Tuesday afternoon...

Not a lot to report. Just returned from the neighborhood Barnes and Noble, which has been reopened for a week, and is incredibly cool (air cooled that is). Not very crowded this afternoon; I had plenty of time to browse and to pick books that I might possibly want to buy. Was tempted by many---an interesting book about the last year of the Civil War, Philip Roth's Letting Go (parts of which I have read many times) Auster's Invisible (have already read it twice, but it calls to me) Shakespeare and Fletcher's The Two Noble Kinsmen (have never read it---really should to complete my vision of Shakespeare) and finally, The War of the Roses by Derrick Jones---I have read many books about that conflict and also Shakespeare's four plays that cover it---but it constantly fascinates me. Even though I am aware of the many sequences of  changing power, I still love reading about it. Oh, and book by a critic named Emma Smith which analyzes about 20 plays by Shakespeare---from the little that I have looked at, her essays should be quite illuminating.
   And yet I left with nothing, only clutching the book that I had already brought into the bookstore, the indefatigable Prep, by Curtis Sittenfeld. Is it possible that at some point I can actually finish that novel and go on to something else.? Making headway---only slightly more than 100 pages to go. It's not that I hate that book--there are some very likeable things in it, but I feel frustrated by all the minutia about Boarding School life that the author brings into it. Did it have to be that long? And does the heroine have to glory in her passivity? Still, I am challenged to finish it---the next book that I already have in my apartment is a mystery by Agatha Christie---that should keep me occupied for a while after Prep, at least that is the plan. But the weekend should be long (and hopefully not arduous).
Maybe I can find it within myself to pay for at least one of the aforementioned books to keep me company while the superficial fireworks go off. I am hard on myself financially---otherwise I would have bought at least one of those books by now.
  Actually the one book that I really came for, but was not there, was the first on my list. It is called: Five Days: The Fiery Reckoning of an American City, and it is the five days that followed after the murder of Freddy Gray, as experienced by eight different citizens of Baltimore, and edited, and I assumed tied together by Wes Moore and Erica Smith. That book I would pick up in a second, and
gladly shell out the 30 something dollars that it probably costs. No waiting in the library for that one.
  So that is the story. When I was thinking earlier today about the content today's post, I thought I would talk about how yesterday my stomach was giving me trouble, but today it is calm. But you would rather hear about books, yes? Me too.

The Voyge Out (to Bushwick)

Apologies to Ms. Woolf (or anyone else for that matter) but it happened! I finally "broke the chains" and spent about three hours in Brooklyn. After my yearnings to go in the past few days were unfulfilled, I wondered if I was not doomed to be "trapped" on the upper west side, but this morning with much preparation, I made the move, had just about the right amount of food, made sure my stomach was behaving itself and got on the 3 train to Nevins Street. I chose downtown Brooklyn first, because since last summer, leading up to the pandemic, I had made the atrium across the street from the Harvey theater a kind of home base. Imagine my surprise when I saw that they had not re-opened, not even for take out---and that the Fiction Center, a bookstore that i visited often and was very happy in, was also not opened. Even the unbiquitous BRIC, caddy corner to the Harvey was closed. No place to even remotely "hang out" or stop and read. What to do?  The second choice was Cobra Club in Brooklyn, which I knew had re-opened, or at least I assumed would be doing their morning coffee selling, if only on the outside. How to get there..bus or train? I opted for the 38 bus, the one that goes East on Lafayette and then travels north on Dekalb to Wycoff. From there it is just a short walk to Cobra. On the way, I saw a few coffee places and restaurants that were opened, but as I approached Cobra, I saw it was locked and bolted. That ended that---had I read wrong? There were tables outside, did this mean that they were opened later? Walked two blocks back to another coffee place and had their ice coffee, really needed it, it was hot, then headed to the other place where I had friends. Molasses bookshop, a used book shop on Hart Street between Knickerbocker an Wilson. Crash! Another closed shop, boarded up. Had I not read that they had reopened? Again had I come at the wrong time? Ah well, all avenues of friendship closed to me, still it was only about 12:30, surely I could not just make my return to the upper west side just yet. Hart is one block away from DeKalb, and since it was hot, it seemed to make sense to take the 38 back to downtown Brooklyn. This time the bus would  travel west on DeKalb, rather than east on Lafayette. And that is what I did, bus rides down the streets of Brooklyn always offer some fascination. This ride was no exception. Arrived at my destination---still a wasteland---needed a bathroom, pre pandemic there were so many in the area to choose from--now only one---Whole Foods on Flatbush. Luckily it was not crowded so there was no problem. It was now about 1:30, and I had to make up my mind what was next.
  1:30 seemed like an awfully early time to return to the upper west side, and I had hoped to stay in Brooklyn for another two hours, but where? The sun was beating down on me----I was beginning to feel tired---hardly anything was even open from the outside---after a brief discussion with myself, I decided that returning home was the best idea. The Bergen street station was right near me, and the two trains going back to the upper west side, the 2 and 3 were coming often. And so that is what I did, took the subway, read on with Prep---I must finish it---and returned home a "hero" in my own mind, about 2:30.
  Any takeaways from this experience? Not really---maybe the next time I hit Bushwick it will be later when Cobra and Starr Bar are both opened. But the goal was to leave the world of the upper west side and hit Brooklyn---that I did.

