He Did Good

Ask a five-year-old who the President is, and, since she has not yet suffered much the indignities of the American educational system, she will most likely answer "Barack Obama."  Moreover, if you ask who will be President next year and the year after and the year after that--and into thescarcely imaginable future--she may well say "Barack Obama."  To this child, the very concept of "President" may always, for better or worse, be "Barack Obama."  Why wouldn't it be?  What other reference point does she have?  And so it was for me and my generation of New Yorkers, for whom the mayor was and would always be Edward I. Koch, who died early this morning at the age of 88.

Obviously, the toughest job in American politics is President, but New York City Mayor must be a close second.  After all, New York's population (approximately eight million) is larger than that of 38 of 50 states.  The city is the financial and cultural capital of the nation (oh, Los Angeles, you wish!), and with its wide-ranging ethnic and socio-economic diversity, the city is a fair microcosm of America as a whole.  Second toughest job?  Heck, New York Mayors deal with the same tsuris as American Presidents, but they get nowhere near the perks: No Secret Service.  No Air Force One. No droit du seigneur with their choice of Nebraska farmgirls.  (Oh, you KNOW it's true!)  You need to be a special kind of crazy to occupy Gracie Mansion.

Koch, with his tradmark greeting of "How'm I doing?," certainly had his idiosyncrasies.  How many New York mayors inspire Broadway musicals?  Okay, two (Koch and Fiorello LaGuardia)--which should give you some idea of how wacky the position really is!  I once flipped through a book of the "wit and wisdom of Ed Koch" (the title of which was not--unlike a similarly titled book about George W. Bush--meant ironically).  Once, during a debate, after his opponent delivered a lengthy opening statement, Koch looked up and said, "Y'know what?  You're right."  A wise man knows how not to waste time.

I admit, my impression of Koch lacks sophistication.  He served as mayor from 1978 through the end of 1989, spanning the bulk of my childhood, most of which was spent in blissful ignorance of matters political.  I'm sure folks like MOS could provide a more nuanced view of Hizzoner's strengths and weaknesses.  His tenure was not without its share of problems and controversies.  Crime, racial unrest, the crack epidemic--all part of the background noise of life in New York City in the late 70's and 80's.  Still, that was my childhood, so forgive me my nostalgia.

In American elections, we hear frequently that voters yearn for candidates who have character.  In New York City, though, the electorate demands a mayor who IS a character.  In that respect, Ed Koch exemplified the position.  He cast a new mold for New York's chief executive.  Everyone since has only tried, with greater or lesser degrees of success, to fill it.



NOTE: This post has been corrected to reflect the correct dates of Koch's mayoralty.  He was NOT, in fact, mayor during the 1820's.

Yeah, I Know: Too Soon

In a bit of storm-induced clarity, officials have cancelled the. . .let's say 986th. . . running of the New York City Marathon, which was to have occured this Sunday.  No doubt Mayor Bloomberg and advisers envisioned the Verrazano Bridge starting line--thousands of carbo-loaded ectomorphs fleeing the Sandy-devastated Isle of Staten, escorted by police cars and camera trucks--and considered the optics less than, well, optimal.

Honestly, I'm disappointed.  Not only could the race have infused much-needed cash into the city's economy, but the timing would have been perfect!  Think about it.  With clocks set back an hour early Sunday morning, the runners would be well-rested.  And consider the TV ratings!

I know, I know: Nobody watches the New York City Marathon--or any marathon, for that matter, unless it has something like "Twilight Zone" in front of it.  (You know I'm right.)  But this year?  With runners navigating flooded streets, downed powerlines, and decimated neighborhoods filled with angry New Yorkers? We're not talking about a bunch of people on a two-plus hour jog.  We're talking a potential grand guignol worthy of Stephen King!  We're talking Olympics meets X-Games meets "The Walking Dead"!

