I looked up from my book this morning and saw the man sitting across from me reading “The Road,” by Cormac McCarthy. I heard myself say, “Oh, wow,” as I’m always looking for an excuse to engage a stranger in conversation and a book is an ideal opening. But I stopped myself when I saw that he was maybe twenty pages away from the end of the book.

There’s just some things you shouldn’t do. Don’t interrupt an animal when they are eating. Don’t disturb your wife when she’s putting on make-up and getting herself ready. And don’t bother someone when they are almost finished reading a book. It’s not just uncouth. It could be dangerous.

How to be a Retronaut features a gallery of those punk skateboard kids. NYC, 1960s.

New York Panoramas, 1902-1913 over at How to Be a Retronaut.

Found on the walk between uptown pre-schools a few weeks ago: one of New York City’s greatest mysteries.

To me, anyway. The first time I remember seeing sneakers strung across telephone wires I was in the Bronx around Yankee Stadium. I asked why, and I’m sure I received an answer, but the answer didn’t have sufficient tack to stay with me.

Here are a bunch of theories, though not exclusive to New York. I like the idea that when you get a new pair, you throw the old ones up there. And since my wife snapped this pic on a block between my kids’ schools, let’s be tooptimistic and rule out the crack, murder and gang-related explanations.

Here’s what I hear on the street on the subway and in my office: talk of Jeremy Lin and the Knicks.

No question the bandwagon is filling up. I’m a bandwagon Knicks fan. First jumped aboard in ’83-’84 when Bernard had that great playoff run. Then a few years later when Pitino coached the team. I rode the highs and lows of the Riley-Van Gundy Era with great passion. I’ve never stopped watching the Knicks but I stopped caring about them or watching them with any kind of devotion.

Now, I’m on the bandwagon again because a New York winter is better when the Knicks matter and the Garden is thumping.  And it’s fun to hear people who don’t care about basketball talking about Lin.

All aboard.

Isn’t it Romantic?

Where a token booth once stood. Downtown side of the 50th street station on the IRT.

Roomier. But makes me sad when I think of the clerks who are out of work in the name of progress.

Check out this coolness:

New York Calling from Vas on Vimeo.

[Photo Credit: Jake Dobkin]

I saw a father and his two sons walking up 238th street this morning on my way to work. The two boys were on either side of him and couldn’t have been older than four or five.

As I passed them one of the boys said, “Daddy, how does a one hundred-year-old-man walk?”

The father smiled but I didn’t hear him answer.

That’s a good question, I thought.

“Slowly,” I wanted to answer but they were already gone.

Coming straight from the underground.

Undercity via The Gothamist.

[Photo Credit: Steve Duncan]

This beautiful New York Minute is brought to you by the most talented people at This Must Be The Place:

PRIME from thismustbetheplace on Vimeo.

Ben Wu and David Usui at Lost and Found Films…thank you.

[Photo Credit: Serious Eats]

From the Subway Art Blog, Richard Estes.

Seen on the 1 train.

A boy and his mom reading a Tintin comic book.

A pair of sisters walked onto the train at 145th st this morning. I pegged them at eight and twelve. They both carried brown paper bags and the younger sister opened her bag and extracted a muffin. She raised it to her mouth with her right hand and took a bite. As she ate, her left hand lost interest in holding the bag and she dropped it to the floor.

Our eyes followed the bag to the floor and then as we reset our viewpoints, we found ourselves staring at each other. There was a fraction of an instant of panic in her eyes as she realized that I witnessed her blatant littering. She recovered quickly and replaced the panic with confidence, perhaps remembering that littering is not a crime and that I was not a cop.

I took her confidence as a challenge, though one I had no desire to take up. I don’t like littering, but I had already spent half an hour trying to get children to listen to me earlier this morning without any hint of success, and those children depend on me to delineate the borders of the DC and Marvel Universes and to unlock the cabinet containing the cereal. This little girl doesn’t need anything from me.

I did not accept her challenge, but I also didn’t want to let her off the hook completely. I searched for a facial expression that could convey disappointment and rejection at the same time. My go-to is a ponderous head shake, eyes closed, with a slight frown. Too engaging for this situation. I thought of an exaggerated frown. But it seemed like that was an admission of defeat rather than a dismissal.

I settled on a quick combo. A heavy eye roll and a weird lip scrunch. I wanted it to say “Whatever. Litterer.”

I don’t think it worked, and I’m sorry that somebody else to pick up the brat’s garbage, but I’m glad I didn’t get in an argument with a little girl.

[Brown Bag via stelladoll7]

Sleepy faces on the train this morning. Start of a new week. I heard a squeaking sound and looked around the car. It came from one of the doors. It was an irritating noise but soon I got the rhythm of it and it sounded like a bird chirping. It wasn’t so bad anymore. Morning sounds on the Iron Horse.

As the subway train settled at its first stop this morning, a voice rang out. “Dyckman St! This is a downtown A Train to Lefferts Boulevard. Next stop is 190th St. Stand clear of the closing doors. Please!”

The voice did not come over the PA however. It belonged to a child. I scanned the faces of the other riders, some hadn’t flinched, no trace of amusement. But many others were smiling, a few even chuckling.

Each successive stop the little boy bellowed the information. Starting at 168th St, it gets complicated. He included all the transfers. His only slip up came when he started his 125th St call a few seconds too early. He stopped, regrouped, and delivered again in full when the train finally arrived.

At each stop he lost some support. A few of the initial smiles disappeared. New passengers were more suspicious, maybe because they weren’t present at the outset and weren’t sure how to respond.

There was one man, however, sitting with his back to the boy, and he was delighted. He was an older Black man, with a graying beard, a slim face and one of those fashionable knit driving caps that looks way cooler on him than on me. He braced himself for each stop and when the kid began shouting he broke out in a big grin. He nodded his head along with the accuracy of the information, like a proud teacher.

When there was a thinning of the crowd at one stop, I leaned over to catch a glimpse of the orator. It was one of my neighbors, six years old, named Jack. Thanks for the laugh this morning Jack. And for one guy at least, you made his day.

Seen a few weeks ago on a warm night in Times Square.

Emily and I said congratulations as the bride and groom swept passed us.

“Nice quiet getaway,” I said. “Don’t worry, nobody will notice.”

A few people around us laughed. It wasn’t an imaginative thing to say but the moment cried out for a remark and it’s better to try and fail than to keep quiet. At least in this town it is.

Before cell phones and before Purell I never thought twice about using a pay phone. Yeah, I’d look at the receiver before I put it to my ear but don’t recall getting all Felix Unger about it. Now I can’t remember the last time I used a pay phone, can you?

Today’s New York Minute is brought to you by Ted Berg.