Renaissance Diner

Went to MoMA with Fritz and Luswin and the Boy in the Checkered Shirt to see the Tim Burton and naked people exhibits.

After we took advantage of the warm weather and walked to the west side, discussing/arguing over where to eat. Giving up on a compromise we headed into this diner with a garden space in the back and and extensive menu. And beer. The Boy and Luswin ordered breakfast with coffee while Fritz and I ordered lunch with beer (Red Stripe).

After we continued down Ninth Avenue to Amy's Bread for some coffee. The Boy picked up a slice of German chocolate cake, the Jersey Boys selected some cinnamon twists, and I opted for an oatmeal scone. We then continued west, and walked along the Hudson River Greenway before parting ways around 23rd Street.

Bruce Springsteen "John Henry"

Worked (a little like John Henry) on my kitchen shelf.

Bus Stop Cafe

After a good workout with the Boy in the Checkered Shirt, we went for food at this West Village cafe. I ordered a chicken and goat cheese wrap, the Boy a grilled vegetable sandwich. We both had mesclun salads and water.

From there we met friends at the Eagle for a beer on their roof deck.

Northeast Kingdom

The Boy in the Checkered Shirt and I walked around a warehouse corner of the neighborhood looking at graffiti. Saw the artist working on a new wall and talked to him for a bit. Then routed ourselves to this brunch standard. I had the French toast with strawberries and plums with coffee. He had a mushroom omelet with orange juice. He ordered a cup of coffee to drink with his dry toast.

The Weekend

Warm weather, so we relaxed.

Three Years

Today I calmly marked my third year on Melrose Street. Three years ago Fritz and Luswin dropped me off with my two suitcases, a few boxes, and the green duffel bag I purloined from their laundry room. With Fritz's hand-me-down mattress strapped to the top of the SUV, we drove from New Jersey into this unexplored Bushwick. "Oh the stories this mattress could tell," he said, distant memories swirling through his mind. "This bed saw me through my final years in LA." I had already been sleeping on the bed for four months as their house guest. "Will I need penicillin before summer hits?" I asked.

Three years ago I was still uncertain what I was doing (is anyone ever certain what they are doing?). I had been working in NYC for just shy of two months, found the apartment through the recommendation of a casual friend and now neighbor. It was described as "raw" and had been vacant for quite a while. I don't think it was intended for anyone to occupy. The first time I saw it I didn't love anything about it. It had 1960s tiles in all the rooms, the living room was painted a hideous shade of orange that in the afternoons looked like Hell ablaze, and the glass on the French doors had been painted over. To make up for lack of closet space, plywood shelves had been installed in every room with suspension cables. What little charm the apartment had was bastardized by someone long before I was given the keys.

Three years in Brooklyn (and by extension the long hours each day and night in Manhattan) have brought me calm. I frequently say my happiest time as an adult has been in NYC. In these raw quarters I've furnished, painted, created, repainted, and recreated my living space. The move to France and then the move from France was marked by purging. I arrived on Melrose Street with one load of things. And then began the American dance of acquiring more things.

Tonight, the Boy in the Checkered Shirt invited two of his (our) friends over for dinner. I worked late and arrived as they were still on the first bottle of wine. It felt nice to come home to their friendly voices, the door cracked to let the smell of dinner waft downstairs. "Your home is beautiful" Hope said. "I like these touches" Mark said, pointing to the inlaid trim work on the living room walls.

I still joke that I worry some day I'll come home and discover that the kitchen has fallen off the back of the building. In truth, I simply hope that if it happens it be while I'm not in the apartment. Maybe that's a good metaphor for my life in NYC. I'm in a comfort I've created, but with the edgy fear that it could all crash down around me.

In which circumstance, I would just move on.

The Weekend

Celeste Diner

Jury duty. They gave us an hour for lunch so I wandered from the courthouse and found this familiar diner. Ordered a tuna salad sandwich with a side of potato salad and a cup of coffee. I was hoping the coffee would chase away the severe headache I developed from spending the morning under the fluorescent lights of the courtroom. It didn't. And the sandwich wasn't so good either.

Chilled in Lower Manhattan with the Boy and family visiting from Cincinnati.

Yakiniku West

After postponing and rescheduling many times we met up with A&B at this Japanese and Korean restaurant in the East Village. The Boy in the Checkered Shirt went the sushi route, A&B each ordered a Bibimbap, and I ordered chicken and spare ribs and vegetables from the ala carte menu.

The waitress came across as pleasant but tired. And she wasn't so interested in hearing A practice his Japanese.