5:40 Saturday morning...perchance to dream...

Its become ritual now---maybe the only ritual available to me at this time. But after the chaos of the early morning hours and the darkness outside---cityboy has only one goal. His coffee at the grocery store on the corner of 72nd street and West End Avenue. As I brush my teeth, shower and shave around 4:40 I long for the light outside, which means it is okay for me to begin my morning journey--my first steps out of the apartment---my first steps into the real world. I leave the house, walk the four blocks, put my mask on and ask for a large coffee. The man who makes my coffee speaks none or very little English---it doesn't matter--he is simply part of the ritual. I pay my two dollars, walk past the homeless man who sleeps on the corner, open the coffee and take a sip. Hopefully he has made it as i wish, a little light, but hot. Today it was perfect.
  On the trip back to the apartment my mind wanders--that is easy since there is usually no one on the street at this time---today I thought about Richard II, the Shakespeare play. Do you know it? It is written all in verse--the language and writing are incredibly beautiful. I remember reading it in 1980, just as I was getting back into theater and being enthralled. I first saw the play in (can you believe it) 1957 when the Old Vic company, then representing England's most prestigious theater came to the Winter Garden theater. John Neville played Richard,  it was long and hard for me to take---I was probably too young to absorb it all. Now a television production starring Maurice Evans enters my mind---I was probably even younger then---I remember Evans' last moment, fighting back against his assassin, Exton, who has been sent by the new King,  Henry Bolingbroke, to kill him.
  More memories: one of the earliest novels that I read as a child (adult novels, I did not read children's books) was called Catherine. It was by Anya Seton, about Catherine Swynford, the commoner who ended up as the third wife of John of Gaunt--Henry Bolingbroke's blood father.
In my second year at Hopkins I met S.....; she was also a Sophmore studying at  Goucher. colIege. I remember she also had read Ms. Seton's novel---it gave us something to talk about on an early date S...and I dated in the first part of my Junior year at Hopkins---I remember we had one incredible date---on a Friday evening---I can still see her getting off the bus at Greenmount Avenue in 33rd street as I waited for her.
We had dinner at a nearby place, then went to a movie at the Senator---it was the movie of The Miracle Worker . I had dated before---but this time I felt that S...all during the date..was bonding with me in a way that was totally different from what I had experienced on dates before No gawkiness or strained conversation here---she Wanted to be with me, by the time we were in the lobby of the movie theater waiting for the movie to start, I felt a kind of shared energy with her that I had never felt before.  It was relaxed, We simply belonged together. Without any touching, she had given herself to me. An indelible memory.
   We had several other dates after that, some of them very physical---in the end, we separated---or she decided that it was time for her to end the relationship---I was, of course, very hurt. But looking back on it, it doesn't matter---that October afternoon in 1962 was like nothing that had ever happened to me before.
  How did I get into this? Well, it does not matter---six minutes after six in the world of 2020.
 The rest of the day undefined, as yet---let's stop now, will report soon.

36 hours later...

from the last post, BAN is joining the protesters at City Hall, demanding large budget cuts in police funding and restoration of cuts that might effect youth jobs---should be exciting---I wish I was there, but i am not feeling well---earlier today I completed two "tasks" and perhaps that has left me pretty tired. I would like to get back in BAN participation as soon as possible---I think the contact and conversations with people there would be meaningful---but I am still nervous about what..? Travel...no longer. Let's peddle back a bit.
   Yesterday had my physical at the Ryan Center. The resident was pretty thorough, and the news, believe it or not, was good. Solid blood pressure and an EKG that found nothing. Much relieved--I was sure that some of the discomfort I felt in my stomach would carry over to the rest of my body, but it does not seem that way at all. The stomach pain (or at times no pain) seems to exist in a world of its own. I think this will give me more license to move around the city--nothing to really keep me on the upper west side now.
  This morning---bright and early at 7:30, I was first in line to get a live haircut at the barber shop on Amsterdam and 74th that I usually go to. And off the hair came---looking much better now I think. Then I took the subway to the Amalgamated Bank---I have an account there, and made a deposit. I was lucky because this "popular" bank had only been open three days a week, up to now, and the lines outside were much too long. Today there was no line, just two long transactions at the tellers, while I was waiting, (I thought they would go on forever) and I got what I wanted done.
  On the way back to the apartment, I opted to take a bus rather then the subway, since I did not want to pay the subway fare. The long ride back---north on sixth avenue---proved excruciating---bus very poorly ventilated---driver stopping for long stops at certain points--finally I got out at 59th west of 6th and walked a bit---at this point I felt totally dehydrated--found a cart where the guy sold me some ice water, and made my way towards the apartment. Also had a nice ice coffee at Shakespeare and Company on 69th street, and read a bit. Returned home to the apartment pretty tired.
  At the bookstore I came upon a book in the non-fiction section; apparently a memoir by a close friend of Philip Roth, recounting their time together. Roth and his life have always interested me--  I desperately wanted to buy it, but the price was a bit too high--so I left it in its place on the shelf. 
Disappointed, really curious to see what the book is---maybe another time, or maybe I can find a copy in the library---of course that won't be for a long time.
    So that is where I am now. Relieved about my physical state---thinking as I plan the evening
 that I have a lot more choices then before--it's so odd to think that I could spend a whole day away from the upper west side--that is how "wedded' I have become to the pace and identity of my day here, I, who lived to get away from the neighborhood before the virus. We will see what happens....

