breed surprise born on August 1. (My best guess is that he was born in 1976.) He was just a great family dog.

One of my favorite memories of ole Stroodle was giving him a bath and brushing him out so he'd look beautiful for my elementary school's dog show. We each wrote little biographies of our dogs. (I left out the part about the uncertainty about the identity of Stroodle's Dad.) We sat on folding chairs in little pens created by the snow fencing out in the school yard and the judges walked by. The only problem was that the snow fencing was freshly painted for this event and Stroodle was covered in red paint before I noticed the wet fence. He won an award anyway -- most athletic -- for his skills catching a tennis ball, and I was very proud.

If you get a chance this week, toast one to ole Strudy -- you'll never find a more loyal, smart, or loving dog than that old mutt.

Pants Off Dance Off?

Last night I had dinner with some friends down in the Battery Park City area at the World Financial Center. This business and residential area sits right next to Ground Zero, the former World Trade Center site, and is in many ways slightly separated from the neighborhoods nearby. I arrived at sundown and the views overlooking the river were wonderful.

They have some nice restaurants with outdoor seating there. We went to Southwest NY a very nice restaurant where I enjoyed a delicious chorizo quesidilla and few cold beers. The evening was going swimmingly and I decided to visit the men's room. This is when things got weird.

I entered the room and found a man standing alone in the middle of the room facing me stark naked from the waist down with a pile of clothes next to him. I have entered hundreds of men's rooms in my life and I've never been faced with such a sight. (I've seen some ghastly things at the locker room at the university, but this was a nice restaurant!) Not feeling entirely comfortable making eye contact, I sort of grunted, steered around him and headed to the urinal. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the man putting his clothes back on. There was no indication that he had changed his clothes, only that he had gotten naked in front of a row of urinals. Again, lots of visits to bathrooms over the years, and never had the need to strip to take a leak.

I think there was a Seinfeld episode where George decides he enjoys sitting on the toilet with his shirt off -- maybe this was a similar thing. In any event, I'll never know what that dude's story was. (And no, he was not Sacha Baron Cohen.) And again, the quesidilla was delicious.