March 15, 2008

• Sunday Morning Coffee And The New York Times Crossword

  It's the grey residue of a rainy night in Manhattan.  The streets are dark and puddled.  The sun is coming up to a colorless sky.  The puzzle is difficult today.  I think I'll print out another and start over cuz I've already messed this one up...  I won't finish it.  I won't use the time.
  
  I hear garbage trucks and the city is waking up...
  
  Not that you don't hear garbage trucks and stuff all through the night, if you happen to listen.   The construction on the electric infrastructure under the streets,  before they dig the 2nd Ave. Subway continues until 10:00 PM on the dot Monday through Friday. I'm not sure about Saturday's. 

  This includes Jackhammering and pounding down the soil with a jackhammer equipped with a flat rectangular iron foot.  This,  as opposed to RAT A TAT TAT, is more of a WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM type of pounding. 
  
  They have dug trenches with backhoes and those digging things,   looking out my apartment window,  in New York City,  I feel like I'm one of those animal children in a Richard Scarry book having a lesson on what goes on in the city while the people sleep.

  ..
  
  Not that I'm complaining,  I LOVE living in MANHATTAN,  it's just the late night, and sometimes overnight road work that can get to you. 
  
  Sometimes people call the police,  and sometimes I have,  and sometimes it stops but sometimes it's necessary and they have the permit.   It appears that much of the construction and contracted work here may often be underhanded but who am I to notice?   But I can see why people might end up in the East river in lead boots here.

  We sometimes look out the window,  when they pour the concrete into these trenches and say to each others "well, perfect place to hide a body"....
  we didn't even watch the Sopranos.......
  
  I can see it ( here I go talking about mob mentality for some unknown reason, just out of the blue ) out in rural America,  only there they end up tied to trees or barbed wire fences when beaten by pitchfork welding gangs of torch bearing....
  
  What got me started complaining on this fine dreary and garbage truck serenaded Sunday morning anyway?
  
  I think I had some kind of a dream.  I remember wisps of feelings, and images only seen in with my gut's eye,  can't be put to words, other than dealings with people and business and something about Steve Carell from The Office.
  
  Anyway,  the radiator's hissing its secrets and reminding me that my coffee is getting cold and that the auto shut-off on the cheap Gevalia ( A club I don't recommend joining, their coffee stinks,  it's bitter), is probably off by now and I don't think I'm going to waste any more time on this puzzle this morning anyhow,  I've got too much to do...
  
  Blessings to you this fine Sunday at the ass end of winter!  Woo Hoo!   Spring is near.   I see the tale-tale signs of chocolate hares and chickens in the market place as I make my way through the thawing,  although 'oft bitter streets and the bustle of the city's pulsing masses,  scarfed and knitted cap stretched firmly 'round my noggin.
  

   
  A Laughing Native Boy Delivers
  
  Why do you feel sorry for the imigree and you
  give a hefty tip? He brings hot food in cold rain
  you sadly say and grasp the dinner.
  The hot rice and the spicy side of life
  was nice. Don't let it slide into your eyes,
  beads of sweat,  or dignified and wide.
  Devoid of power, pride,  and water makes you
  piss too much and beer might make you sick.
  Suck a frozen tomato,  until your tongue cools,
  glad you saved them, in the freezer, for a possible shortage.
  The dry chokeable chicken is good but the heat can't be
  blotted out with cukes and youghurt,  and you can't
  possibly trust the milk.  Oh this native city is so restless.
  They deliver food with burning sensation and make you
  wonder if they know their Tandori is delightful but the painful
  spice is sometimes a dish best served cold.
  
  
  
  

  • 10:07 am
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