Another New York City moment.
At approximately 3:30 a.m. this morning, our front door buzzer goes off. Stumbling out of bed, I see two police officers. "Excuse me, is this the residence of Kitty, uhhhh, Leh, Loh, Looh?"
"Kitty lives here... Yes," I cautiously replied. I didn't want to be the guy to fink on my wife, you know?
"Your car has been broken into and we have apprended the man who did it. Just to verify, you did not ask him to enter your car and remove your property, yes?" It's three a.m., my head is spinning from a cold I'm fighting and faced with all the double-negatives, I utter some sort of reply that seems to make everything ok. "Would you like to press charges?"
I suppose that is the single scariest moment of the night. How do you press charges against someone over attempted theft of two decorative pillows, a set of jumper cables, a kite and a hackey sack? "I suppose so."
"Why don't you come out, I'll show you the car and we'll get the paperwork started."
Changing into jeans and putting on a jacket, I tell Kitty about the situation and I tell her I'll be back in a few. I arrive at our car, parked just down the street and there are six officers standing around. "Yeah, he cut his finger on a fuckin' file cabinet." "Lost the finger at the first fuckin' knuckle?" "Yeah, it got some sort of fuckin' infection..." "Oh, hey Sarge, this the guy from Colorado?"
They stand around looking at the car and I hear bits and pieces of the story. A transit cop happened to be on the platform for the elevated train directly above our street and he saw the man as he broke the window. He ran down from the platform and caught another officer at the entrance to the station and the two policemen bumped into the guy as he was walking away with the items. The arrest was easy after that.
Sarge asked me if I would come down to the station. They'd photograph everything and I could just take it home immediately rather than make another trip down later. The driver looked like Arnold Voosloo and the music was the best of the eighties. I hop in the back of the cruiser and three red lights and seven minutes later I was at the back entrance of the Police depot at Hoyt-Schermerhorn Station. Sarge brings me around to the front desk where almost magically, the same cops are standing around. "Yeah, he cut his first fuckin'..." "Oh, hey, Sarge." "This is Gurnsey, who made the collar."
"Oh, yeah, Tranist makes the bust of the century..." says Sarge.
"You know, it's Grand Larceny if he steals shit out of a car," says Gurnsey.
"Woh, hold on a second, Gunga-din, you hoping to get some bars out of this? He stole two goddamned pillows. What next, attempted murder?" yells Salvatore, the Desk Sargeant.
"Well, there is dried blood on the screwdriver."
"Oh. So did he cut himself?"
"No."
"Shit. Better send that to the lab."
The conversation goes on and soon a copy of the New York Penal Code is brought out and references are being made. I didn't realize that the drafters of the Code dropped the F-bomb into it as much as they did.
"Hey, did you get to question him further?" asks Gurnsey.
"Nah," Salvatore says, "As soon as he got to the cell, he fell asleep. The guy has been arrested like, a hundred times." He then intones,"The Guilty always sleep."
As I'm identifiying items from the car, there is a sunglasses case from Ann Klein. Confused as to whose it is, I need to call Kitty. I'm led back to a room where Salvatore is enjoying a cigarette. He sees me and his eyes get big. Apparently, I've found the last room in the city where a person can grab a smoke. Wait a second, how can a man that big disappear? "Hey kiddo, do you have a glasses case from Ann Klein?"
"Yeah, I think so," she groggily replies and hangs up.
Wait a second. When did she buy Ann Klein sunglasses? I think two crimes were committed here tonight...
Signing paperwork and packing up took no time at all and soon Voosloo was driving me back to the apartment. The Sarge snapped some pictures of the broken window and I'm supposed to expect a call from the District Attorney today.
All in all, we count ourselves lucky. As Sarge said, "It's rare that we are in the right place at the right time like this. Usually we just take reports and it is gratifying to actually prevent something every once in awhile."
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
The Negotiater
Sitting in a buisness consultation for my singing career, my mentor said, "I know you are thinking of having Kitty be your manager, but, really, can she negotiate?"
I replied, "Do you see that leather jacket over there?"
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Flashback: Two weeks ago on the Lower East Side.
