I am sitting at a table in St. Michael’s Playground, on 31st Avenue. A luscious din of noise washes from vehicular traffic over the grounds. I call this post “Perfection” because, to my right and in the distance, I see that word. It is the name of a place but I know not what goes on there. Night club, maybe?

I just heard and saw three teenage boys screaming obscenities at a woman walking the opposite direction on the other side of the street. She seemed genuinely unaware that words of misogynistic torment were raining on her. I don’t see much of that kind of hooliganism around here, though I rarely venture in to what would be considered bad neighborhoods.

I was approached once outside the Queensbridge Houses, by someone asking what I was looking for. I said “payphones”, to which he responded that none of them worked. I picked one up, though, and heard a dial tone. I reported this to him. He was not impressed.

But the point being that I felt I had entered into an area that one does not enter into without a concrete and verifiable reason.

The rude kids shouting at the unaware woman reminded me of the time I saw 50ish year old man absolutely beating the snot out of a kid who looked to be 16 or 17. A lot of people had gathered around, some egging the older guy on and saying that the kid deserved what he was getting. Others implored the guy to show some restraint and act like an adult. I don’t know if that is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in New York but it would rank high on such a list. Seeing an elderly woman get mowed down and killed by a cab is on that list. Once I saw a dead body on 29th Street near 30th Avenue in Astoria. I think of that every time I pass by that spot. He was peacefully dead, his arm wrapped partly around a parking meter. Someone across the street had called 911.

…

OK, it is later. Too beautiful a day to let pass without a mini-wander up into the turning point between AsLIC and Jackson Heights, this for to check in on an abandoned payphone I recently spotted for the first time. I remember where so many payphones used to be. It is like I see ghosts, or feel them.

Interstate 278 was the source of the luscious din of noise at St. Michael’s Playground. The vehicles, that is. Not the Interstate itself. Like all roads the Interstate itself is silent.

I can’t seem to find any reference to Pia Zadora being in a mainstream magazine during the 1980s. That is the span of time when I seem to remember her being a sensation at my high school, as the library got a copy of this magazine and unwillingly let it circulate.  I’ve never been any groupie of hers but reading about her controversial Best Newcomer Golden Globe award was interesting. I had seen “The Lonely Lady”, parts of it at least, and found it as horrible as the conventional wisdom purports. But I for some reason thought she had done some reputable, non-laughable film work. Apparently not. I read an interview with her, I believe in PARADE, the magazine which used to be included in the Sunday newspaper. The interview ended with her saying something like “I am a pistol.” It was, it seems, intended to be the start of her career renaissance. I mentioned the article to a college friend who commented “Doesn’t she kinda suck?” I didn’t know, but I found her unbelievably sexy and appealing as a human creature. I don’t think it is fair to say such things (“doesn’t she kinda suck?”) unless you know for yourself or you have very credible opinions to cite. She seems like a very nice person and her stage career seems to have earned her some respect.

Going home to continue my Pia Zadora research. Hah.