And you want hometown drama?  This could be the year that an American reclaims the marathon title! Sure, East Africans have mastered the art of long-distance running.  But throw in an obstacle course of waterlogged tree carcasses cannibalistic East Villagers, and a 70% chance of crocodiles, and I would say the playing field has been leveled.

Mayor Bloomberg, there's still time.  I hope you will reconsider.

Back from the New York Groove

Annnnnnnd, we're back!  I am truly sorry to have left you all to fend for yourselves over the last nearly-two weeks.  Hopefully, you amused yourself with the exploits of Sleep-Talkin' Man or other stand-in blogs.  (And, yes, "Anonymous," I realize I used "hopefully" in an improper sense, but, then, I have always been more of a de- than a pre-scriptivist, so deal with it.  Just be glad I'm back!)

New York was the proverbial hoot.  I consider myself relatively lucky that the temperature remained for the most part south of 90 during my stay.  Aside from a couple of times when I made the mistake of over-exerting myself (by, y'know, breathing), I stayed fairly comfortable.  I had the opportunity to see MOS and FOS and Ex-Roommate of Solipsist (I'm not going to refer to him as EROS) and generally to reacquaint myself with the sights and sounds of the old stomping grounds.

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Drove down to Jersey to see Aunt of Solipsist.  Neither she nor MOS is moving particularly well these days.  Various combinations of age, arthritis, and general deterioration have slowed them both.  We went out to lunch at a waterside restaurant.  Afterwards, I walked ahead to the car and waited for MOS and AOS.  They walked toward the car.  And walked.  And walked.  And. . . .  Let me put it this way: You know that scene in "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" when Lancelot (John Cleese) is charging toward a castle, and the camera keeps cutting back and forth between him and the people watching in the castle, and Lancelot never seems to be getting any closer to the castle?

Yeah, it was kind of like that.

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Just remembered that MOS now has a little Netbook with which she can access the internet and read this column, so never mind what I just said.

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Managed to get caught up on all the superhero movies.  Saw "The Dark Knight Rises," "The Amazing Spider-Man," and "The Avengers."  "DKR" was excellent.  Upon further reflection, there are some minor quibbles, but overall it did everything one could have hoped for, short of resurrecting Heath Ledger.  "Spider-Man" kind of disappointed.  Andrew Garfield is nowhere near as good a Peter Parker as Tobey Maguire.  It's not his fault, though: The character was poorly written.  I'm a Spider-Man purist and, to me, Peter Parker should be a geeky, gawky science nerd, not some tormented emo dude.  I also enjoyed "The Avengers," especially since I watched it on the flight back to California.  Nice way to kill two-plus hours.  On the whole, though, "DKR" was better, but that could also be chalked up to the fact that I saw the Batman movie in IMAX and "The Avengers" on a five-inch seatback TV screen.

I will say, though, that Robert Downey, Jr., gets the lifetime achievement award for best performance by an actor in a superhero role.

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Couldn't actually find the Ground Zero memorial.  I met EROS (there, OK?) down in the financial district and got a nice close-up view of the Freedom Tower under construction, but though I constantly saw signs with arrows pointing to the memorial, I couldn't actually find the place.  Oddly enough, I asked EROS--who works in the area--and HE wasn't sure where it was, either.  I was disturbed but not overly disappointed: Not disappointed because it would have been worth checking out, but it wasn't worth a full-fledged search.  Disturbed because I worry that EROS may have done some serious damage to his mental/observational faculties during his time in college.  It would explain a lot.

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So New York was lovely, bright and hot.  Good to be back to Solipsist Central, though.  I promise not to desert you all any time soon.

So Sue Me

For New Yorkers past and present, a bomb dropped today.  News broke that Sue Simmons, longtime local anchorwoman for NBC news (that's channel 4 to those of us in the know), will not have her contract renewed.  At 68 years old, Simmons was quite likely entertaining ideas of retirement anyway.  Still, the apparently unceremonious nature in which the decision was presented is tacky at best.  Sue deserves better.

