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May 23, 2006
New York Stories
I could fill this site with New York stories. Everyday it seems there are things that go on in this city that are bewildering. For example, the pecking order on city streets – it begins with fire engines, ambulances, cops, and most dangerous of all, garbage trucks. The hyena level consists of buses, delivery trucks, and particularly crazy cabbies. The amoeba level encompasses everyone else, but even they will devour those with out-of-state plates.
The same applies to pedestrians. The rules of the sidewalk are simple. To make any progress, whatever you do, don’t let the oncoming pedestrians see the whites of your eyes. Never yield to anyone. Cross only on red lights. And wear an iPod so that when the hyenas on the streets honk and try to mow you down, shrug and point to your ears.
I have also figured out why this city has so many museums and galleries. These sanctuaries (although I would argue even the validity of this when it comes to Sunday afternoons) are the only places you can get away from the “city”. I once thought Central Park was a place to get away, but on a sunny afternoon, it’s standing room only. I was hoofing it across the Park a week or so ago to see yet another condo. I had to pee really bad, and there were no loos. I looked around, looking for a bush or tree to water, and discovered that there were so many people around, I would not have found some privacy in even this simple but natural endeavour. Unlike the camel that is my husband, I was born with the teensiest bladder. It would have to wait. How I made it to the condo sales office without a puddle around my feet was beyond me. Besides, I think indecent exposure in Central Park would not have looked good on my highly polished, and now widely disseminated resume.
Apparently, blathering on about nothing is a New York thing.
The events of the last 10 days in the Volvo Ocean Race (formerly the Whitbread) have left me pondering our decision to sell Platina. One of the 10 crew on ABN AMRO 2 was swept overboard in the dark wee hours of morning, was recovered in seemingly horrendous conditions, but they were unable to resuscitate him. An attempt to rendezvous with a German freighter was unsuccessful, and the boat sailed on, about 3 days from England. Already, I’m thinking this is no fun for 9 live guys and 1 dead guy on a 70-foot racing boat in the middle of the Atlantic. Then, it gets worse. Spain’s entry in the race, movistar, starts taking on water because of a damaged keel joint. Eventually, with a wicked storm approaching, the captain orders the crew to abandon ship. The nearest boat available – ABN AMRO 2 – comes to the rescue. In a life raft, all 10 crew from movistar, and their personal belongings, are shuttled across. Now, we’ve got 19 guys and a dead guy on a boat, and things can’t be smelling too fresh. At last, a Dutch frigate catches up to ABN AMRO 2 and takes the body off. Then, movistar’s crew are removed and ABN carries on to the finish line. When they arrived in England, the crowds were silent and speechless. Really though, what does one say?
Posted by dave at May 23, 2006 02:12 PM