Surprises

I liked this sweet little pastoral poem in The Winter's Tale:

When daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.

In a play full of surprises ("He exits, pursued by a bear" being the most famous), this still jumped up on its page.

And I can't stop thinking how ridiculous this is, found in Blake's Milton:

Then Los took off his left sandal placing it on his head,
Signal of solemn morning

A very different kind of surprise. That ain't exactly the signal I associate with solemn morning. I don't know if I'm wired for Blake.

Girls gone mild

So I told Mike that Bryant Park is the best place to read in, and he scoffed at me. I stand by it. No, I sit in it and read, deliciously, with 'Wichcraft beverages. He's a sworn downtown boy, and I totally get why. Bryant Park is filled with midtown execs having meetings, talking on cells, and eating lunch. But guess who is a midtown exec these days, hmm? It's also filled with women, and that matters. We'll get to that.
Anyway, since I wanted to commit to running on the treadmill during General Hospital, I figured I'd take A Winter's Tale into the 71-degree nirvana of the parks nearby. First I tried Stuyvesant Park. It never works. It's stunningly pretty with a fountain, daffodils and a view of the brownstone Quaker seminary. And it's filled with homeless drug addicts homing in on Beth Israel. (The poshies from Gramercy don't pick up their dog poo here, either.)
I always feel like a worm on a hook. I seat myself with a thermos on a sunny bench on the main promenade and sure enough, the benches around me are fill with bums asking me to wake them up in an hour so they can get in line early at the methadone clinic. Don't get me wrong, I fully support meth clinics. But invariably, this is a ploy that leads to questions about what I'm reading and then stories about how a buddy got screwed out of help with a knife wound at the ER in Beth Israel. I know this because the first time a bum asked me to wake him up I was very excited to oblige. I set the timer on my cell phone and mused over what I would yell at him to get him up (Hey, Sunshine!). But he never slept. So I got robbed of an opportunity and the ability to concentrate. Alas. I didn't even get to the question stage today. I just saw the circling and darted.
I also tried Union Square, although this is pointless. You've got three options: the East Side of the park, which is like a heroin statue garden; the West Side which either smells like dog pee or places me in the creepy position of staring at other peoples' children in the playground; or the south end, where today the ASPCA held the bullhorn du jour. Forget the north end, even if it weren't under construction, I'm a target for skateboarders.
So back to lovely Bryant Park it is. And if my rambling didn't prove my point, a terrific New Yorker article, "Girl-Counter," quantifies and illuminates my predilection in clearer terms.
Turns out women look for women to feel safer. Sister chivalry!
http://www.newyorker.com/talk/2007/09/03/070903ta_talk_paumgarten
P.S. I met the Girl Counter and told him I read his article. At first he was unimpressed. Then, he yelled out, "Did you like it?"

Coffee versus Book: still no quiet

On Tuesday I read in the Hunter "Library." Usually this works out well in the Browser's Lounge. The guards pretty much look the other way when I carry a curiously cup-shaped white paper bag in with me and station it on the radiator next to my set up. But the stacks are another story. There was a reception in the lounge on Tuesday, so I headed to the seventh floor for a nice view of the Upper East Side. I hid my drink in cubicle -- even though I was sitting under the security camera -- and propped my feet on the heater. Into How Milton Works I dove.

But here's the hitch to the lax drink security: it also means they don't give a shit about cell phones. College students, at least Hunter undergrads, don't quite understand that you don't have to answer your cell phone, particularly when you're in a library. So, sure enough, there's this chick Brooklyn brogueing her way into her Razr.

Shhs are wafting from the cubicles but she gives everybody a dirty look and continues.

So here's what I decided. If it's going to be a show, I want a good seat. So I walked over pulled up a chair and listened. Just before she noticed me she said this, "But I don't want to stay in a three-star hotel, I want to stay in a four-star hotel."

Everything you'd expect about her personality was true. Which leads me to my post on "destructive entitlement." An interesting albeit poorly edited little piece from Psychology Today: http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/pto-19930301-000009.html
Seems we should feel some -- just a little --pity for those who feel entitled.
Sometimes NY feels like a big gaping baby bird's mouth of want. People even compare each others' wants and well, find them wanting.