I love NY1. I have always loved NY1. I love it like I loved
Cosmos, the diner that was kitty corner to my childhood apartment (but is now
gone, remodeled and thereby reduced). I love NY1 for still being here into my
adulthood. Many things I’ve loved about this city I’ve lost along the way, but
NY1 is my loyal friend. It’s not just with me in my house either; where I go,
NY1 goes too.
Sometimes I go to the theatre and I see Roma Torre there,
and I giggle like a schoolgirl.
Once I watched the NY marathon and I saw John Schiumo run
by, sweaty and tired, like a regular person. I cheered him on: “Go, John Schiumo!” He flashed me a thumbs up.
I saw Pat Kiernan outside the Barnes and Noble at Lincoln
Center once (RIP), and he was surprisingly tall. In my mind, I pictured him
Michael J. Fox sized. This was before he was pop-culture-famous and before he
moved to Williamsburg.
Once I saw Roger Clark in my neighborhood Brooklyn dive bar (Magnetic Fields, RIP).
He was on a date and started making out with his lady friend. So awkward! So real!
Walking through Chelsea Market during rush hour, on my way
to pick up some meat at Dickson’s, I saw Lewis Dodley headed home. His mustache
is just as interesting up close. THESE PEOPLE ARE REAL PEOPLE.
I mean, when I passed Barbara Walters in
Central Park, it was like watching the Queen of England walk on gilded tiptoes
through the neighborhood dump. She had shellacked hair and six inches of
make-up. She was wearing a wool Chanel Suit and stockings and heels, and it was 98
degrees out. NOT REAL.
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