Our idea was to improve my "image" by buying a versatile leather coat that would help tidy me up for the fall and winter in New York. The street was rather quiet but apparently, this was the place to be to purchase leather outerwear in the whole city. We turned the corner onto Ludlow Street.
"Leather Jackets here." "Starting at $100." "Wear only the best leather." "Nobody beats my prices."
Even with only a few shoppers out, the barkers on the sidewalk were practically dragging people up or into their shops. Within this block, there were probably twenty stores all selling similar jackets and leather supplies- and for those of you with sick minds- I mean wallets, shoes and belts. This is a family blog. (mostly)
The first store was up a narrow flight of stairs and the walls were covered with jackets, as were the shelves, counters and floor. We waded through the jackets and tried a few on.
The second store, we were more prepared. It was more spacious and certainly more tidy. Our saleswoman, Maria, said that she had a great deal for us. We found a jacket we liked. "Well," she said, "that will be $425." We both kind of stopped and looked at each other. Instantly, "Ok, for you, $225. That's a special deal for today."
Oh you poor, poor woman, I think to myself. You just showed weakness. The blood is in the water and Kitty is going to eat you alive. I say a silent prayer for Maria's soul.
An eyebrow is arched and a glint hits Kitty's eye. "Well, we really didn't want to pay that much for a jacket." She sounds so innocent and nice as she says it. She leaves the bait hanging in the air. I can see Maria as she looks at the bait, sizing it up, asking herself, "Is there a hook in there?-- nah... There's no hook."
"Alright, for you, I'll talk to my manager." Maria walks away to talk to a man wearing a leather coat.
"What are you thinking? I whisper. "$225 is right in our budget. It's a great coat. Why are you pushing her? Don't you want to buy a coat today?" There is a tone of desperation in my voice and it cracks a little. I like this coat. All I get is the eyebrow.
Maria comes back, "Ok, I'll sell it to you for $175 cash. That's my best deal. I had to get my manager's approval." The man with the leather jacket is taking one off and putting another on. (Wait a minute, is he really a manager? I guess we'll never really know.)
"Well," says Kitty, "can we get your card? We want to look around a bit and we'll come back if we don't find anything better."
"Ok, $150." She's hemmoraging dollars at this point and I am well past feeling sorry for her now.
With a little toss of her head and a flip of the tail, the shark swims out of the store to search for fresh prey. And I, the little fish, hoping for scraps, follow her out of the store.
"Well, I guess that's it, huh. We aren't buying the coat today?" I say.
"Don't worry, let's just hit one more store," Kitty says.
The third store is relatively quiet. As we look at some coats, I try one on, it looks good but it is a medium and I really need a small. All of a sudden, a heavy set man walks up to us. He is wearing white sweatpants and a New York Giants t-shirt and a leather jacket. His baseball hat is old and he looks like he just rolled out of bed. He also is sporting a 5 o'clock shadow that extends down to his chest in his front and to the tuft of back hair poking out from the top of the t-shirt.
"Dats a nice lookin' jacket."
"Well, it's a medium and we were really hoping for a small, "says the Shark.
"Oh, naw... dat medium is great. See, ya want it bigger. Ya know... Everyone wears it big." He tilts baseball cap so that it is sideways on his head. "See, all my buds where a size or sumtimes two sizes too big."
"Well, it's a medium and we were really hoping for a small," repeats the Shark. Apparently, this guy can't tell that she's trying to negotiate.
"Aw hell, I've got one somewhere. Look, I just got another shipment in today." He points to a stack of boxes. "Gimmee a second."
"Wait," says Kitty, demoted from shark to confused amphibian, "How much do you want for it if it's a small?" Apparently, we are really going to have to lead this horse to water.
"Oh, uh, I dunno, what about Onefiddy?-- see, it's lambskin... it's real nice soft leather. So you'll take the medium?" I can tell that he really doesn't want to go digging.
"No, we won't take the medium. Why don't you look for the small and we'll come back later."
As we walk out of the store, I tell Kitty that I'm hitting the wall. I can't keep up this brutal pace of negotiation and my arms are getting tired from trying on all these jackets.
