Now That I'm Forty...


Born in New York and now going to die in New York. Someday.

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Now That I'm Forty...

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Wednesday, January 21, 2004

Gotta Get Me A NYC Job
And soon.

Meanwhile, crazy was all over the 34th St station tonight like lights on a Christmas tree. One man was blasting his voice in a trumpet of anger/madness once every minute or so. I had the fortune of following him from the Penn Station access to the 2 and 3 platform where I was headed, so I'd heard him the longest. He was truly in an awful state but I think even he could appreciate the echo quality his voice had down in all that tile.

Then up on the platform, this young woman as going from the north end to the south CUSSIN' people OUT, you hear me? And what caused her to zero in on a victim? If they laughed at her. I watched it. It was awesome and terrifying at the same time. Awesome because I correctly assessed her pattern with one glance. I was amazed at my own skills. One day, I'm going to be great at what I do. But terrifying in that I was bound to be her next victim. The more I realized what she was doing, the easier the laughter welled up inside me. I had to run and duck for cover when she came back down my way. I probably looked as crazy as she did.

Yes, I can laugh at mental illness. It's how we cope in this profession. While we are doing our best to advocate for them and keep them safe, we also realize that some things the illness makes them do is just flat out hilarious. Doesn't make us work for them any less. Probably more, since we have a twinge of guilt at ourselves. But you gotta laugh sometimes. You just HAVE to.

So, currently, I'm reading "No Time To Die" by Grace Edwards. If anyone picks up a copy of it, just go quickly to page 121! It describes the big police station and the renovations up the street that I have mentioned earlier. But the book was published in 1999, so Ms. Edwards has her protagonist describing only the construction phase and the pre-renovated buildings. The characters in the book all have quite a negative opinion of the police station and the constructions, though. Just like my buddy commented at my "Yay Diversity" post, people are being driven out of Harlem by the gentrification.

So okay, I'm confused. We WANTED to keep the burned out blocks of buildings in Harlem? No one was living in them THEN, except the homeless. How is renovation driving anyone else out? We wanted to leave the homeless in rat infested building with no water or electricity? Or, dare I say, crack houses? Anyway, I've seen more white people living in buildings like mine than up and down that renovation block, believe me. I'm looking, and I see only brothas and sistas coming in and out of those beautiful cut glass and polished wood facades.

Now as for the cops? Oh I hope they aren't as shady as the ones Ms. Edwards writes about. Last night two pair of police were patrolling my street. A few nights before, a pair was scraping snow off the car windows trying to identify the registration of some unlucky b@st@rd. Why shouldn't I feel safe when I see them? I WANT to feel safe. I want to believe they will help me if something craptastic goes down. But the consensus in "No Time To Die" is that I have more of a chance to end up like Diallo than I do rescued like Jimmy Olsen.

Or maybe that's how I'm feeling because the book itself is giving me the creeps about Harlem. It's awesome in it's coverage of these blocks. It describes so much within walking distance of me. I feel like I'll meet Ms. Edwards sooner or later--that's how familiar with these streets she seems. But she's putting feet to the crime that I'm consciously avoiding on the nightly news. Stuff I don't want to think about. Stuff I don't want to spend time being afraid of.

I will do research on the Harlem Writer's Guild though. I may just fool around here one day and join them.

Me at 1/21/2004 10:32:00 PM