Barking Like A Bomb Sniffing Dog
Headed to Harlem but I'm not there yet. Backpacks are subject to random search by the NYC police. Please report suspicious behavior. Am on a Bronx bound D train. I found something in my backpack yesterday that I had forgotten about but I cannot see that it would be of any interest to the authorities. Flying from NO to NY on Sept. 11 and my carry on luggage was searched because I had a small gun in it which showed up on Xray. I had forgotten I put that in there and was happy to let the guy search my bag because I was proud of how nicely I had folded my freshly laundered shirts. When he went right for the compartment where I had my work boots wrapped in plastic I said oh I know what you're looking for now. I had stashed it down in one of the shoes. A Wild West toy bank with a gun on it. You pull back a spring bar along the top of the barrel, then balance a penny in front of it and pull the trigger. You are aiming at the hat of a cowboy behind which is a horizontal slot for the penny. When you knock the cowboy's hat off and thus deposit your penny in the bank his hands go up in that age old gesture of submission. Did that woman just say to her friend we are only as thick as our secrets? Well I made it into Harlem but nice as it was I only stayed long enough to slip inside Morningside Park, which was super nice, and then work my way here to this fenced two acre piece of lush lawn where no organized sports are permitted, just on the other side of the mulching area on the north side of Central Park. I don't want to smother you with observations so I'm only going to offer these three:
1. As I entered the Park I witnessed a woman wearing a bomb laden vest running from, and resisting the constraints of the man who had her under leash. She would stop periodically and put on the ground a small orange cone.
2. I do not know if blondes have more fun but they jog more than any other single hair color.
3. Bicyclers, and the outfits they wear, and their individual methods of peddling, cause me great distraction, which is sort of a confession inside an observation.
A woman looking only moderately like Yoko Ono just entered my two acre space. The thai chi behind the tree and her barking is one thing but her lurking nearer and nearer is making me uneasy. I'm going to go ahead and get the hell out of here now.
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Had a couple of tacos across the street. The Spanish talk show on the TV was equaled and then surpassed in it's offensiveness by the two young women who came in shortly after me. They ordered Huevos Rancheros and then the one with her back to me began mimicking in tone the grating quality which was coming from the TV host. Stand clear of the closing doors please. We are picking up speed now. Quickly followed by another stop. I am not listening to where I am, inasmuch as that is possible. I do like to overhear though. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was complaining about overhearing. All I can tell you is that the Spanish speaking host and the English speaking customer seemed upset in concert. If the tickets to this show had not been free I would have asked for a refund. Stand clear of the closing doors please. I got on the first train coming through the Essex street station, going in I'm not sure which direction. Every time we stop there is a lot of chatter about where we are, where we are heading and, if applicable, to which lines you can connect. I probably should get out soon and see what it looks like. The names being announced for many stops now give me absolutely no clue as to where I am but actually I do have a general idea...I was in Queens, Jackson Heights, underneath the elevated track on Roosevelt. I was the only so called Caucasian out there. I saw Indians, Asians, Latinos, a few black people and I'm pretty sure one Eskimo. The air quality was not great. There was a good bit of particulate floating down from the elevated. I stared up at it in wonder before remembering that my eyes are sensitive and prone to collecting and becoming perhaps seriously irritated by heavy particulate. Escaped without injury. I'm not really doing anything too challenging in today's exploration. Am now on an F train (took the M on the way out) and the next stop is the one I started at. I'm going to keep going though and cross the river into Brooklyn, probably get out at Prospect Park for awhile, commune with some of that Nature...yep, that's where I have ended up, in the park, sitting in the dugout of one of the baseball fields, next to a sweaty partially unwrapped piece of Trident chewing gum. Upon entering the park I passed a woman in business attire (except for the brown cotton gloves on her hands), carrying a briefcase, and who to my limited short term observation appeared completely without ironic intent as she gently tip toed down the sidewalk. Today in Prospect Park it is apparently white people day. Bring your baby in a stroller get a free hot dog. First person to complete 5 unnecessary phone calls gets a stuffed alligator. Joggers, cyclists, and Frisbee players receive valuable coupons. First skinny white boy to write and post to his blog from an empty dugout gets a two dollar credit on his MetroCard and I should think, when he gets home, a hot fudge sundae. Hey batter batter, swing.
Had a couple of tacos across the street. The Spanish talk show on the TV was equaled and then surpassed in it's offensiveness by the two young women who came in shortly after me. They ordered Huevos Rancheros and then the one with her back to me began mimicking in tone the grating quality which was coming from the TV host. Stand clear of the closing doors please. We are picking up speed now. Quickly followed by another stop. I am not listening to where I am, inasmuch as that is possible. I do like to overhear though. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was complaining about overhearing. All I can tell you is that the Spanish speaking host and the English speaking customer seemed upset in concert. If the tickets to this show had not been free I would have asked for a refund. Stand clear of the closing doors please. I got on the first train coming through the Essex street station, going in I'm not sure which direction. Every time we stop there is a lot of chatter about where we are, where we are heading and, if applicable, to which lines you can connect. I probably should get out soon and see what it looks like. The names being announced for many stops now give me absolutely no clue as to where I am but actually I do have a general idea...I was in Queens, Jackson Heights, underneath the elevated track on Roosevelt. I was the only so called Caucasian out there. I saw Indians, Asians, Latinos, a few black people and I'm pretty sure one Eskimo. The air quality was not great. There was a good bit of particulate floating down from the elevated. I stared up at it in wonder before remembering that my eyes are sensitive and prone to collecting and becoming perhaps seriously irritated by heavy particulate. Escaped without injury. I'm not really doing anything too challenging in today's exploration. Am now on an F train (took the M on the way out) and the next stop is the one I started at. I'm going to keep going though and cross the river into Brooklyn, probably get out at Prospect Park for awhile, commune with some of that Nature...yep, that's where I have ended up, in the park, sitting in the dugout of one of the baseball fields, next to a sweaty partially unwrapped piece of Trident chewing gum. Upon entering the park I passed a woman in business attire (except for the brown cotton gloves on her hands), carrying a briefcase, and who to my limited short term observation appeared completely without ironic intent as she gently tip toed down the sidewalk. Today in Prospect Park it is apparently white people day. Bring your baby in a stroller get a free hot dog. First person to complete 5 unnecessary phone calls gets a stuffed alligator. Joggers, cyclists, and Frisbee players receive valuable coupons. First skinny white boy to write and post to his blog from an empty dugout gets a two dollar credit on his MetroCard and I should think, when he gets home, a hot fudge sundae. Hey batter batter, swing.