Month

I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the darkness at Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time like tears in rain.

—Rutger Hauer as Roy Batty, Blade Runner

Don’t you love it when a plan comes together? It’s significant because they so rarely do. I took a risk in my last entry of giving a taste of things to come, but in this instance, all came to pass as I described.

I did go to Manhattan to walk the High Line Park. This old elevated train track was slated for demolition until some genius undertook the exceptional design task which created the elevated park. Wild and manicured greenery sprout out from the old iron work. Stone and wood paths allow walkers, joggers, and even sunbathers to enjoy what is really an enormous art project in Chelsea.

I did meet Jeff Brecher, an old Wash U friend, after that down at the South Street Seaport. Jeff was in full-on lawyer mode, in a dark suit, and we enjoyed catching up over a few beers. Unfortunately I left my sunglasses there and had to return the next day, but that only lead to further adventure: read on!

But yet that day, Thursday, was not complete. Returning to Brooklyn, I engaged in my first of back to back Celebrate Brooklyn concerts. Burning Spear has been performing together for forty years, but Winston Rodney shows no sign of giving up. He might be moving a little slower, coming to the stage a little later, and leaving a little earlier, but his golden-toned, pleading voice remains perfectly sharp and wonderful. Prospect Park was the most crowded I had seen it yet, and no one went home disappointed.

On Friday, I made my way back to South Street Seaport to get my sunglasses. It’s remarkable that they were still there – in the restaurant’s lost and found box. Paula joined me for the trip into downtown and lunch. We ate at a very curious restaurant called Little Lad's Basket. It was a vegetarian buffet in a bank basement which served homestyle eats for $5 a plate. I wish I could say the food was better, but the bad wallpaper and supporting ambiance only added to the weirdness, and nowhere can you find a lunch that… stable… for that cheap in downtown Manhattan.

We continued our excursion with a tour of Wall Street, Bowling Green, and Battery Park, and built up enough of a thirst to drink at a table on the cobbles of Stone Street. Returning to Brooklyn, Paula showed me the Park Slope Co Op – a cooperative grocery which is run by its members, literally, with each shopping patron required to staff the store a few hours every month. And then the rains began.

It was still raining when I biked to Brian Wyatt’s apartment also in Park Slope. Brian is another Wash U friend. He and his wife, Brooke, and their two daughters gave me a tour of their really cool apartment while we waited out the storm. Finally, at 9 PM, Brian and I walked into Prospect Park for another free concert. The band was Soulive. They are a ten-year old funk/jazz outfit which has been among my favorites for about that long. Everything was wet, the greatly reduced crowd all stood. But if the air was cool and damp, Soulive and their guests (including guitarist John Scofield) brought the heat. It was an amazing show. The incredible twenty minute encore was a medley of cover songs – this after an entire evening of intricate, driving funky originals: first, Curtis Mayfield’s Move On Up; then, Steve Wonder, Jesus Children of America; and finally morphing into Sly & The Family Stone’s If You Want Me To Stay. Incredible!

Saturday saw me back in the drier Park, running the circuit, and doing work up until the time I met with Debbie and her posse – that being her twin sister, college friend, cousin, and cousin’s friend – the last two having a holiday from their home in Mexico. All four were speaking rapid Spanish when I showed up on the scene, but that only slowed it down a little. I was actually surprised with how much I could understand. Luckily they understood my English perfectly. We would drink beer, walk through Fort Greene Park, have a lovely tapas dinner, and sit serenely in Marc’s garden patio with two bottles of wine before the mosquitoes drove us indoors. I said adios to the ladies late in the evening when they left to go dancing.

The rains retuned on Sunday, soaking the people running up and down De Kalb avenue as I watched them from inside Red Bamboo. It was my fifth meal at Red Bamboo in under a month but I justified it as such: First, it’s delicious, vegan, and two blocks away; and second, the previous four meals had consisted for one dinner, and three lunches, two of those being takeaway, and now I was having breakfast. I had been craving vegan pancakes for several weeks, but for some reason I optioned the Belgian waffle. The deluge ceased just in time for pickup ultimate in Prospect Park. Really, it only made the muddy game all that much more fun.