Sue Simmons was my first.  Newscaster, that is.  Oh, sure, I was aware of Walter Cronkite and other heavy-hitters in the nightly news business.  But Sue Simmons on "Live at Five"--alongside Jack Cafferty (before he went mad) and Al Roker (before he got ridiculously fat and, later, disturbingly thin)--was the first newscaster I actually watched with any regularity.  And, in this business of largely interchangeable talking heads, Sue always brought a distinct personality to the newsroom.  One evening, after a human interest story about some incredibly old man, Jack Cafferty said in his typical smarmy tones, "Wow, 97 years old.  Doesn't he look great?"  Sue looked right at the camera and said, shuddering, "Noooo!"

A "Save Sue Simmons" campaign has already sprung up on the internet, and, if she wants to keep working, I hope she gets the chance to do so.  But if these are the final weeks of Sue's broadcasting career, I'm sure I join a mass of New Yorkers in wishing her the best of luck.  Thanks for making the news interesting.

Over the Rainbow and Into the Chapel

Congratulations to the New York State government for doing the right thing and voting to legalize same-sex marriage.

When you think about it, this was kind of a no-brainer. Numerically speaking, the politics were clear. In New York, a majority of the population is in favor of same-sex marriage, and we suspect that a large proportion of the minority is probably indifferent at worst. Sure, some politicians who voted for the bill and who represent conservative districts will catch some flak for their votes, but we doubt that this will be a make-or-break issue for these folks, especially in a blue state like New York. On the other hand, a vote AGAINST the bill would very likely have brought significant electoral consequences.

At this time, though, the Solipsist would like to express his appreciation to those politicians who truly made this vote possible: People like Senator John Ensign, Newt Gingrich, and, yes, Rep. Anthony Weiner. By so completely lowering the bar to reveal the rank hypocrisy of any politician claiming to uphold traditional ideas of "morality," people like this have made it extremely difficult for any politicians to oppose the desires of good-hearted, loving couples to express their thoroughly decent commitment.

The City That Never Sleeps and Rarely Wins

An article in today's paper reminded us that, for all its established status as a world capitol, New York is actually something of an underachiever when it comes to sports. Once you take the Yankees out of the equation--and we fervently wish to take the Yankees out of the equation--the success of New York sports franchises looks positively Miami-esque.

Well, OK, maybe not THAT bad, but close.

Consider that the New York Knicks have won only two championships in something like 75 years. The football Giants have been generally competitive over the last twenty years, but before that they were pretty mediocre. And speaking of mediocrity, our beloved New York Mets for most of their fifty year history have ASPIRED to mediocrity--1969 and 1986 notwithstanding.

Of course, this weekend, the Jets have a chance to move one step closer to another notch on the New York chapionship belt. We wish them well, but we are still depressed by the thoughts provoked by this discussion of New York shortcomings. Is it POSSIBLE that New Yorkers have an overinflated opinion of their own worth?

Nah.

Solipsistography
"New York: A Champ When It Comes to Losing"

How'd You Like Some Salt for That Wound?

We see that the Second Avenue subway is actually coming into being. For our non New Yorker followers, the Second Avenue subway resides in the same general realm of semi-mythology as the Messiah or civility in public discourse: It's something people expect to see SOMEDAY, but that no one really expects to encounter in one's own lifetime. So we were amazed to see that front-page story affirming that construction has commenced.

We feel for the merchants (and presumably the residents) who are suffering massive disruptions and economic hardship because of the construction:

"Peter Ahn, the owner of Ivory Cleaner near 85th Street, said earnings were down 10 percent because customers told him they were dropping clothes off on more pleasant commercial avenues."

We're sure Peter Ahn appreciated people coming all the way to his shop to tell him that they wouldn't be coming to his shop any more! While there, they couldn't have sprung for some martinizing?!?

(Image from Starts and Fits)

Fingernails VII, or Acoustics

Anyone can whistle. But not everybody should.