The sound inside..

is the name of a play written by Adam Rapp. Yesterday, while my apartment was being cleaned, I celebrated the second day of Barnes and Noble reopening by browsing the store, and ultimately choosing to buy Adam's play, and yes, also a mystery by Agatha Christie. A strange and fascinating juxtaposition, though i don't know if I realized it then. Adam's play had a run on Broadway---I wanted to see it but had not-- so when I saw I had the chance to buy it and experience it---for certainly when I returned home to my newly cleaned apartment, there would be nothing else to do---I did just that.

  I met Adam Rapp in September of 1991---I had become friends with his brother Anthony, and was looking to cast a 10 minute (worthless) play that I had been asked to direct. Adam had appeared in Anthony's production of a John Guare play (Marco Polo sings a Solo); I asked Anthony to see if Adam would want to work with me on this one. Adam accepted my offer;at the time, he was working for Penguin down in the lower part of the West Village. We became good friends, and remained so for about 6 years. I went to many readings  or read his earliest writings; even though I liked him, I was not impressed---the points they made seemed obvious--most everything remained on the surface. Adam himself, seemed easy to understand; he wanted to write, but also was a compulsive basketball player--and seemed very comfortable in the dating world.  His head seemed very much in the present. So of course, you can understand my amazement when, around 2000, his plays became internal---he began to create a whole universe of people and actions that seemed totally remote from the friend that I knew. But these people and and their actions were unique. Within the removed framework he created, these characters were authentic.  Somehow those earlier, clumsy attempt at playwriting were necessary--once he let go of them he could move on to that unique and fascinating world--where sometimes not a word would be wasted---of his later plays.

  The narrator of The Sound Inside (the play) is a fifty three year old college English professor  at Yale .who is alone, and has stomach problems. Interesting because at this moment I am experiencing problems with my stomach as well---problems that I have trouble understanding. Problems and sometimes pain that has forced me to consider the possibility of a colonoscopy, something I really don't want. The play recounts her relationship with one the freshmen in her English class. Bella, (the woman) lives a fairly isolated and self sufficient life---even among the hubub of the Yale campus where she teaches. The play is about their relationship and the effect that they have on each other from the play's beginning to its end. As I expected, it drew me in. Its ending, or its total meaning, is never made clear. But it was the experience that I wanted---the rest of the evening I tuned into WNYC to get some results of the important races that were taking place in the city. But thoughts about the play dominated my vision

I am writing this post, this sentence at 3:44 Wednesday morning. About a half hour ago, i awoke from a sleep that probably lasted an hour and a half. When I stood up, to go to the bathroom, I was shocked. Not only was there no pain in my stomach, but the rest of my body carried with it a
kind of quiet--no pain anywhere. This is the same body I had in 1976, after an unexpected break up with a woman stunned me and (though I did not know it then) put my life on a different path. The break up signified the end of  the first part of my adult life. As I am writing this, as I was after the break up, I am now, totally alone. But has the body really not changed?  Now, at 3:45, Is this real? No wonder I tire in the early evening.  No wonder trips to Williamsburg or Bushwick seem impossible.

As in  the beginning.  The other book that I bought: an Agatha Christie mystery---I had enjoyed reading another one earlier in the lockdown--it was beautifully put together and kept my mind from the blankness of the days.  As I got up, I thought to myself: Adam's play is all internal. Christie's mystery is the complete absence of anything internal--it is all surface.  I had chosen two completely opposite reading experiences. Can I now, after The Sound Inside, and all it has brought up in me, possibly
take on the Christie. Or should I go back to the charming but somewhat inane Prep, by Curtis Sittenfeld, Maybe  I  should return to Barnes and Noble  and seek out another "galvanic' book.
It's all open..