A perfectly sunny day greeted all New Yorkers on Monday, but it was starting to get warmer by the hour. I was fairly moist with sweat by the time I biked to Greenpoint, Brooklyn, where I got a haircut. The tiny barbershop was a shrine to everything rockabilly, and the owner played his part well. Originally from Portland, he talked to me about his evil troll of a landlord and dirty, garbage throwing neighbors with the incisive affront of a true New Yorker. I tipped him well.

Michelle lives in Greenpoint and met me for coffee. She had just learned that she landed the job she had hoped to get -- working as a small funds coordinator for one of the larger Off-Broadway theaters. After congratulating her, I rode into Williamsburg to see what all this hipster stuff is all about. The answer: not much. It really seemed not the least bit special to me. Maybe I’m too used to hipsters in L.A. Yet, the trip to Williamsburg did provide me with the opportunity to eat at Foodswings: a scrumptious vegan fast-food joint. I had the lunch special grilled ham and cheese sandwich, soda, and fries. I’m pretty sure the fries were made from real potatoes, but everything else was totally artificial, unhealthy, and oh so tasty.

Monday evening, Bela Fleck was playing a free concert in Central Park. This represents a point of departure from my perfect plan execution. I arrived late to Central Park and was not able to get in to see the show. Instead I wandered the park, alone, taking photos, and working my way down to 57th and 5th when I returned to Brooklyn. It’s funny; after so much going exactly right, I was disappointed with myself that I couldn’t see Bela. It would have been the first real concert of his I had seen; the only other time I’ve heard him play was at an in-store at Amoebae in Hollywood!

Tuesday morning I cleaned Marc’s apartment, and in the afternoon went to have coffee with my third Wash U friend of the day. Jen Presant is a successful painter now who also lives and works in Brooklyn. She recently won an artists grant and will be living, for free, for two months next spring on the Caribbean island of St. Barts. So you can see she’s doing all right for herself. I had not seen her since graduation in 1993 and it was great to catch up.

That evening, I had an adventure that was a long time coming: The Staten Island Ferry. I’ve been trying to make it there on a nice evening all month and I finally did. It’s free; I did not know that. The journey takes about twenty minutes and passes very close to the Statue of Liberty. I joined lots of tourists taking pictures as the sunset. Riding across the New York Harbor is quite an experience, surrounded by the metropolis, the bustling of world sea commerce, and I marveled that this was many, many people’s daily commute. Arriving in Staten Island, I waited until nightfall for my return journey in a dive bar with Pabst. The journey back to Manhattan was spectacular as well, seeing the sky scrapers all lit up was a marvel of human enterprise and beautiful in its own right.

From there, I headed uptown, for more beers with my fourth Wash U friend of the week, Steve Mirsky. I joined Steve, his brother Joe, and friend Howie for 2-for-1 pints at one bar (across from Elaine’s where a crew was filming something or other) and down 2nd Avenue to enjoy liters of German Bier at a true beer garden. Steve regaled us with stories of the year at the Fed which has been much more interesting than he or anyone had ever expected or really hoped.

Today is Wednesday. My month is complete. It has been the tale of two cities: the best of times; the worst of times. Both are New York; both run their reels simultaneously in my brain. The best one exists out there exalting in boundless possibility and ceaseless activity that could go on like this indefinitely. It casts new roles for new players in a genre unknown. The worst runs in a loop within my head and heart, confused and broken. As the auteur behind both, I’m doing my best to develop the former, the good picture. It has a better soundtrack.

God for Harry, England, and Saint George!

I'm back in the Clinton Hill coffee shop which has served as a virtual office for me over the past few weeks. There's nothing remarkable about this place except to say that they have a fairly large selection of vegan eats and that it's pretty mellow. Large front windows are streaming light in from a hot sunny day as the ceiling fan on the high ceiling revolves ceaselessly.

