I turned around to see if someone had entered the elevator after me. There was a sound, likely caused by the door closing, that made me think I was not in the elevator alone. No one else was present. The car smelled of piss. I noticed a sign pointing to Dey Street. It offered no indication that Dey Street becomes Maiden Lane at this very intersection. This characteristic of Lower Manhattan, where streets change names, always reminds me of a screed delivered by a friend who moved from New York to Tampa, my original hometown. Driving in Tampa, she would say over and over, was just brutal compared to driving in New York. In Tampa streets change names, change direction, get closed off for no apparent reason, the building numbers are wildly inconsistent… