Noo Yawk Tawk.

At the barber shop uptown we talk baseball and listen to music and sometimes nobody says anything and that’s okay, too.

Sometimes I wonder what’s going on up there in all those apartments.

[Photo Credit: EIKNARF]

Less humid this morning, breezy, but the kind of day to bottle: a perfect spring day. Hard not to stretch and smile and feel happy to be alive on day like this.

Everyday I Show is just a great site.

Dig these New York moments captured by Albert Levy.

Another Retronaut sure shot.

And speaking of Robert Caro…

The last time I was in the Metro was to see “The Titanic” of all things. The upper west side movie theater–the spot where Woody goes to see “Duck Soup” in “Hannah and her Sisters”–has been closed for a while but is now set to re-open.

Nice.

Take me out to the Polo Grounds.

Dig this gallery of old New York over at our favorite hang, How To Be a Retronaut.

There is a heavily graffitied wall just north of Isham St, where Isham Park spills out onto Broadway. It’s sanctioned graffiti, done with care and in broad daylight. Some of the murals have been excellent, others have been less so, but they always brighten the corner.

Yesterday, I saw the artist at work for the first time.

I would have stuck around to see him finish, but I had two important meetings up on the hill.

That’s a tightly packed sixty seconds; thanks New York.

Crowded subway this morning, I’m two seats in past the door. A group of teenage girls are standing above me. Hairspray, glossy lips, gold earrings, tight jeans. Eventually, they are pinned in place. One girl, her back to the door, is twisted around and practically sitting in the lap of a woman sitting in the first seat. The girl has no place to go and she says to her friend, “Yo, I can’t move, yo.” She laughs. “I got my ass up in this girl’s face, my nigga.”

I looked up and see a toy Minnie Mouse watch on her friends’ wrist.

Morning train.

Take the train.

Take the train.

Here’s an authentic welcome home after you’ve been gone for a minute. It’s not even that I need to eat a dirty water dog. I just need to see a stand with the words “Sabrett” printed on an umbrella to make me feel right.

From the wide open spaces of New Mexico to the confinement of the city. Sometimes, it takes a few days to adjust, man. This was one of those times because it is easy to get used to that big sky out west. And all that space. I’ve often felt overwhelmed by it. This time, I embraced it and it felt good.

Still, I not sorry to be home. Never am.

[Photo Credit: Elevated Encouragement]

After three or four years of avoiding the arduous climb whenever possible, I now usually take the stairs at 215th St and Broadway when I have a choice. There are 110 of ’em so it’s a challenge, but a welcome one after desk-jockeying all day.

2010.

1915.

This picture from 1916, taken from the East side of Broadway gives you a better idea of the climb.

What challenges do look forward to on your walks about town? Which ones do you avoid? I know I try to avoid the subway on treks of less than twenty blocks, though I’ll train it for less than ten in the rain.

Photos via myinwood.net & placematters.net

A subway train retirement village at 215th St.

My neighbor and I boarded the downtown A Train at rush hour one morning last week where I noticed a man drawing a portrait in a seat close to us. He was using bold strokes and working quickly.

The artist was a Black man, around forty years old by my guess, and he wore close-cropped facial hair and an army-green cap. His two front teeth appeared to be wrestling and the right tooth was winning.

My neighbor and I chatted for several stops and I didn’t give the artist another thought until I turned my head and saw that five or six people in our vicinity were holding portraits of themselves. The artist was reaching across the aisle to hand a fresh drawing to a stout, middle-aged Korean man who had his eyes closed.

The Korean man rejected the drawing without looking at it. Generally, this isn’t an insulting move. If you took every piece of paper that was handed to you in this city, you’d drown in the stuff. The artist explained, albeit with an edge, that he was handing him a drawing. The Korean man relented, though I still don’t think he understood what was going on.

And the Korean man’s instincts were at least partially on target. The artist was seeking tips. It was a clever, much more palatable (to me anyway) method of asking for cash on the subway, but it still put the recipient of the portrait on the spot. Some people gave the artist money for the drawing, some didn’t.

I leaned over to see the picture of the Korean man. It was a very good-not-great likeness, but when I considered that it was probably the seventh drawing the artist had done in less than thirty minutes, I bumped up the grade. He saw me looking and asked if I wanted a picture too.

I wanted to say yes, but we were slowing down to arrive at my stop, so I told him that there wasn’t time. He went to work on someone else. Then the train stopped and we waited for ten minutes poised right outside the 59th st stop.  He finished three more drawings in the ten-minute delay.

He didn’t come back to me, but he did catch my neighbor. Check it out.

I found the artist on the internet. His name is Roderick Perry Anthony and he signs “Orin” on his artwork. This is a profile of him from 2006. He’s still (or back) on the subway in 2012, and whatever that means for his career at large, I admire his dedication to his art.

Drawing by Orin

A boy, must have been two or three, skipped onto the A Train yesterday morning. He had a red baseball hat pulled down over his tight black curls. He held an asymmetrical Duplo tower with both hands.

I raised my eyebrows. In my house, I’ve never seen a Lego/Duplo construct retain structural integrity for more than thirty seconds, so this struck me as an overly courageous endeavor. Luckily, the boy got a seat right away and his mother stood over him. I thought he might have a chance after all.

It turns out his luck ended with the seat. Before the next stop, the Duplo tower crashed to the floor of the subway and the blocks scattered across the aisle. The young mother dutifully tracked them down and returned the pieces to her son. I thought it was cool of her not to get upset. After all, if the mother allowed the Duplo blocks on the train in the first place, she can’t really have expected any other result.

As we rode the train downtown, the boy began constructing another tower. The mother watched patiently, but several other passengers were skeptical. Sure enough, before the next stop, down came the bricks. The mother gathered the blocks again, this time with lots of help.

“Maybe not on the train?” said one of the helpers. The young mother smirked and put the blocks in her bag.

I’m not sure what the smirk meant, but I decided she was saying, “Yeah this sucked, but you should have seen what is was like in my apartment when I told him he couldn’t bring them.”

I used to commute from New Jersey into the city for my first job. Last Thursday night I stayed out at my family’s house in the suburbs to borrow a car.

On Friday morning, I drove across the George Washington Bridge just as the sun was rising over Washington Heights.

I don’t miss the traffic, but this was a great way to start a day.