We are not twenty feet out of the door when..."chief... Chief... CHIEF!!!!!" First of all, nobody calls me Chief. No one ever has, why the heck would I start answering to it when its a crowded street and there are people yelling everywhere? Secondly, my unfortunate friend is running down the street, his hand is hanging tightly on to the back of his sweatpants in a failing attempt to mitigate the plumber's crack that is being revealed to those behind him. As he approaches, I can see sweat and toxins pouring down his hairy face. This is obviously a poster child for why we should spend more time playing outside in the park.
"Chief, I found a small... come back... come back..." he wheezes.
Kitty smiles as if she planned this all. We find ourselves walking briskly as he prances ahead of us, describing the Herculean effort of finding this needle in his proverbial haystack. His hand has let go of his sweatpants as he sort of acts out the triumph of finding the perfectly sized coat. We are led on by his tremendous Plumber's crack and we arrive back at the shop.
"Well, $150 seems ok, but we were really hoping to pay $100."
He looks like someone just murdered his puppy. "Oh. Well. Huh." I see the pain in his eyes when he realizes that he was negotiating with a master and it's almost checkmate for him. "Well. Let me... uh... talk to the owner."
A small Asian woman is sitting at the cash register. Kitty moves in for the kill. "Would you take $100 cash?" she starts.
"Cash or credit... makes no difference in price," says the owner. "I'll give it to you for $125."
Cue the whistling music as we are transported to the Old West. Kitty is standing in front of the Saloon and the shopkeeper is by the General Store. They face each other, sizing each other up, their hands by their holstered guns. A tumbleweed blows across the road between them. Kitty is wearing the black hat.
"Well, we'll just keep looking, partner," Kitty drawls.
"$110. Best offer."
"Done."
A look of relief crosses the townspeople's faces as the two gunfighters relax. There won't be any bloodshed this afternoon.
"Give her the credit card," Kitty says.
BAM! "What happened to the cash?" the shopkeeper says as she lies on the street bleeding.
"I guess it doesn't make a difference either way," Kitty says as she nods her black hat, mounts her horse and rides off into the sunset.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"That's a great story and she sounds like she could be a good manager," says my mentor. "But can she do that in the other direction?"
I replied, "Do you see that leather jacket over there?"
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Flashback: Two weeks ago on the Lower East Side.
Our idea was to improve my "image" by buying a versatile leather coat that would help tidy me up for the fall and winter in New York. The street was rather quiet but apparently, this was the place to be to purchase leather outerwear in the whole city. We turned the corner onto Ludlow Street.
"Leather Jackets here." "Starting at $100." "Wear only the best leather." "Nobody beats my prices."
Even with only a few shoppers out, the barkers on the sidewalk were practically dragging people up or into their shops. Within this block, there were probably twenty stores all selling similar jackets and leather supplies- and for those of you with sick minds- I mean wallets, shoes and belts. This is a family blog. (mostly)
The first store was up a narrow flight of stairs and the walls were covered with jackets, as were the shelves, counters and floor. We waded through the jackets and tried a few on.
The second store, we were more prepared. It was more spacious and certainly more tidy. Our saleswoman, Maria, said that she had a great deal for us. We found a jacket we liked. "Well," she said, "that will be $425." We both kind of stopped and looked at each other. Instantly, "Ok, for you, $225. That's a special deal for today."
Oh you poor, poor woman, I think to myself. You just showed weakness. The blood is in the water and Kitty is going to eat you alive. I say a silent prayer for Maria's soul.
An eyebrow is arched and a glint hits Kitty's eye. "Well, we really didn't want to pay that much for a jacket." She sounds so innocent and nice as she says it. She leaves the bait hanging in the air. I can see Maria as she looks at the bait, sizing it up, asking herself, "Is there a hook in there?-- nah... There's no hook."
"Alright, for you, I'll talk to my manager." Maria walks away to talk to a man wearing a leather coat.
"What are you thinking? I whisper. "$225 is right in our budget. It's a great coat. Why are you pushing her? Don't you want to buy a coat today?" There is a tone of desperation in my voice and it cracks a little. I like this coat. All I get is the eyebrow.
Maria comes back, "Ok, I'll sell it to you for $175 cash. That's my best deal. I had to get my manager's approval." The man with the leather jacket is taking one off and putting another on. (Wait a minute, is he really a manager? I guess we'll never really know.)
