From Sutton to St Mark's
Wet again, but only when I was outside. I am still wondering what the Latin woman on the First Avenue bus was upset about, but I agreed when the driver told her that she was being "hysterical" - like Photoshop when it's been too long since the last reboot, she was not responding. Which is not by any means to say that she was silent... I had a fine lunch of steak and kidney pie at the new apartment of good friend who told me that she'd been told, in the elevator, by the woman upstairs (or maybe it was downstairs), that Noel Coward had my friend's apartment for years as his New York pied-à-terre. My friend isn't taking the story too seriously. But I do know someone who lives in the apartment of a great Broadway belter (possibly the best); she insisted that he take it over when she moved on. This celebrated performer did nothing to stifle the widespread assumption that she was Jewish; indeed, she may have played it to her advantage. Whether the Episcopalian would have gotten away with this if she hadn't hailed from Queens is a good question.... Now it's getting cold again, and I'm off to the East Village, where, over dinner, Megan is going to return some of my books. It seems that, like me, she has been spring cleaning in advance. So that's where the leatherette Collins edition of Emma, part of a set, has been these last fifteen years... Does FreshDirect have any empty delivery time slots tomorrow? Yes they do - I'd better place an order.