The eye has passed overhead. It's about to get hectic. Two Celebrate Brooklyn concerts, back to back, tonight and tomorrow provide the funky root to what should be a good end to my month in New York. The first, tonight, features none less that the Burning Spear -- classic reggae which I remember seeing many, many years ago at a street festival in Washington, D.C. Tomorrow, I'm even more excited about: Soulive. Though a long time favorite, I have never seen them live. They're New York based and as something of a 10th Anniversary show, it should be amazing and feature several special guests. An old Wash U buddy, Brian Wyatt and I will be going together. I haven't seen Brian in 15 years.

Another good Wash U friend, Jeff Brecher, and I are meeting tonight on the South Side Seaport in Manhattan. And in just a few minutes, I'll leave for Manhattan so I can walk the High Line Park before meeting Jeff. More details on this after it happens.

Right now it's all about anticipation, a beginning for an end; near enough to celebrate my time spent here, but not so soon as to wax nostalgic already.

This week has been mostly mellow. Tuesday night I joined Michelle and some of her friends at Piano's to see her friend's Minneapolis based band. I don't think I was the oldest person out seeing bands on a Tuesday night on the Lower East Side but it's debatable. Still, the band was decent, and it was good to get out.

It rained a few times, but that did not stop me from going into downtown Brooklyn yesterday. After eating a vegan lunch for a local health food store on the steps of Borough Hall and listening to an entertaining and cheesy cover band, I rode over to the Brooklyn Transit Museum. As much as I love public transportation, the museum is overwhelming with exhibits on trains, subways, buses, tokens, turnstiles, etc. etc. etc. My favorite exhibit detailed the intensive manual labor of the mammoth undertaking which was digging the subway tunnels in the beginning of the 20th century. I can not help but regret the political indecision which has prevented Los Angeles from just getting to it and building a righteous subway system.

I remained in the museum until it closed, at least three hours, bought souvenirs, and after waiting out the rainstorm, went to Manhattan to meet Paula for book shopping at the famous Strand Bookstore near Union Square. We got a good Thai dinner near Washington Park Circle and then took a cab (it was raining again) to the Lower East Side to Lula's Sweet Apothecary, a completely vegan old-fashioned ice cream parlor. It was incredible. And I swear to you non-vegans out there, you would not have known the difference between Lula's incredible hot fudge sundae and whatever you might get for your cow's milk variety.

Well, I'm off, not much reflection or witticism today. There's too much to do.

Dreams of a Future Past

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Some of the fury of the New York entertainment hurricane has lessened with the passing of its leading front. It is calmer here in the eye, but it is far from dull. The winds still howl and the landscape is ripe with the excitement of things undone. In fact as I type this, I am sitting in a coffee shop in Fort Greene next to another writer who compiles the Events Calendar for New York Magazine. How's that for luck. As I mentioned previously, I have no guidebook, but why would I need one when I roll like this.

Another strange experience occurred earlier this Friday day. I actually ran into someone I knew on the street. Gilli Chupack is from Maryland and part of the Camp Mosh crowd. We were never really great friends, but certainly friendly. As I stepped out of my apartment onto the street to come here, there he was. What and whom Fortuna has me destined for I can't even guess, but it's an interesting ride.

To stay on those rails as long as I can, I changed my plane ticket and will be away from Los Angeles an additional two weeks. I can't glean how my public (that's you, chief) will process that news, but for me it's just a response to a hunger to keep going on like this and a rebuff of a return to a perhaps more normal life. Living out of a suitcase has it disadvantages, but as long as I keep meeting new people every other day, they don't know I'm wearing the same thing again and again, right?

At last blog, Tuesday night, I was heading out to Williamsburgh, Brooklyn, ground-zero of hipster culture. I rode Marc's bike there and managed to evade the fixed gear police, if you know what I mean. Todd's Nebraska friend, Michele, invited me to join her friends for a night of Pub Trivia. We ended up coming in third and won a Hulk Bubble Pipe. I only really contributed one solid answer in the trivia game in the "Monkeys and Apes" category: What Clint Eastwood film starred a bare knuckle boxing ape named Clyde? To my possible embarrassment, I knew that answer (to be divulged in the next exciting edition! -ed).