Monday, Monday...

towards the end of the day. A hot one---I have been inside, letting my fan cool me. Other than that, have been on different web sites, making comments when necessary. Am also tired.
  So yesterday afternoon, cityboy really triumphed! Why? Well, I left the upper west side, proving that I am not trapped in this area---and that---in spite of some lingering stomach problems, I can move around the city at will. Two trains---the 3 and the F, brought me to Delancey Street to first, check on my friend Bob's new restaurant, and second, visit La Flaca, his old one. At the new one, on Clinton, between Rivington and Delancey, and fronted by a flower shop, the seating set up looked really good--tables a perfect distance apart---some benches in the front and back---looks like it will be a perfect place for a first date---or even something a little more intimate. But no one was there, just the artist, painting a mural on the front---so I headed to La Flaca---there I found Bob with some friends---just sitting outside. I joined them for a while---Bob does not know if he can keep La Flaca after August 1st. But the conversation was good, and when I left to return to the upper west side, I felt strong; after all I had finally followed through on my urge to visit another part of the city. The train ride home was brief and uneventful.
Then came the evening and night. First got very tired after the trip---then a second wind---then impossible to sleep once the time passed 1o'clock. Not feeling great---I usually under eat and that works for me, but last night, after a large roast beef sandwich and a yogurt, somehow I still felt hungry. But where can you go at 2 or 3 in the morning?  Yes, the convenience store 4 blocks away stays open all night, and there are plenty of doormen whom I would pass on my journey there and back, but, of course, something inside of me still said "no". Restless, eyes tired, no reading, thoughts, thoughts, thoughts. Finally, the light came, about 5:30, and soon I was on my way to the store.
What amazed me on that trip, is that, even though I had not slept, my body did not feel tired at all, in fact, it wanted to move quickly. It i like I have two bodies--the stomach with its ups and downs, and the rest of me---very alive and spirited with very little pain---can do everything I could many years ago.
And that is it---now I await my friend Sarah's check in phone call, will do a little more web surfing and hope for the best.

So what happened....

Well, not a lot. My first move was to decide to walk 15 or 16 blocks south on West End to John Jay college, where there was early voting. Normal voting is Tuesday but I figured, what the hell, with all the free time that I have, might as well explore early voting. It did not happen. I arrived and at the first table they did not have my name. They sent me to a second table that found my name---not too hard---but then ceremoniously told me that I could not vote at that sight---I could only vote at the second early voting sight in the district---on 102nd between Amsterdam and Columbus. The 11 bus, with stop a block away, could have dropped me off right there, but after a short ride, decided that it was better to wait and get off at the stop nearest my apartment. That ended my voting adventure; I don't think I will try the 102nd street voter venue today; on Tuesday I will go to my normal voting place, about two blocks away and hope for the best.
  Still, it was only a little after 12, but oh boy, the heat was becoming intense. That was enough to discourage me from a trip to Bushwick---instead I opted to stay in the apartment and listen to the Met's broadcast of The Marriage of Figaro, by Mozart. It is a three and a half hour opera---I was home for most of it. Figaro is an opera I know almost by heart---I learned it in the summer and fall of 66, saw it for the first time a year later---and have seen it many times since. I also sang parts of it in the opera workshops and concerts that I sang in between 69 and 74, when I was an aspiring baritone.
I have also had many fantasies about directing it; no production that I have ever seen has brought out what I feel are some of the important points of its drama. So while I listened to the opera, I staged many parts of it in my own mind. I imagined it being performed in small space (maybe 50 or 60 spectators) by a group of young, adventurous singers, with just one or two pianos to accompany them. Quite an experience--everything for me rests in the final minutes of the last act, when the Countess accepts the Count's apology. It is a great moment and everyone should see that it is the pivotal moment in the opera. As it was sung on the radio, I imagined my production---felt very deeply involved.
    Two actor friends of mine were performing a production of Pinter's the Dumbwaiter by zoom, but that was not until 8. Had a lot of time to kill---anger--really very little to fill it with. Somehow I got to 8, saw the production and then did a little browsing on the computer. Towards the end, I came upon
a statement by a second cousin of mine about his father---an obstetrician who divorced his mom when he was a teenager, and then refused to acknowledge either the poster or his two brothers. 
This was the same man who was an affable host when my brother and i visited he and his wife (my true blood cousin) many years earlier. His very deeply felt
 memoir (for that it is what it was) prompted me to
post a reply---and got me in touch with many memories of the visit. It was a two week visit,
since the couple lived in LA and David and I came from NYC. For an hour, all I could do was
think about that time, and I hoped that my reply would bring forth in Rob (the poster) an offer
to share some further memories of the visit and of the family, and possibly a larger discussion about the current relationships of family members, but Rob simply "liked" my reply, as he did for many other replys, and, as far as I know, is not interested in exploring family dynamics further. Oh well, at least the post triggered a lot of memories and feelings, which filled up a lot of time for me.

Cityboy at the Crossroads...