"Well," says Kitty, "can we get your card? We want to look around a bit and we'll come back if we don't find anything better."
"Ok, $150." She's hemmoraging dollars at this point and I am well past feeling sorry for her now.
With a little toss of her head and a flip of the tail, the shark swims out of the store to search for fresh prey. And I, the little fish, hoping for scraps, follow her out of the store.
"Well, I guess that's it, huh. We aren't buying the coat today?" I say.
"Don't worry, let's just hit one more store," Kitty says.
The third store is relatively quiet. As we look at some coats, I try one on, it looks good but it is a medium and I really need a small. All of a sudden, a heavy set man walks up to us. He is wearing white sweatpants and a New York Giants t-shirt and a leather jacket. His baseball hat is old and he looks like he just rolled out of bed. He also is sporting a 5 o'clock shadow that extends down to his chest in his front and to the tuft of back hair poking out from the top of the t-shirt.
"Dats a nice lookin' jacket."
"Well, it's a medium and we were really hoping for a small, "says the Shark.
"Oh, naw... dat medium is great. See, ya want it bigger. Ya know... Everyone wears it big." He tilts baseball cap so that it is sideways on his head. "See, all my buds where a size or sumtimes two sizes too big."
"Well, it's a medium and we were really hoping for a small," repeats the Shark. Apparently, this guy can't tell that she's trying to negotiate.
"Aw hell, I've got one somewhere. Look, I just got another shipment in today." He points to a stack of boxes. "Gimmee a second."
"Wait," says Kitty, demoted from shark to confused amphibian, "How much do you want for it if it's a small?" Apparently, we are really going to have to lead this horse to water.
"Oh, uh, I dunno, what about Onefiddy?-- see, it's lambskin... it's real nice soft leather. So you'll take the medium?" I can tell that he really doesn't want to go digging.
"No, we won't take the medium. Why don't you look for the small and we'll come back later."
As we walk out of the store, I tell Kitty that I'm hitting the wall. I can't keep up this brutal pace of negotiation and my arms are getting tired from trying on all these jackets.
We are not twenty feet out of the door when..."chief... Chief... CHIEF!!!!!" First of all, nobody calls me Chief. No one ever has, why the heck would I start answering to it when its a crowded street and there are people yelling everywhere? Secondly, my unfortunate friend is running down the street, his hand is hanging tightly on to the back of his sweatpants in a failing attempt to mitigate the plumber's crack that is being revealed to those behind him. As he approaches, I can see sweat and toxins pouring down his hairy face. This is obviously a poster child for why we should spend more time playing outside in the park.
"Chief, I found a small... come back... come back..." he wheezes.
Kitty smiles as if she planned this all. We find ourselves walking briskly as he prances ahead of us, describing the Herculean effort of finding this needle in his proverbial haystack. His hand has let go of his sweatpants as he sort of acts out the triumph of finding the perfectly sized coat. We are led on by his tremendous Plumber's crack and we arrive back at the shop.
"Well, $150 seems ok, but we were really hoping to pay $100."
He looks like someone just murdered his puppy. "Oh. Well. Huh." I see the pain in his eyes when he realizes that he was negotiating with a master and it's almost checkmate for him. "Well. Let me... uh... talk to the owner."
A small Asian woman is sitting at the cash register. Kitty moves in for the kill. "Would you take $100 cash?" she starts.
"Cash or credit... makes no difference in price," says the owner. "I'll give it to you for $125."
Cue the whistling music as we are transported to the Old West. Kitty is standing in front of the Saloon and the shopkeeper is by the General Store. They face each other, sizing each other up, their hands by their holstered guns. A tumbleweed blows across the road between them. Kitty is wearing the black hat.
"Well, we'll just keep looking, partner," Kitty drawls.
"$110. Best offer."
"Done."
A look of relief crosses the townspeople's faces as the two gunfighters relax. There won't be any bloodshed this afternoon.
"Give her the credit card," Kitty says.
BAM! "What happened to the cash?" the shopkeeper says as she lies on the street bleeding.
"I guess it doesn't make a difference either way," Kitty says as she nods her black hat, mounts her horse and rides off into the sunset.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"That's a great story and she sounds like she could be a good manager," says my mentor. "But can she do that in the other direction?"