On Wednesday, after a great 5 mile run through Prospect park in humid conditions, I made a nice air-conditioned journey on the 4 train of 1 hour to a little place called Yankee Stadium. Orioles at Yankees! As the train rode across 110th street, I sang a little silent prayer to Bobby Womack. Arriving, I was surprised that even for this day game, the seats were all but sold out. The cheapest available at the box office was $200 -- I kid you not! Simon, a scalper from the Dominican Republic though, had a single nose-bleed seat for the bargain price of $75. What was I going to do, I was there and I paid him the cash, but not until after he walked with me down 161st Street, Bronx, to check my bag. We had a nice conversation en route. The game was less nice for an Orioles fan. Yankees win 6-2. Back to back homeruns by the O's in the top of the 9th provided a glimmer of hope which Mariano Rivera quickly extinguished.

I was alone all day Wednesday, but surrounded by thousands all day, and, that, my friends, is new York.

But on Thursday, I got a special treat: an afternoon with a friend. Yes, not a friend of a friend, nor a casual acquaintance, but a real life, zero degrees of separation, friend. Exciting, isn't it! I've known Dave Bassin since 1986 when we moved to Chevy Chase, Maryland. He went to a different high school, but we were in the same youth group. Dave lives in Princeton, New Jersey, but made the special trip into Manhattan where his company has a separate office. He spent a working lunch with me shooting pool and drinking beer. I believe we split the games too, 2-2, before lunch became dinner time, and he caught a train from Penn Station back to his three kids and wife, Lynn. It was really good to see him, talk, and shoot pool -- something we used to do way back in the day when we were post-college roommates in Washington, D.C.

So now it's today, and I'm working, trying to write a little, doing the paying gig thing, and enjoying a mellow day. Maybe I'll head out to do one of the many things still on my list, but sometimes it's nice just to sit. Oh, and this place has the bomb of vegan chocolate cookies.

This week I also had the strangest dream. I dreamt I was caught in the midst of a urban street gang war. Running down the street between the belligerents, I ducked under their exchange of fire -- not of bullets but deadly thrown plastic plates of lightswitch covers. I ran until I bounced of an ice cream truck and had to be helped to my feet by my friend. Looking down I noticed that the knee high socks I wore -- the kind I had as a kid -- failed to adequately protect my now bloody kneecaps.

I am not an interpreter of dreams. I do know that I am caught between friends old and new; a life accustomed and journey unknown; and of possibilities finite and endless. We all balance on the needle's point, braced against the arbitrary breeze. The warm air rising; the cool falling; the results of a turning world.

Halfway

I don’t know why came here tonight,
I got a feeling that something ain’t right,
I’m so scared in case I’ll fall off my chair,
And I’m wondering how I’ll get down the stairs,
Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right,
Here I am Stuck in the Middle with You.
—Stealers Wheels

I’m halfway through my time in New York, today being two weeks since I arrived. It has undeniably been an exceptional experience and one of constant activity. I’ve been lucky with amazing weather. Nothing can beat New York in the summer for things to do. I hope I am taking advantage of the right ones. I’m not following a guidebook or anything. I flow like water over rocks, my friends.

Right now though, I’m heading out of New York, across the Hudson, to Hoboken. A friend of Doug’s from Thomson-Reuters is having me over to her apartment for lunch. Her mother is in town from Thailand, and I’m in for a home-cooked Thai vegetarian feast. Isn’t that best reason for going to New Jersey you’ve ever heard? Can’t I get a witness!

Halfway through a trip is a milestone worthy of reflection from whence thou came, whither thou shall go. Reflection is also difficult; I’m much more comfortable with forward motion. But just when I seem beset by loneliness or self-pity, the sizable glove of New York sweeps me up into something wonderful.