Saturday morning: the protests continue---there should be many of them today---and the city prepares for the re-openings of many businesses on Monday. And cityboy sits in his apartment, and wonders what his next move will be.
Yesterday---the whole day dominated by intense stomach cramps. A truly debilitating feeling. At this point, cityboy knows that there is nothing he can do it relieve the cramps---it is part of a cycle which ends after a while, when the stomach becomes calm. That is how I feel this morning---no pressure from the stomach or below, and a strong sense that my body can move anywhere. But where and how? Tomorrow a good friend of mine is opening up a new restaurant on Clinton Street in the lower east side. I hope to be there in the afternoon. On Monday, there are some early morning protests against the re-opening of the Housing Courts in each borough. I would like to go to the Brooklyn one, that is where I think many of the BAN members will be. And being at the protests--mask or no mask, will let me have some good conversation with the other protesters. So what stops me? Can my body deal with the travel and its consequences. Every day I remain near my apartment on the upper west side. And it is not that I don't accomplish things. I did my laundry yesterday and stopped of at a shoe store and bought a much needed pair of shoes.  Still,  I don't know what demands a trip too far away from the apartment will make on me. And yet, I long to travel. Not another day around the apartment, either watching or browsing on the computer, or taking short walks not far from where I live. My mind explodes with visions of streets in Brooklyn---I would give anything to be there---away from here.
Yesterday, at about 7, decided I needed a short walk, so I walked north on West End to 86th street---very quiet, as one would expect. I chose Amsterdam Avenue---with its many bars and restaurants half opened-- to return. The street was sprawling with people, mostly young, some middle aged and older, hanging out outside those places, observing about 3 feet of social distancing. How did it make me feel? For the most part, I went with it---I like the idea of a kind of "semi-celebration" of the end of social distancing.  Somehow I feel that it is a sign that the city people have overcome the virus. Am I right? Only time will tell.
  So it is 8:30 in the morning, and cityboy has not determined his next move. What shall it be? Short walks around the neighborhood, or maybe a trip to Broadway and the 140's, another way of "playing it safe", or is it time to really take some risks? Stay tuned.

Thursday afternoon...

the slow march to Phase 2 in the city's comeback continues. For you, cityboy, it just means waiting it out, and even when it happens, a lot depends on your mobility, which has not been much recently.
  Today, so far, just stayed mostly in and around the apartment---a walk north on Amsterdam to 84th and some time spent in Riverside Park in the seventies. Still, perhaps the most interesting part of this day was my time spent "lying around" in the 1 o'clock time period. I had two very strong visions. The first concerns a short scene that fascinates me from The Mask and the Face, the play that I just bought on line, and that I have thought about since my sophmore year at Hopkins. It is a dialogue, between the play's protagonist---a man in his late twenties who believes that an unfaithful wife should be killed for her sins, and an older man---a man of the world---who has married a much younger woman. He is aware that she is being unfaithful to him; he does not have a problem with that. The younger man is combative---the older, calm and worldly wise--- a very effective contrast. In the scene, the older man explains why he puts up with his wife's infidelities, and how he thinks it will all play out.  The younger man is incredulous. Somehow, each time I go back to the play, rather than reading the whole play through again, I fixate on those two pages.
Amazing! I must have read the scene today at least six times. I would love to see it performed--just that segment, in front of an audience. As for the rest of the play, the young man with such a strong view of infidelity finds out that his wife has been cheating on him, and then is forced to make a decision---to stand by his beliefs, or have compassion. The rest of the play is about how that decision changes his life.
   Second vision: centers around Act I of the Seagull. I fantasize directing a production at Friends--just of Act I---and in my mind, cast students whom I know in most of the parts. The first act plays in my mind over and over again. At this point, I feel like I know how each moment in the act  should be played--just thinking about the play and its characters stimulates me,  Would such a production be
possible..? Probably not---you are not part of the artistic staff at Friends, for one, and secondly, would the students, asked to read The Sea Gull, be excited by it, or intimidated by it, since it so out of their
"ken". At times, when i have suggested to a student at Friends, a book or a performance that stimulates my imagination, they have shut it down.  Ah well, citiboy, the whole thing remains in your mind---still, what I think is important is how much sustenance I get just from thinking about
that first act, especially its final moment---Dr. Dorn, helplessly empathic while all the energy is going on around him.
   Reading news: I am currently reading Prep, by Cutis Sittenfeld, the story of a middle class white girl thrust into an exclusive private boarding school. Not exactly gripping, but its working. But I just bought a novel, at a news stand (remember the book stores are still not opened) by J.M. Coetzee, the renowned South African novelist an essayist, called Waiting for the Barbarians---which, from the little I have read, is about social justice in South Africa. Quite a contrast---sensitive white girl
trying to navigate an elite school, and a novel focusing on social justicee. Which will win
out my time. We will see by tomorrow, or soon, stay tuned....

What did we "accomplish" today?

