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Welcome Back

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The greeting was written in chalk on the sidewalk outside of P.S. 102. “Welcome back,” it said. This was the first day of school in New York and the buildings were gussied up to encourage returning students and put a positive spin on the least favorite day of a kid’s life. At least, it was for me. Another message in chalk encouraged students to “Dream Big.” A wonderful sentiment, but I couldn’t help thinking about a school in Georgia where chalk was probably being used to draw body outlines and the only dream was the living nightmare of yet another mass shooting in America. By now, I’m sure we all know about the massacre at Apalachee High School, where a student at the Atlanta area school killed four people—two students and two teachers—using the mass shooter’s special: a “black semi-automatic AR-15 style rifle.” Gee, where have I heard about this weapon before? Oh, yeah, that’s right—at just about every other mass shooting in this demented country. Welcome to America

See You in September

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“I notice that Autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature.” — Friedrich Nietzsche I was rolling by the produce aisle in my local supermarket yesterday when I got a sudden craving for some citrullus lanatus. As we all know, this is the formal handle for watermelon, that famed flowering plant species of the Cucurbitaceae family. Watermelon was synonymous with summer when I was a kid, and I’d have a healthy helping of the stuff nearly every single day. There were some nice pieces in the refrigerated section, and I thought about treating myself to some of this large edible fruit. But then I stopped. This was the last of August, meaning we were hours away from September, which means summer is over and I shouldn’t indulge in warm weather eats. I’ll have to take out the air conditioners, pack away my beach chair, break out the cold weather gear and prepare for months short days and freezing temperatures. I’ll relentlessly complain that summer goes too fast and th

Into the Woods

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“Do not pray for an easy life, pray for the strength to endure a difficult one.” -- Bruce Lee I can’t remember the last time I drove a car, but whenever it was, you needed a key to open the door and a rearview to back up. After moving back to New York in 1997, I decided to get rid of my battered old Toyota. I didn’t want to deal with the traffic and parking headaches or the hideously high auto insurance costs. I decided I didn’t need a car in this city with its subways, buses and ferries. Yes, I hate the subways with a passion, and I constantly complain about them, but the truth is that the trains are a pretty efficient way of getting around. But I had to reacquaint myself with the latest in auto technology last weekend, when my sister, auntie and I traveled to my aunt’s farmhouse in the Berkshires. My aunt and her late husband bought this old house in Cumming

Three-fingered Salute

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I stood in the middle of Shore Road waiting for an approaching car to pass by. It was Saturday afternoon, and I was a bit frazzled. I was taking an all-day session with my beloved writing class—my instructor calls these events “The Chunk”--and I’d gone to my local park to work on a particularly thorny chapter of my manuscript. However, some group of…people had set up massive speakers on the nearby 69th Street pier and was blasting dance music to virtually no one. I’m assuming these twits had to obtain a permit to use public property is this most irritating manner, which makes me wonder who was the idiot who signed off on this fiasco. It was a good distance away me, but the thump-thump-thump of the sound system traveled with the greatest of unease and it was driving me crazy. Had it been Saturday night I wouldn’t have minded. Hell, I might’ve gone over there and busted a move myself or pulled a muscle. But a beautiful sunny summer afternoon doesn’t need a soundtrack. The

Eyes of the Storm

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I thought I’d be finished in five minutes. Last week, I joined up with my sister and auntie for a trip to the Brooklyn Museum to see “Hiroshige’s 100 Famous Views of Edo,” a collection of prints by Utagawa Hiroshige of the city that would become Tokyo. The prints were first published in 1856–58 and the museum’s website promised visitors to the exhibition that “you’ll encounter all four seasons in scenes of picnics beneath cherry blossoms, summer rainstorms, falling maple leaves, and wintry dusks.” This was the first time in 24 years that the print was put on public display and the exhibition also includes modern photographs to show how Hiroshige’s scenes morphed into today’s Tokyo. My sister and I were already acquainted with Hiroshige’s work, having seen his “Fifty-three Stations of the Tokaido” at the Montreal Museum of Fine Art during our recent vacation. We’re becoming experts on this guy. The Brooklyn Museum’s collection is vast and once we were finished, we planne

Traveling in the Dark

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In 1968, Doris Day starred in a movie called Where Were You When the Lights Went Out? The film, which I’ve never seen, is set in New York City during the Northeast blackout that had taken place three years earlier. Based on a 1956 French play called Monsieur Masure , the movie also starred Patrick O’Neal, Robert Morse and Terry-Thomas. I had this vague memory of the ’65 blackout where I was walking down my street and getting this feeling that something was terribly wrong. While we didn’t lose power in my neighborhood, the blackout cut off all TV transmissions and I recall being so bummed because I couldn’t watch “F Troop.” Gregory Peck starred in a 1965 thriller called Mirage that opened with a blackout in New York. The film, which was pretty good, was directed by Edward Dmytryk and also starred Walter Matthau, Kevin McCarthy, George Kennedy and Diana Baker. New York had a blackout in 1977 that was marked by widespread looting and vandalism—quite until the Doris Da

City of Saints

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I was walking to the park a few blocks from my hotel room when I spotted the guy standing in the street. I was a little shaky, having just arrived in Montreal following a nearly sleepless night that was compounded by a Xanax haze that I endure every time I fly. But despite the fatigue and the shock at being in a new city, I noticed something unusual about this man, something a little off, and then I focused my bleary eyes and realized what was going on. He was naked. I looked again and saw that this fellow had joined a group of five other equally naked guys. Now Xanax is a powerful drug, but it ain’t that powerful, so I knew that I was not hallucinating. Those dudes were definitely nude, which seemed rather odd to me, but then I was new in town, and perhaps this was some local custom that the guidebooks hadn’t mentioned. I later learned that the naked guys were part of a climate change demonstration and I guess the message is that global warming is going to get so bad tha