There’s a slightly surreal quality to a subway station during the day when the light from outside falls inside–through a grate, or in this picture by our man Bags, through the stairwell.

Any day is a good day to see what James and Karla are doing.

Check out this BBC radio documentary on the great Damon Runyon.

I’m reading Richard Ben Cramer’s Big Book, “What it Takes,”–which was dubbed “What it Weighs” by the Boston Globe back in 1992. The book is a good excuse to think about buying a Kindle or a Nook and believe me I’ve considered it. But there’s something about lugging the thing around–dealing with the weight of it–that I’m compelled to do in honor Cramer’s exhaustive efforts.

And so I lug. (Oh, and also, I’m entertained. The book is a ton of fun.)

I was standing on the uptown platform of the 7th Avenue line at 42nd street last night with a friend when we heard a young woman’s voice. It was clear and also annoyed. She was climbing up the stairs from the 7 train. “We’ve been in New York for a couple of hours and we’ve already walked five miles.” She was holding a McDonald’s cup and she stomped up the steps, looking ready for a fight.

Not everyone from New York enjoys walking. But it sounded so strange to hear someone bitching about it. I just take it for granted that this is a place for walkers. Then again, when my sister and I were little we complained about having to walk all the way from 103rd Street to 96th to McDonalds. Our babysitter used to make fun of us. But we were four-years-old, so I’ll give us a pass.

Always waiting for the smell. That combination of dirt and warmth that signals not just the coming of spring but more distinctly: baseball. I caught a trace of something related this morning–closer, it’s getting there–but it wasn’t it. Still, it was a reminder and sometimes that’s enough.

Meanwhile, check out this picture of two kids playing one-on-one a few weeks ago at the famous West 4th Street court. Hey man, when you’ve got to play, you’ve got to play, right?

Always nice, with the potential for some magic, when Manhattan slows down during a snow storm. Course today it’s raining and the snow is all but a memory here in midtown.

[Photo Credit: Eye Heart New York]

Snow! Holy Cow, gettothestoregetfoodhurryhurry. Do you think we’ll make it?

Eh, it’s iffy. In the meantime, I saw this picture over at the always great site, Kottke. Like the shot, especially because it was taken in father’s old neighborhood.

The things around us are so easy to miss. This morning on my subway ride to work, though, I looked up from a magazine article and paid attention. First, uptown, before the train got crowded, a fat guy a few seats to my right, placed half of his Cuban sandwich on his left leg, the melted cheese almost touching his jeans, as he texted with both hands. And to my left, a trim, smartly-dressed guy who looked like he stepped out of a GQ fashion spread–skinny legs, red pants, no socks, black suede loafers with an ornate design. He sent a text, too, on a large Samsung smart phone.  Surprised to see a SoHo dude like that get on at Dyckman.

Later, a middle-aged mother–Russian, maybe?–and her two boys, both wearing brown coats, not older than ten, her arm around the young one, the one with glasses, pinching his cheeks, holding him close. And the scowling teenage girl wearing combat boots who fell asleep, her head leaning to the side, her face not so angry in sleep, revealing the tenderness of her age.

Then a woman sitting next to me, hard and firm, angling for position. I didn’t want to give up my arm location, established because I was there first. I was finished with the magazine but I didn’t lean over and put it in my napsack, resting on the floor between my legs, because then I’d give up my position and she’d surely take advantage. A stranger, no words, no recognition even, but engaged in silent combat.

Soon it was crowded and I couldn’t help but smile at the young boy with the small head who, packed in his huge coat, backpack weighing him down from behind, looked like a turtle. Or the tall girl with the pom pom on her hat that made her look six feet tall.

And when I got off the train at my stop, there was the short man with the small, tight mouth that I often see, though he’s usually with his wife, who also has a small, tight mouth. They remind me of people whose dogs look like them and it makes me wonder if people are drawn together for similar reasons. Passing through the turnstiles with a school of commuters, up the stairs, a pretty Asian girl wearing a North Face jacket and black tights is at the top of the steps waiting to walk down. She halts and waits. As I move by I turn my head slightly–though never is slightly so obvious when we’re talking about a man–shift my eyes and and take a look. Sure enough she’s got a backside that could stop traffic. Ass for days, the kind that makes men–or women, for that matter–do foolish things. But I don’t stop, I keep it moving. It’s just that I took a moment to notice.

More Grand Central goodness over at The Atlantic.

Here’s more on Grand Central Station’s birthday over at Kottke.

[Photo Credit: Adrees Latif/Reuters]

Hizzoner…

Good site: New York Neon.

Russ and Daughters. L.E.S.

New York pictures by Michael Sean Edwards.

Over at Flavorwire check out this photo gallery of the library’s most loyal patrons.

[Photograph: Aaron Colussi]

Grand Central’s many secrets.

[Picture by Bags]

Sunlight counts. It really helps, no matter how cold it is.

[Picture by Bags]

Welcome to Brick City (all due respect to Newark). You know, these warm winters spoil us when it gets cold…in January…you know, like it’s supposed to…

Which isn’t to say that I’m thrilled with how brick it’s been this week. I moan more than most–just ask The Wife. But last night, as I was leaving work, I got some bright news. The sky. It was lighter than it’d been, even just a day earlier. Which means, no matter how cold it is now, in the middle of winter, the days are starting to get longer. Soon enough–less than three weeks in fact, pitchers and catchers report, and the spring and the summer will follow.

And then we can bitch about the heat.

Dorie Greenspan’s got a couple of stores. They look worth checking out, man.  Seriously.