Not much, by normal standards, but maybe you are being a little too hard on yourself, cityboy.  Up at 5, over to your usual convenience store for your first cup of coffee at 6, a credit card monthly bill paid, bought some medium garbage bags ( you can never have enough of them) and, oh yes, finished Girl Gone, which I started two days ago. Did I mention Girl Gone in the last post---well, not the most powerful or unique of mysteries, but still interesting enough to take my mind off the one dimensional vision of the day that I am stuck with. Now I have to find another book to help me "escape", sadly nothing in my apartment seems very interesting to me. I check the used book store on Broadway near 81st for their books (I got Diane Keaton's memoir, which I really enjoyed, there for one dollar), but that is the only option so far. Next week, if the city enters stage 2, I think the Barnes and Noble near me will be open---there I can find something to buy---maybe, if it is allowed, browse there a little bit. I would love that. Meanwhile,  I will reconsider the ten or so books in my apartment, and maybe I can find one of them with some interesting stuff.
   I just subscribed to two months of the Baltimore Sun. First time I have done that--it comes very cheap. Why? Because Johns Hopkins and Baltimore is the only other city that I have actually "lived" in, so I feel familiar and invested in what is happening there.  Baltimore is so opposite to New York, for the most part, incredibly low lying, lots of empty spaces---no brutal demand for land---and a warm, laid back feeling in the neighborhoods that I visit when I visit there. Of course, it also has a black population living in very poor conditions, that seem totally cut off from the rest of the city. And most of the other neighborhoods in the city are middle and working class, and fairly diverse. The challenge is to bring up these poor neighborhoods---I have not followed the protests there but hopefully, helping those neighborhoods will be part of the result of the upheaval we are all living through now At any rate, getting the Sun every day will fill me in on how the city is coming back
from the pandemic, and solving its problems.
    Nothing much else---still monitoring my stomach problems carefully---and on Sunday I streamed a really excellent documentary called "Down A Dark Stairwell" an examination in depth of the murder
of Akil Gurley, a black man who was killed in the Pink projects in East New York when he was sitting on a stairwell, talking to a friend, and the gun of a police officer, making a vertical search, accidentally went off. The film looks at the aftermath from both sides---and since the event took place in 2014, seems very prophetic for today.
   Finished--will report soon.

middle of the day...Tuesday...

How does one describe "nothingness"? In a way, that would define today, well not really, I think I did have some errands to run or something this morning, but those were out of the way by 9. I have spent the rest of the day, going on short walks and totally immersed in the mystery novel Gone Girl. At least my imagination has somewhere to go. The book was sitting on the porch of one of the brownstones about a half a block away from my apartment with another book. I figured it was mine for the taking---that is what they leave those books out for---so I took it. It is not great writing or terribly meaningful, but it moves nicely and builds suspense well--so I am in. Have another 150 pages to go, and really I want to discover the denouement of the mystery.
   What else,...? Well, stomach cramps were really intense Sunday and much of Monday, but today, for some reason, they have disappeared, Nice to feel---a very positive and relaxed feeling brought by the departure of the pain.
  How to make the day more interesting? Without leaving the neighborhood...impossible! So, it follows that I must make the break with the upper west side, soon. Can I head to Brooklyn; am I strong enough? Will my stomach behave on the trip? And if Brooklyn, where? There is a vigil tonight at McCarren park---won't go today, but if it is nightly, might be able to shoot for it tomorrow. Then of course, since I am strongest in the really early part of the day, maybe I should think about an early morning trip. Think I could make it to Cobra---seven stops in on the L? Maybe, might be worth a shot. The baristas there (assuming they are the same ones as pre-pandemic) are my friends, and might really be happy to see me. That's it! That is what I miss---community! Nothing at all here on the upper west side.
  Expecting a call from my friend Riley tonight--that should make me feel more alive---and the rest of the week---and so we move closer and closer to the true summer. And I-----

Sunday morning at 3 A.M.

that's right! It is actually 3:07, and cityboy is full of energy after two strong days.
Hihglights: Finding Then Again,  Diane Keaton's memoir about her life and her strong relationship with her mother, in a used bookstore and buying it. I read the whole book in about 24 hours, it reads beautifully with lots of moments to empathize with. Made me feel more focused and "alive" in terms of reading matter then I have in a long time.
The return of body strength: Thursday and Friday were "fatigue' days, tired from the afternoon on---again this may have been due to lack of sleep in the past nights---but Saturday morning at 1 A.M., after about four hours of decent sleep my body awoke and I felt as if I had been"shot out of a cannon". Amazing! My energy had come back strong. Of course, not much one can do with an overshot of energy at 1A.M, the way things are now, so I just stuck it out in the apartment. Still, I was stunned at how strong my body felt.
With that in my, I had to make Saturday different. First took the 1 to 145 street to pay my Wifi bill, stopped off at Hamiltons, had an ice coffee then went down to Riverside park around 147th and continued to read Ms. Keaton's book. Around 11--11:30 mid morning, again while reading the book, watched the parade of people moving north and south on the park side of the drive. No real humidity, a nice easy feel to the day.
Afternoon: returned to the apartment, then gave my newly revived body another assignment. To walk from 76th and West End, to 42nd and 10th. Could I do it. Yes, the body was strong---made my
destination-Signature theater where I could stop and "Chill" for a while. Took advantage of the fact that they were open to support "protesters", even if there were none in the area. Then moved north on 9th, from 42nd to 57th---an interesting walk, this area is full of bars, and although most were closed on the inside, outside there were many "revelers" (for want of a better word) not obeying the purest of social distancing procedures. While I did not see any people on top of one another, three feet was more the rule---about half of the people not wearing masks. What to make of this?  Obsessives will claim that this behavior defeats the social distancing that we have been asked to do in the past 10 weeks. I am not sure I agree with that. Maybe all of those people outside were virus free. How do I know, I don't---but for some reason I am not upset by the march away from isolation. And what of the amazing and passionate protesters---will that commitment cause a relapse in the virus spreading. I hope not. I am willing to wait and see---I need the new freedom (I still stay home at night) and I want it to continue. Anyway, at 57th and 10th, finally got an 11 bus that took me back to the neighborhood.
The body moved easily with little stress or tiredness during the walk. I am pleased with that.
  At night, began reading Camino Real by Tennesee Williams a strange and surreal play that he wrote after The Rose Tattoo. One of his characters has a piece of dialogue lifted from The Purification, a one act play that Williams wrote earlier in his career,  I directed that play in my last year at Hopkins, and my mind immediately dropped back to that. I can remember the complete cast---more about that some other time--let's see what the day will bring.