For example, Saturday’s African music festival in Prospect Park was another in the Celebrate Brooklyn free concert series. For the first few minutes, I was with Debbie, and then for a little while stood with the young couple I met at Charlie Hunter the previous week. Mostly I was alone, yet the more I danced and listened to King Sunny Ade and his orchestra the better I felt. It would have been nice to have someone with me to share the experience with, but it was damn fine all the same. Late that night, with a vegan Philly hoagie in my belly, I slept very well.

Sunday presented new challenges but they were overcome by concentrating on fixing up Marc’s bicycle including a minor tune and replacing the brakes. I will have to remember to leave him a note; otherwise the first time he stops, he will fly over his bars under the dramatically increased stopping power.

Finally, that evening I attended a roof-deck party at Liz Lemer Day’s apartment in Park Slope. Their deck has an unobstructed view of the Lower Manhattan skyline. With a grilled veggie burger in had, I watched the sun set behind the Statue of Liberty. It was full day but yet I still ventured again into Manhattan to meet Kim for a drink and walk out on the Chelsea Pier. New York may never sleep, but on a Sunday night, in that part of town it does seem a tad sleepy.

Yesterday I did some work before going back into Manhattan for a walking excursion on the Lower East Side and Chinatown with Kim, her mother, and her mother’s New York friend. Our first stop, at my insistence, was Babycakes – a vegan bakery famous for it’s cupcakes. It was two-for-one Monday, so I stepped up and bought four. Turning then around the corner, Kim’s mother stumbled on Moo Shoes – a cruelty-free, vegan shoe store. I was familiar with their online catalog but I did not even know they had a brick-and-mortar. Now, no one I was with was vegan, thus no one could really share in my excitement for the veganness of this entire excursion. Not even the dead animals hanging from the racks in Chinatown could depress me.

Eventually I left the Kleinmans and heading up to Bryant Park. There I met with Michelle Kiefel who is a friend of Todd Munson’s from back in his Lincoln, Nebraska, days. I joined Michelle and her friends on their blanket for an outdoor screening of Harold and Maude. Despite the horrible sound quality, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I’ve seen the move before, and knew what was going on, but I had forgotten how very funny that movie is – every time Harold pulled off one of his “suicides,” the large audience applauded.

Coming home from Rachanee’s, I take the ferry around the tip of Manhattan to Wall Street. It has rained. Outside the windows, skyscrapers throw themselves high into a steely sky from grey water. The boat bounces across the wakes of other ferries which steam in the direction of the Statue of Liberty. Ahead, the Brooklyn Bridge hangs from threads of mist. There is no other view like this on Earth, and right now it is mine alone.

Won't you take me to Funkytown

Say it might have been a fiddle or it could have been the wind
But there seems to be a beat now I can feel it my feet now
Listen here it comes again!

—Grateful Dead

New York continues to overwhelm and excite. I've managed to work a few hours each day this week and never has working seemed so restful. Doug asked me if I was still going out every night; the answer is yes, and every day. The Charlie Hunter show at The Jazz Standard turned out to be one of the best performances I've seen of his. The best has to still be at McCabe's in Los Angeles two years ago, but this one came close. He played with another guitarist which I've never seen him do, Doug Wamble. Wamble has an amazing singing voice and worked through a range of originals and covers from Sun House to Jimi Hendrix.

What a great show! But I wasn't done; that same night, I went out to meet some people I met at the Queen's Beer Garden in Greenwich Village at a fancy Italian wine bar. We had a lovely white and I caught the Local 2 at 1 AM back to Brooklyn. So, there you go. I heart NY.

On Thursday, I took myself out to lunch at a new (for me) vegan restaurant: The V Spot in Park Slope. I've enjoyed eating vegan food in New York since it's fundamentally different from vegan in California. I can only compare it to something like Italian food in your town and that in Rome. At The V Spot I enjoyed the $14 soy bacon cheese burger. It was so unusual and tasty, but I don't know about $14.

Speaking of the $14 veggie burger, NY you might have heard is rather expensive and going out like I've been doing has certainly emptied my wallet at an alarming rate. Yet another good reason to keep working while I'm here.

