Learning To Read

I am not reading my first book of choice.  I am not reading a book I may want to keep once it has been read.  I am reading big block of book that I can be rid of when I’m finished with it.  It’s a common problem here:  too many books; not enough apartment  (Kindles are very popular).  Local codes appear to allow for the selling of books on sidewalks (one vendor has had the same (street) parking space for 11 years-  his book-storage vehicle (car) parked in front of his plot of sidewalk..  That’s one solution.  Another is a carless commute.  And so I am learning to read.

Learning to read while standing.  Learning to read while grasping the same pole grasped by four hands above and one below mine.  Learning to read while ignoring the saxophonist playing IN THE MOOD.  Learning to read while ignoring the various begging strategies.  Collecting for the homeless.  Being the homeless.  Looking for a woman-  any woman, between the ages of 18 and 100  (‘That’s right!  I’ll even take a woman in her 90s-  as long as she’s a naturalized citizen!’).

One day, I will learn to read the weekend subway service-change notifications, but for now, they remain beyond my comprehension as I wait, fascinated by rats that dematerialize through a tiled wall under a faded paper cautionary tale:  ‘This area has been baited with rodenticide.  11-12-02.’  If only the rats could read.

Wedding Services

Tonight I met a fire-breathing reverend:  the subversively mainstream-appearanced wife of the lead singer in the punk band  (let’s face it-  there are places where wearing a gray dress with matching pumps is an act of aggression, and a bar called Otto’s Shrunken Head is one of them).  There was some debate as to whether or not the band was really a punk band:  I say-  musically sound; attitudinally suspect.  Sure there was some flipping off the audience, but I felt their hearts weren’t really in it.  And they were just so chipper.  (The band that followed, in contrast, played their set with a dead rubber chicken spiked on the mike  (chicken available for choking.))  Perhaps the fact that the second guitarist in the punk (or nearly-punk) band was absent- recovering from a fire, could be seen as an added bit of street-cred.  (I checked.  The fire-breathing reverend denied all responsibility-  but liked the serendipity of a burn-victim closely associated with a fire-breather that as I left, she was considering changing the story of how his injury occurred.)

All of which is a really convoluted way to get to today’s really simple New York lesson:  apparently, to become licensed to marry people in all five boroughs is hard.  It involves a fee and a long line.  It is unclear at this time whether fire-breathing involves additional bureaucracy.  However, if you require fire to be ejected from the mouth of the official presiding over you as you exchange your vows (in the five boroughs), I can put you in touch.