me in the piazza

I'm a writer, publishing both as SJ Rozan and, with Carlos Dews, as Sam Cabot. (I'm Sam, he's Cabot.) Here you can find links to my almost-daily blog posts, including the Saturday haiku I've been doing for years. BUT the blog itself has moved to my website. If you go on over there you can subscribe and you'll never miss a post. (Miss a post! A scary thought!) Also, I'll be teaching a writing workshop in Italy this summer -- come join us!
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Only in New York

People sometimes say "Only in New York" when they mean something very weird happened. But the weekend I just had, though not weird, could not have happened in many places.

My basketball coach, for a real job, coaches the women's team at John Jay. So Saturday noon, after my trip to the river to do the weekly haiku, JL and I went up to the Doghouse (they're the Bloodhounds, see, Criminal Justice?) to watch them play. They won, but in a heartstopper. The bad guys were down by one with the ball and fifteen seconds left. If they'd made a shot, the Bloodhounds would've been toast. But they missed! So we ambled out of there with our pulses still pounding, and strolled across Central Park, past a lot of sleeping ducks, to the Asia Society, where we examined some gorgeous ceramics, bronzes, and wood carvings from the permanent collection. The hushed, slightly nose-in-the-air Asia Society galleries are as opposite to a college gym as you can imagine. Then back across the park to a warming Chinese dinner of leeks and jumbo shrimp, and then to the Walter Kerr theater to see Chazz Palminteri's monologue version of A Bronx Tale. Absolutely a knockout. The lights come up, he's on stage with his back to the audience, snapping his fingers to a doo-wop song. He turns around with a big smile, says, "I grew up right on this corner," and the whole audience is eating out of his hand for the next hour and a half.

Then on Sunday, morning basketball, which turned out to be a bummer because the gym was locked and we couldn't get in. Happens occasionally, when we and the school we rent from get our signals crossed (the super thought it was a holiday, but it wasn't like that on our permit) but it was sort of okay because we had a kind of Q-&-A clinic on the sidewalk. After which I tooled down to Chinatown for the New Year's parade. Happy Year of the Rat, by the way. Then coffee with some friends back in my neighborhood, and then a concert of the New York Qin Society. What's a Qin? A medieval Chinese silk-stringed instrument. It's a muted, meditative instrument, as different from the environment of a parade as the galleries are from the Doghouse.

And I reiterate, there aren't a lot of places you could go from one of those environments to another to another over the course of a weekend. Almost only in New York.

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