So a few months ago, a pair of fratty-bratty young guys moved in next door, replacing the quiet fellows who’d lived there for two years. I’d liked that couple because I neither heard nor saw them, a quality I deem ideal in neighbors. Continue Reading →
Archive | City Matters
A Broad and Her Shoes: A Tale of Four Cobblers
I’m trying to figure out if it’s the shoe repair industry (which does entail chemicals that addle one’s brains) or Williamsblergh, but none of the four local cobblers I’ve used over the last five years have ever had my shoes ready when they’ve said they would, not even when I called ahead and they said over the phone that, Yes, of course they are ready, yes, miss, yes, come over now.
Today, upon learning once again that, no, my Rachel Comey oxfords were not ready, I got so frosty–green eyes glowing wickedly, double Ds thrust forward (this terrifies most men), lips pressed together with a Tony Soprano-wait-’em-out firmness–that my current shoe repair fellow nervously halved what I owed him.
(It was like that time Obi-Wan Kenobi hypnotized the storm trooper into ignoring C3PO and R2D2. Me: You will knock 50 percent off. Him: I will knock 50 percent off.) I’d feel bad except that I’m a big believer in “Whatever your job is, do it well.” Which is to say: “You snooze, I don’t pay full prize for my shoes.” I’m left wondering, though: How is this a good business practice for him? It’s noteworthy that these places go under with a suspicious regularity. Are they drug fronts? Mafia lairs? Whatever, man. I just want my kicks.
23rd Street Explosion, Magic Rock Revolver
I was already asleep when news of the explosion hit the wires. Being intuitively conflict-avoidant, a sense of impending doom sent me to Poughkeepsie the day before September 11, 2001; to an Oklahoma campground the week of the 2003 blackout; up the East Williamsburg hill while Hurricane Sandy crashed elsewhere in Brooklyn and Queens. I felt those disturbances in the force anyway, though, and I feel this now. It’s what pulled me awake at 4:45 this morning, early even for me.
In the darkness I made coffee and prayed for the 29 injured by the 23rd street bomb. Then, clad in slippers and the caftan I rarely wear outside the house, I hopped into magic car Minerva and zoomed over the Williamsburg Bridge still lit up against the night sky. (The sun is so lazy this time of year.) As I drove, I wondered at the rush of energy I was feeling. Was it dissociation? Despair? No, I said loudly, and turned on the Beatles’ Revolver, which had been playing in my head since I’d woken up.
Your day breaks, your mind aches
You find that all the words of kindness linger on Continue Reading →