There's an inveterate whistler in MOS's neighborhood. She roams the sidewalks of this little corner of western Queens whistling up a storm nearly every morning. Mostly, it's patriotic tunes--"Yankee Doodle," "My Country 'Tis of Thee"--with the occasional smattering of "Funiculi, Funicula" (spelling? Oh, who cares!). It would be tolerable if it were (a) rarer and (b) not just-that-little-bit-off-key. MOS has apparently seen the woman up close and resisted the urge to club her with a walker. Barely. She (MOS) is perfecting her helpless little old lady look before undertaking homicidal activities. It'll go over better in court.

As we continue our hometown adventure, we are struck by the ambient noise. We've been sleeping in our childhood bedroom, located on the corner of MOS's building, and, in turn, over the corner of a semi-busy intersection. Of course, just about any New York City intersection--even in a comparatively quiet neighborhood--will be louder by an order of magnitude than the parking lot our California bedroom overlooks. The braking of buses, the bickering of cabbies, even just the normal enhanced-decibel conversations of late-night pedestrians. We remember being able to drift off to sleep as a child, but, for the life of us, we can't imagine how we did it.

Fingernails V: Oy, It's So Humid!

Ah, yeah, humidity. We’d forgotten about that.

Not that there’s NO humidity in the Bay Area, but, at least there we don’t find ourselves soaked by the time we walk from the house to the car. This morning, we woke up, lying on our back, feeling more or less rested and more or less cool. Then. . . . Somehow, someone must have installed a tepid waterfall right over the bed, as we found ourselves dripping from the exertion of sitting up.

Oh, Humidity! Thou unwanted z-axis in the Cartesian plane of temperature! Thou ‘2’ in the harmonious binary that is hot and cold!

Think about it: Some like it hot, and, simple logic suggests, some like to cold. Is there anyone who likes it humid?

In other news, a moment of silence for the end of Al and Tipper Gore’s 40-year marriage. Who would have thought they’d be outlasted by the Clintons? At the same time, this does mean that Tipper’s on the market, now, doesn’t it? Sorry! Look, what can we say: We have a weakness for post-menopausal, record-labeling blondes.

Fingernails III

A slow day in the big city. We’re looking forward to tomorrow. We get to go with MOS to see her doctor. Her doctor’s name is--well, let’s call him Dr. Jones. Only that’s not the way she pronounces it. She pronounces it, “Dr. Jonestheidiot.”

House, he ain’t. His general recommendation for everything is for MOS to lose weight and have her gall bladder out. Of course, removing the gall bladder would take care of a few pounds, anyway: killing two birds (and perhaps one MOS with one operation).

MOS hastens to add that he is good at writing referrals--and contraindicating warnings on prescription labels. “Don’t worry. Salt tablets are perfectly fine for people with high blood pressure. Just drink lots of juice.”

MOS is looking concerned. We assured her that Dr. Jonestheidiot doesn’t read this blog. Nobody reads this blog. She’ll be fine. Just keep taking those salt tablets.

Brick City

We grew up in New York, but we had forgotten how brick-y the place is. Riding in the cab from the airport, on the way to MOS-cave (MOS-oleum? Let’s have a vote), we looked out the window at one point and felt almost claustrophobic at the sight of so much brick. Real brick. True, bricklike bricks of brickiness.

Of course, there are brick structures everywhere, includiing the Bay Area. But for the full experience we’re talking about, you need to stand at an intersection where every corner features a six-story redbrick behemoth. It’s like looking up from the bottom of a well.

We’ve been back to NYC a few times since moving to California, but this is the first time we’ve felt ourselves mildly overwhelmed by the most prosaic elements of the city’s architecture. We hope this doesn’t mean we’ve lost our street-cred.

(We’ll save you the trouble, FOS: “Street-cred? You have about as much street-cred as the Amish.” Yeah, well. . . .)