September 10 - Day 5: It All Starts with a Poodle Taking a Dump

Pidge didn’t dare me to tell this story, but she didn’t exactly encourage it, either, so (of course) I had to—and will, in a moment. (Don’t worry; you’ll know it when we get there.)

 
I expect that today’s post will be short—because I didn’t do much of anything—but then, I thought that about yesterday’s, and that was closing in on 2300 words when I finished. (I’d count them, but it won’t change anything.)

Anyway, since I was up until nearly 6:30 Monday morning, working on a post (the things I do for you people …), I slept really, really late. So late, I’m not even going to tell you.

 
In spite of that, I was woken up at about 8:30 by what I could only interpret in my semi-stupor as someone upstairs sanding their wood floors. It wasn’t so much the noise, though, as it was that the noise was so maddeningly intermittent: 30 seconds, then a sound like the machine had jammed; 10 seconds, then the sound; 2 seconds, sound; a minute, sound; etc., etc., etc. That noise was soon supplanted by hammering, sawing, and other carpentry-like sounds that were coming from … somewhere. (The woodworking is coming from inside the house!) I figured that, given the way John (my “host”) had talked about all the things he had built to get this apartment in shape (and he did a pretty good job), he was working away in his own apartment downstairs. I was left confused by the whole thing until this afternoon when, working on my previous post, I realized that the sounds were coming from next door, where they’re working on … something.

Anyway, regardless of the attempts at keeping me awake, I managed to again lose consciousness until I realized I’d better get my ass out of bed. I’m starting to get a handle on this whole bathroom situation, brushing my teeth at the kitchen sink to get the hot water going, shaving using my reflection in the glass of the cabinet above the sink (the mirror is above the toilet at about chest height), showering in the tub near the bed. It’s quite an adventure.

Since the weather was so lousy all day (still with the whole not-quite-raining-but-not-quite-not-raining-either), I decided to stay in, write some, and then head up to midtown. Since I needed something to eat, though, I walked through Tompkins Square Park just in time to see a guy with an enormous gray poodle in the plaza in the middle of the park. The poodle was in the middle of taking a dump—which is quite a thing to see at virtually the first thing in the morning. The dog’s owner was responsible enough to clean it up, but it was still a thing.

 
With that highlight out of the way, I headed to 7-Eleven to pick up a paper and got stuck (again!) in back of someone buying an e-cigarette. May I add that every time it’s happened so far, the purchaser has had great difficulty figuring out the denominations of their money and just how they’re supposed to pay for their purchase. Whether this is a coincidence or a side-effect of this particular brand (and I’m not mentioning their name, even though you know what it is), I cannot say. From there, it was over to buy a bagel (no crowds today, though the guy in front of me had the same trouble as the e-cigarette customers; maybe there’s something in the water?), then to Starbucks for a cup of tea. I had ordered on my app, but the guy couldn’t find the order. He had to ask me twice before finally getting it right, so there’s definitely something going on with peoples’ cognitive skills.

Not the dog in question. He was unavailable for photos.

From there, it was back to the apartment to write until it was time to go uptown to see Vince Giordano and The Nighthawks play. Vince is the guy who has become the go-to guy for period music. Not only is he an expert on the music of the 20s and 30s, he has so much sheet music and so many arrangements and charts, he literally had to buy the house next door to him in Brooklyn to store all of it. His band (about ten musicians) plays for three hours a night pretty much every Monday and Tuesday at a Mexican restaurant on 54^th Street, and it’s truly astounding to hear music I’ve previously heard only on scratchy monophonic 78s live and in person. He (and his musicians) are wizards at this sort of thing. The arrangement are very intricate and complicated, and have to be played in a very particular style. He brings a ton of music with him, and while many of the numbers are set in advance, when he gets requests, he literally throws the parts at the musicians, and they more or less sight-read and play it like they’ve done it a million times. Even more impressive is when a singer comes up from the audience: “What do you want to sing?” “How about ‘Them There Eyes?’” “Great. What key?” “Um … A-flat?” “Great. What tempo?” “Um … like this” (indicates tempo). “Great. A-one and a-two.” And they all improvise an arrangement that’s breathtaking in its precision and professionalism, even though no one knew what tune would be called thirty seconds before. Not only that, but they all double on multiple instruments. Andy Stein plays the violin, the phonofiddle (a metal violin with a gramophone horn), every saxophone known to man, piano, and more. The reed guys play all the saxophones and clarinets you can think of. Vince himself plays bass sax, tuba, wooden string bass, and one that looks like it's made of aluminum, and does the vocals. There was even a euphonium solo tonight. When was the last time you heard one of those?

These guys are good. Period.

The food was pretty good, especially for a Mexican restaurant in New York, and my tablemates were a very nice couple from Charleston, SC. We talked about a lot of things, some theatre-related. That topic came up when I mentioned Mother Night. One of their stepsons (it was unclear whose; they both called him their stepson) is an actor. He trained in London and (I guess) ended up at the National, coming over to be in King Charles III (that rare British import I liked). I thought about mentioning the political aspects of Mother Night, but assumed that disparaging Trumpian politics with an older white couple from South Carolina might not go over great.

Even though the band’s third set lasted only about a half an hour, I assume they had to stop at 11:00 on the dot, because they did. I paid the check, briefly considered walking home, but the weather got the better of me, so I subwayed, walked through the park (avoiding the befouled area), and arrived home to find no one parked in the vestibule.

 I'm hoping it's like this.

Tomorrow, I’m supposed to take in a Mets/Marlins game at Citi Field, but who knows if the weather will cooperate? The chance of rain has gone from 100% to 10% and everything in-between. At press time, the chances at game time were 20%, increasing to 40% over the next two hours, then settling down to 30% before going back up to 40%, then falling back down to 10%. It may be a rainout, it may be delayed, it may go late. Who knows?

With my luck, it’ll snow.