Friday morning...

From darkness into light. Why are the hours like from 1:00 to 5:00 A.M. so hard for me? The upbeat energy that I feel now is so different from the "lostness" (for want of a better word) that I feel during that period. Case in point: a dream that began the time. I am on a bus headed for the suburbs. I must have gotten on before 57th street and 8th, because that is where we are now. I realize that this is a mistake; I have no desire to go anywhere out of the city---the bus starts to move west. I approach the bus driver and ask him nicely to let me off at the corner of 57th street and 9nth Avenue. He politely says no--tells me that the first stop for this bus is north of the city, and that he cannot open the doors for anyone before that. The bus moves west from 9th to 10th avenue. I remain at the front and again nicely ask the driver to let me off at 57th and 10th. He is nice but firm---No! I guess I am stuck on this bus until that first suburb stop and then I have to figure out how to get home. And that is where the dream ends---I am facing 57th and 10th, and realizing that I can't leave the bus there. I wake up feeling frustrated.
  For the rest of those 4 hours, it is just thought after thought---memory after memory. Oh sure, I mange to sleep a bit,  but the accumulative power of the distancing plus the darkness overwhelms me.
And then it all ends. The sun arrives, I prepare myself to leave the apartment to get my usual morning coffee---I leave---it is a beautiful morning---no humidity, and somehow the fear and abandonment that I experienced in the darkness is all gone. It is as if it never happened. How do you explain that?  
I still don't have a lot to do today, yet I am feeling warm and optimistic. How will it end? Must I simply accept the "dark' part of the night..? Will it get better when I can move around in the early evening, instead of being "stuck" at home? We will see.
  Wednesday morning I did get out--took the not very crowded 1 train to 145th, grabbed an ice coffee, at Hamilton's where most of the staff knows me--walked a block west to Riverside Park and read for a while. Really felt great. Sometimes, even just watching the people who pass---the joggers, couples, mothers or fathers with babies can seem fascinating---looking at  all the colors on their clothes--yes,
I really like that.
Finished the third novel in Auster's New York trilogy---all of them are real essays on loneliness, as well as mysteries that usually are revealed as "shaggy dog" stories. But it does not matter---the man writes so well---the imagination is really drawn in.
So, that is the report...let's see if today can be truly productive and fulfilling. Will report soon.

fascinating. I probably will return to that area today, to pay my internet bill.

wow! no post in three days...

well, like I have said, the current moment is all. Yet I must post today---the protests are demonstrating incredible energy and power with me watching on the sidelines; still it is time for me to make some statement for myself.
First of all---lets move around. I have not left the upper west side in a long time. Time to challenge  myself to do some exploring---even with my stomach issues present. Perhaps Brooklyn is too long a haul for me yet, so my first vision of myself traveling is simply to go north to the 145street and Broadway area--an area that I know well, since I tutor in the library a block away. Would like to check in on my favorite coffee shop---Hamiltons---they were open for take out last time I visited, so I would hope they would be open now. Then to take a book and simply read down by Riverside and 146th-147th street.
I am anxious to get to Brooklyn---perhaps it will only be a matter of time--- I am aware from a list published on several web sites that there are several places for me to stop off at, if necessary. Perhaps will take the subway to the Brooklyn Museum stop and start from there. I wish that the library on Grand Army Plaza was open; how wonderful it would be just to go in and browse around, feel the space. But no---will have to wait for that.
It is 8:45 in the morning. The last thing I want to do today is to sit home and listen to NPR for the next couple of hours. Really tired of that. Time to really move! Will report soon.

raining now...right..

in the middle of the day. Glad that I am not protesting---take that back, cityboy, you know that you should be out there making your voice heard. A little rain or a small downpour never hurt anyone. And yet you are not...explain....
    Yesterday, a slow day most of the afternoon, then suddenly everything came to life when I attended the virtual BAN-Equality for Flatbush meeting. Only said hello and identified my neighborhood---that was my only statement during the entire two hour meeting---but received much warmth from Imani, E4f's leader, and later a nice text from Alex, another member who is also a Friends Seminary graduate. But just focusing on what others were saying---just trying to get the whole picture which included reports on protesting, giving out food, being on the phone tree---gave me a focus which I had not had in a long while. So I woke up today feeling tremendous energy--more then I have felt in a long time---and more important, a sense that I belonged in this group. Can't wait to get out to Brooklyn a little later in the year---maybe to do some protesting outside an apartment house where the landlord is harassing the older tenants.
  But what about today. As usual, I checked the web sites to find out where the many protests were being held today. Found one at Columbus Circle for 11:00--pretty easy for me---I could walk there and if there were any problems take the easy walk home. But I could not do it. Got hungry around 10:40 and had to return to the apartment for some food, at least that is the excuse I gave myself.
But some part of me is holding back. I know I am not "needed"---there are plenty of people attending these protests--still, I seem to be very ambivalent about getting involved. One organization was giving out free food this morning at Nostrand and Foster Avenues, and I thought of going out there, but changed my mind.
Something stops me.
Still, I marvel at the sheer amount of people going out to protest---the lack of fear when it comes to facing the police, particularly from the the groups in Manhattan and Brookllyn that flaunt curfew. Yes, this is different, we are moving towards a new reality, prompted by these protests. What form will it take. Can't say, remember we are still in "free fall'. will have to take it day by day,