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Things we love, Pt. 4
If you have the chance, you can have a dinner for two for $4 bucks. Go to the Eldrich Dumpling House at Essex & Delancy off the F-J-M-Z trains. Head east on Delancy to Eldrich and go two blocks south. On the left hand side, you'll find a small "to-go" stand that serves Sesame Pancakes stuffed with tuna salad or beef ($1.50 each) and 5 perfectly fried pork dumplings for $1.
Rated highly by cheapos and food critics alike, Eldrich Dumpling House is one of those hidden gems that feel like a "best kept secret." We love these our secrets because the tourists won't get past the alphabet soup on the subway and the graffiti that frames the Lower East Side tenament buildings. (Which are really only cleverly disguised million dollar condos).
Best-kept-secrets. We love them and we'll share them with you... if you're nice to us!
Rated highly by cheapos and food critics alike, Eldrich Dumpling House is one of those hidden gems that feel like a "best kept secret." We love these our secrets because the tourists won't get past the alphabet soup on the subway and the graffiti that frames the Lower East Side tenament buildings. (Which are really only cleverly disguised million dollar condos).
Best-kept-secrets. We love them and we'll share them with you... if you're nice to us!
Do you feel that breeze?
That's the feeling of salvation rushing towards you at ninety miles-per-hour.
Being a newly baptized Catholic, I've found a lot of joy at Mass on Sundays. Clocking in at an hour-fifteen or hour-and-a-half, it's a great way to get centered. I've been a Catholic-American (is that the correct phrase?) for almost 6 months now. For the first time, Kitty and I took a trip to St. Patrick's Cathedral on 5th Avenue by Rockefeller Center.
The majesty of the Cathedral is unmistakable. Arches soaring overhead, a grand organ, excellent preaching and a sense of tradition that feels like it has travelled across generations all combine to make for a great retreat. In our case, we were looking forward to celebrating All Saint's Day- a Holy Day of Obligation- where all Catholics are directed to attend Mass.
We met after work in front of St. Pat's and ran in. It was very crowded but not too packed. We found a pew near the center aisle with a clear view of "the action."
The opening hymn began and we realized this would be no ordinary Mass (pun intended). One verse later, the Priest was up front and before we knew it... BAM! We were on to the readings. Anything that was usually sung, was spoken. Not 10 minutes into the Mass, we were on to the Homily. Plowing forward, our excellent preacher told a gripping story and as soon as he was finished... WHACK! On to the collection, before that even finished, Father was blessing the Gifts and then... WHOOSH! We were walking up for Holy Communion. We made it back to our seats where we closed with one verse of another hymn.
Final tally? 33 minutes from beginning to end. If they had shortened it any more, it would have been a haiku.
Being a newly baptized Catholic, I've found a lot of joy at Mass on Sundays. Clocking in at an hour-fifteen or hour-and-a-half, it's a great way to get centered. I've been a Catholic-American (is that the correct phrase?) for almost 6 months now. For the first time, Kitty and I took a trip to St. Patrick's Cathedral on 5th Avenue by Rockefeller Center.
The majesty of the Cathedral is unmistakable. Arches soaring overhead, a grand organ, excellent preaching and a sense of tradition that feels like it has travelled across generations all combine to make for a great retreat. In our case, we were looking forward to celebrating All Saint's Day- a Holy Day of Obligation- where all Catholics are directed to attend Mass.
We met after work in front of St. Pat's and ran in. It was very crowded but not too packed. We found a pew near the center aisle with a clear view of "the action."
The opening hymn began and we realized this would be no ordinary Mass (pun intended). One verse later, the Priest was up front and before we knew it... BAM! We were on to the readings. Anything that was usually sung, was spoken. Not 10 minutes into the Mass, we were on to the Homily. Plowing forward, our excellent preacher told a gripping story and as soon as he was finished... WHACK! On to the collection, before that even finished, Father was blessing the Gifts and then... WHOOSH! We were walking up for Holy Communion. We made it back to our seats where we closed with one verse of another hymn.
Final tally? 33 minutes from beginning to end. If they had shortened it any more, it would have been a haiku.
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