Thursday night was another night of pickup Ultimate in Prospect Park. It was humid out with a 100% chance of sweat, and I enjoyed the match but also had my least positive experience thus far here. There was one guy on the opposite team who was just an asshole. If you play ultimate (or do anything) long enough, you encounter plenty, but this incident was curious. First the guy refused to play with darks/lights. If you play ultimate, you know what I mean and how stupid that is, but when I called him on it, he just blew me off. No big deal. Later when he was mouthing off at someone else, I turned to the random guy next to me and say, "Is that dude mentally ill?"

This persons reply was, "Are you from New York?"

"No."

"He is."

And the way that exchange went really turned me off. Why was that important or interesting? Why take pride in identifying an asshole as a New Yorker? Why not just call an asshole, an asshole and be done with it?

But moving on, yesterday I was planning on going to yet another free music concert with Paula but she went home early from work and is sick. As I was trying to figure out a back up plan, Kim Kleinman, from Boulder, called me from LaGuardia. She is in New York with her mother and we were planning on doing brunch on Sunday but, as it turned out, her mother's flight in was cancelled and Kim was stranded. Thus, Kim came here to Fort Greene and the two of us took the train into Manhattan at Debbie's invitation to see this very interesting, very artistic, experimental dance performance beneath the Hudson River Parkway on the 70th Street basketball courts. It was really very fascinating, despite standing out there in the increasing heat and humidity (it would rain overnight), and ultimately I found it beautiful and enjoyable! I had not seen a dance performance since college I believe and these two performers were really remarkable. I forgot to ask Debbie if the performance was choreographed or improvised, but my guess was a bit of both.

So now, with Kim reunited with her mother, I've gone on a long run, eaten lunch, and I'm watching the tour. I'll probably need a nap before going back to Prospect Park for more free music in the form of an African museke festival.

The music never stops.

Overstimulus Package

One week has gone by faster than Mark Cavendish in a sprint finish. If you don't know who Mark is, you're not watching the Tour de France. Among the many amenities of this wonderful apartment is the large plasma television with DirectTV, so I'm able to watch every day. You should too the last week is shaping up to be very good.

The week has flown by so quickly because that what I've been told time does when you're having fun. I certainly have been very busy and somewhere in there I got older. My birthday as you probably know was Monday and it was the most relaxing day I've spent thus far. That could have something to do with staying awake, involuntarily, until 6:30 AM the night before with a wicked case of insomnia. You can psychoanalyze that to death if you will; I won't be on these pages. I'm crediting an incredibly busy weekend of new sights, sounds, smells, and people that kept my brain going all night long.

On Sunday, after the disappointment that was Bastille Day in Clinton Hill, I was brought out to Astoria, Queens, to a Czech Beer Garden for an afternoon of drinking in the sun with five friends, three times removed. After Debbie left, I remained behind with these good people and listened to live blues-rock covers of Michael Jackson songs (among other hits of dead celebrities). From there we walked through Astoria, down a long street that might be known as Little Beruit, to sit in a Hookah Bar where I partook in only the hot mint tea. Pictures here.

As I knew I eventually would, I got lost coming home on the subway alone that night, but did finally make it back to Fort Greene after about two hours underground. I maintained my sanity throughout despite the poor air quality, but that night I just could not sleep.

My birthday itself then was mellow. I took myself to BAM (Brooklyn Academy of Music) where there is a nice movie theater and saw "The Hurt Locker." It was a good film and I gave it a 7 out of 10.

That night I was joined by some old and new faces at The Red Bamboo, a vegetarian (mostly vegan) restaurant in Fort Greene. From Crested Butte past, Elizabeth Marcon rode in. From high school days, Liz Day nee Lemer. And from the local, Debbie B. Resiting the sangria, but opting for the Death By Chocolate Cake (as I am my grandmother's grandson), I managed to get to bed before 1 AM and actually slept peacefully.

