Chronicles Continued

Hope you all chuckled over that!

The phenomena of social media is something with which I struggle. Friends and relations gathering ‘hundreds of followers’ and everyone posting their likes and the entire gamut of their food choices for the day.
And the begging to like this or that. Yes, begging. Not a suggestion, or please. Just the harsh reality of a ‘like’ because a ‘like’ brings marketing/merchandising/notoriety. Walking past the Episcopal Church in the Village, they have a “like us on facebook” request in the same window as the church info. Struck me as misplaced. Walked by it again the other day, and the same discomfort was still there. What are we becoming?

Got off the subway at an unknown stop and came fact to face with these walls. What was the inspiration behind this choice of tiling. And so much of it. Miles and miles.

that is the question. When I spot such nicely potted plants, on an unknown person’s doorstep, and I see that the geranium needs to be deadheaded, so it will keep blooming, I am tempted to do the job. But then a caution rises up within me and says, it’s not your circus, not your monkeys or in this case, your blooms. But I know what has happened. Someone with the best of intentions has planted these lovely planters for enjoyment by all and then left for an extended vacation. I walk on.

This ‘ode to bagel’ is a new statuary on the corner of Greenwich and 6th Avenue. There is no description and from me, little understanding. Is it burnt? What is the significance of the blackened tulip stuck in the holes of the bagels. I can come up with some far-fetched interpretation, but cannot imagine that is correct. Someone eating their lunch in the ‘shadow of the bagel’ is a new concept. Don’t know if it will ever be iconic. So there is stands. Clearly bagels, clearly burnt, and clearly having a skinny tulip bud protruding from the center. Any guesses?

Am walking toward the #14A and #20 bus stop on a Saturday, late morning, when a middle-aged-sane-looking-lady suddenly starts screeching at a bus that is driving past her. The passing bus is a #12 and is driving to the first stop it makes a block and a half away. This #12 is a new service but has never stopped at the area where this lady is. She is going to blow a gasket, so I call out to her, “It’s a 12, doesn’t stop here”. She deflates, walks toward me and says “Thank you” as I continue to walk, toward the bus-stop-post which shows the schedule and the map of the two buses that do stop there. I am deciding between waiting for the 14A or walking 5 blocks to the subway. As I am contemplating my options-I am trying to coordinate the present time and the time the bus is scheduled to arrive. she approaches and begins talking. [My hands are holding nothing.] “That won’t tell you anything,” she begins, “That isn’t when the bus is coming. You need to scan that there”, and she points to a scanning square “And then put in this number and it will tell you exactly when the bus is coming.” I turn to face her and say, “That isn’t what I want to know.” She looks hard at me and says, “Well! I want to know. Would you please get out your phone and tell me what the arrival time is!!” For once, my brain is clipping along at-just-ahead-of-you-speed for one of these encounters. Turning away from her I say, “If you know so much about how all of this works, why don’t you use your own phone to gather the information?” “My phone”, she replies,”Isn’t turned on.” [Neither was mine, and mine was buried deep in the large satchel I had flung over my left shoulder.] I now looked at her, “I guess you are going to have to turn it on.” I said. OMG, did I get it. She unleashed on me a diatribe of ‘how people should help each other, and ‘how some of us were so selfish…’ I turned and walked away – made that decision easier, off to the subway – as she was slinging accusations. Sometimes you just don’t get to be the good guy.

The Goodwill store on Eighth Avenue did some rearranging of merchandise. The workers cleaned up/out the basement and transferred all the women’s clothing to hanging racks there. The area is spacious, clean and quiet. One arrives there through a door next to the books at the back of the store on the first floor, down a long flight of stairs. BUT, it also makes it much harder for the cross-dressers to acquire new outfits. When the racks were topside/first floor, the men could easily shop along side the women for the dresses and shoes they wanted. Now it is a huge threshold to step over to go down the stairs to shop. How many times can you be shopping for your mother or sister? Could it be that the Goodwill Industries did it purposefully?

What is the reason for the rose? Will never know.