Memories of "Bobby"

With the protests still going strong throughout the city, cityboy takes a break to think back to 52 years ago. The memory came to me as I was listening to Schubert's brutal string quartet, entitled Death and the Maiden. Especially its sad and plaintive second movement. Here is some background.
 June 4, 1968--I attend New York City Ballet performance at the State theater, as I have many time that season. As I watch I am aware it is also the night of the Democratic Primary in California. The final ballet, Balanchine's Symphony in C, has a third movement danced with incredible joy. A friend whom I have met at the ballet by accident is also thrilled by it. We leave on a high--my thoughts turn to the Primary---Bobby Kennedy is sure to win---right? What could be more meaningful.
  I return home to the small studio apartment that I have on Irving Place between 18th and19th street. It must be around 11, or 11:30. I turn on the radio---Kennedy has won--I go to sleep feeling jubilant
and incredibly relaxed.
   The next morning, I am not sure when, I here the news. First, that he is not dead--maybe some hope---but soon that changes. I have to at work by 9, but I can't move. I have a copy of Death and the Maiden in the apartment---I have borrowed it from the library---I stop everything and play the second movement over and over again. I am lost in a world of horror and disappointment. I can't believe that it really happened.
   Since his brother's assasination, 4 and a half years earlier, the word on Kennedy was that he had changed greatly. No longer the cold, machine like protector of his older brother, he had learned compassion and strength--he was looking at everything from a fresh perspective. Born into wealth, it was thought that his vision of the U.S. was that of a nation where wealth was not paramount, where the disenfranchised could have his voice, where he would fight for a very fair nation for all. He had, many who knew him said, a vision that was moving very strongly to the left. But of course, we will never know.
   Now here we are in the middle of what might be seen as an incredible rebellion. The protests continue and they don't lose any strength. Is what the protesters want--a more accountable police force, and by definition, a much less powerful "ruling class"?-- something that Bobby might have made possible if he had won the Presidency. It's all a void; we can just try for now.

free fall continues....

the marches continue---yesterday around 8:30 I was stunned to hear chanting from what seemed like a large group of people.  Soon, to my amazement, a really large group of protesters lined West End Avenue---it took all of them about 5 minutes to pass through my block. It was the first protest that took place on the upper west side---I was sure that for some reason, we were too uptown for the movement but no...there they were. There is another group now that is at Columbus Circle, having traveled north on sixth avenue to get there. Are they moving north, toward us after that? Will have to see.
In all my years of watching protests, I have never seen a group of people, so determined, so full of conviction, so focused, so anxious to come back day after day. But how will this play out in the future? Where will this energy and awareness go?  This group has gotten a first hand look at police brutality---will they stop at nothing to get police reform? Will they throw their support to political candidates---after all they are a very strong voting block. Will they just peter out and go back to their homes and apartments. I doubt it. That is what I mean by "free fall"; it is hard to predict the end, or the integration of this group into the larger society of the city. It wide open.
  This morning, finally left the neighborhood to go to one of my banks at Union Square. The line to get into the bank was incredibly long; I left very soon after joining the line---I simply could not wait that long a time. But it was wonderful just walking in a different neighborhood. Afterwards I walked north on 5th avenue from 14th to 23rd street. Many stores boarded up most people on the street were either delivery people or in construction. Still just to observe the essence of a different neighborhood---terrific! Then I walked west to sixth avenue and waited for the 7 bus, which brought me back to the upper west side. Again, many boarded buildings---nobody is taking a chance after the looting of Sunday and Monday. Finally arrived at my destination---the upper west side---and returned to the apartment.

three days later...

really nothing to say---the city, to me, is basically in free fall territory. After the lootings and the protests and the desecration of some areas, it is hard to know where we are going from here. Memory, at this time, seems meaningless.
Worst of all was what happened in the Bronx. Intense looting of drugstores, other stores serving working class neighborhoods, and run and owned by people of color as well. This is frightening! How do we recover from this---how do the people who owned and ran the stores deal with the loss of income. And think of  the parents whose children or older parents are struggling with disease and now have to go so many more blocks or even miles to find needed medications now that the nearby drugstores have been trashed?
Nothing to do but to wait for the next set of events.....