Yesterday then, and perhaps I'm dragging this entry beyond reasonable length, was also very nice. After another run in Prospect Park and a good chat with the smoothie guy (about the Tour de France) I visited the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens which were really beautiful and peaceful and larger than I thought. I was only able to cover about half the park before I had to quickly get home, change, and head into the city to join tens of thousands of people in Central Park for a concert on the Great Lawn by the New York Philharmonic. That band brought the Mozart Heat and the fireworks display at the end was really cool.

Luckily, Elizabeth's friends had arrived early enough to stake out a square of grass hemmed in on every side by the sea of humanity which were doing the same, forming a literal continuous quilt of picnic blankets covering the entire lawn. There were so many people in the tight space, with everyone calling their friends to locate them, that my T-mobile service was completely unusable for the duration. It was an incredibly unique experience and a truly cool night in New York.

This AM, I've done my run, and watched the Tour, and updated my blog. Tonight Charlie Hunter, a jazz guitarist, is playing the Manhattan. I hope I will be able to make it there. In between, we'll see in what Fortuna presents herself.

I hope your week is filled with adventure and joy as well.

Always, Forward

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.
—traditional Gaelic

I'm writing now sitting in the back garden of the Fort Greene apartment. It's truly lovely. I've taken to eating back here where it's sunny and calm rather that in front of the TV as per my usual habit. The weather in New York has been remarkably good -- veritably L.A. weather. The guy who sells me smoothies around the corner agreed.

He is also a big bike advocate and gave me a free NYC bike route map. Under his recommendations, yesterday, I rode Marc's bike from Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, up the Hudson Riverwalk, to Columbia Circle and Central Park. Accompanying me was my friend, Paula Goodwin, who I know from film school. It was great to reconnect with her and she did remarkably well pounding out the 20 miles on her 1970's era single-speed, purple Schwin. She also helped an adorable and distraught lost child find his mother while in Central Park. Oh, that Paula! Full pictures here.

The night previous, Friday, my "neighbor" Debbie -- a friend of Jessica Berkeley's who lives just around the corner -- dragged me out to the Celebrate Brooklyn free concert in Prospect Park. I've been here less than a week and I've been in Prospect Park almost every day. It's just that good... The show we saw was also excellent; who doesn't like a little Latin groove and party music from Los Amigos Invisibles. All this and more for a $3 "donation."

I woke up this morning, late, and ran about 10K, back through Prospect Park of course, and also circumnavigating Fort Greene Park, the slopy, undulating park directly across the street from this apartment. I understand that this afternoon there is a Bastille Day street fair, somewhere, sometime, and I'm investigating that now.

Obviously, I'm not bored and on the contrary, very well occupied. It's hard to feel lonely when you stay that way and I hope to remain so until somehow it catches up with me. For now I remain fleet of feet and riding the rising road. Stay frosty, my friend.

All This and More

Enjoyciate (in-ˈjȯi-shē-āt) To enjoy life and appreciate it while it's happening.

Yes. I lead with a sniglet and I'm not proud of it, but these two days have really been special. I've eaten great vegan food just down the street; ran all over this amazing neighborhood; played pickup ultimate frisbee in Prospect Park; found soy-cheese Brooklyn-style pizza; and got beer with a neighbor. That was just yesterday.

There's this guy named Google who tells you all sorts of cool stuff about, well, everything, and you can find all manner of fun things just by asking. Today he helped me cross into Manhattan for a visit with my good friend, Jessica. She's about to leave for Mexico for the rest of the month so today's three hours was all we were going to get while I'm in New York. We walked around her hood, the West Village, and along the Hudson Riverwalk before cruising over the Union Square.

From there I headed out on my own again and ending the day at Citi-Field watching the L.A. Dodgers crush the N.Y. Mets. It was really cool to ride the subway all the way out to Queens and then manage to navigate the return trip to Fort Greene. It was also the first and only time I've been to a baseball game by myself, and it was still pretty fun.

I hope you are also enjoying and appreciating your days. It is more difficult to do than it would seem, but I'm doing my best. Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.