Saturday, November 1, 2025
In the 21st century, since leaving law school, I have not had to typically hand write more than my name and address. In fact, decades ago, I abandoned any attempt to write cursive and resorted to printing, a legacy of being the only lefty in a right-handed family. Today, the computer even fills in basic identifying information, so that anything that emerges from my hand usually looks like a random collection of lines and arcs. There is also the squiggly line that passes for your signature on electronic devices. Autograph collecting whether for fun or profit effectively ended 15 ears ago.
. . .
Until recently, the international bridge over the Niagara River between Canada and the United States was named the Peace Bridge. President Trump just announced that it’s now the War Bridge.
In fact, one ancillary reason that I was rooting for the Toronto Blue Jays to win the World Series was the prospect of a Canadian team being invited to the White House for the traditional victory celebration. Would they have been invited, would they go, what derision might they have encountered? Maybe next year.
Sunday, November 2, 2025
Today is the New York City Marathon, a gathering of 55,000 runners from 150 countries. I participated, as usual, and came away exhausted. Palazzo di Gotthelf is very close to the finish line and when I went out into the street I saw so many runners, distinguished by the tangerine-colored capes given at the end, that I had to hustle to say “Congratulations” and “Good job” to as many of them as possible.
The entire afternoon was not solely occupied by greeting the marathoners. I did take time out to go to brunch with the charming Elaine C., Caring Ken Klein and my young bride at Amélie, 566 Amsterdam Avenue, a friendly French bistro, related to four other Amélies around this country. It occupies a long and narrow space, with about a dozen two-tops, decorated in an underfunded “Moderne” style.
I had steak and eggs, hanger steak actually served rare as ordered, with two fried eggs and French fries ($28). The other folks all had the Autumn Scramble, eggs with wild mushrooms, squash, goat cheese, French fries and country bread. While the food was a B, our table had an A+ time.
Monday, November 3, 2025
Once upon a time, big city politicians built loyalty by handing out turkeys at Thanksgiving to the needy. Now, the administration is trying to win friends and influence people by taking food off the table of millions of Americans.
. . .
Jeffrey Heller, human rights crusader, shares my concern about the state of our nation. And, he has not merely sat around yapping about it; in the last several years he has ridden his bicycle around the country calling attention to the plight of refugees and asylum seekers. Now, he serves as a docent at Ellis Island, offering visitors information about immigration at an earlier time in our history, you know when we took the huddled masses yearning to be free like my grandparents.
We had lunch at Simply Noodles, 267 Amsterdam Avenue, a small joint with reliably good pan-Asian food. We shared a scallion pancake ($8); vegetarian buns, spongy bao style ($10); angel hair noodles mixed with scallion oil and mushrooms, well prepared but lacking oomph ($15). I also had dumplings in spicy oil, meat filled and covered with ground peanuts ($10 for five).
Another reason that Jeffrey has stopped roving for a while is his six grandchildren, all in the low single digits, living a subway ride away.
Tuesday, November 4, 2025
It’s Election Day and we face three flawed candidates for mayor, Sliwa, a clown; Cuomo, a predator; Momdani, a neophyte. What message does “the greatest city in the world” (lyric by Lin-Manuel Miranda), “so nice that they named it twice” (lyric by Jon Hendricks) want to send?
. . .
Ittai and Linda, another Upper West Side Power Couple, just spent a week in London, Ittai informed me when we met in Fairway Market, 2131 Broadway, the crossroads of the Jewish colonial settlement in Manhattan.
He described the wonderful meal that they had in a Michelin-starred Nigerian restaurant and later forwarded the menu. The name is Chishuru, a Hausa word meaning “the silence that descends on the table when food arrives.” That’s religion to me.
Wednesday, November 5, 2025
I’ve reached an age where it’s prudent to do “advance planning,” a polite euphemism for looking into the dark tunnel. One central issue is the DNR, the directive to medical personnel Do Not Resuscitate, often encircling Grannie’s frail wrist. I have introduced an additional instruction for my waning days — DNTMTS, Do Not Tell Me The Score. It has a seasonal character. In the Fall, Winter and Spring, spare me bad news about the Rangers; in the Spring and Summer, keep my hopes about the Mets alive.
Friday, November 7, 2025
I’ve had days recently when I’ve had two medical appointments, but today was a first — two funerals. On the whole, I prefer the doctors, even without my clothes on.
On signatures, I am also a lefty who abandoned cursive in the middle years of the last century. But these past 10 months, since ascending to the bench, I have had to sign my name innumerable times (ticket dispositions, plea agreements, warrants, correspondence, clerical timecards, audit reports, etc., etc.). I wanted to get the Biden Model x-30 Autopen (on Amazon for $99.99) but the Court authorities said no.
ReplyDeleteI remember very vividly that in elementary school we were taught penmenship. How to hold the pen, how to make each letter. This is part of a faded world but i pride myself that i write in the cursive in an attractive way.
ReplyDeleteEmma Lazarus' poem, inscribed on the Statue of Liberty, contains the words "breathe free," not "be free"
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ReplyDeleteIn the early 1950s, I learned to write with a steel-nibbed pen dipped in an inkwell. Being left-handed, I had to contort my wrist to avoid smearing. I can still remember, above the black blackboards, the long green cardboard strips showing us, with beautiful arcs and arrows, how to make each letter in cursive.
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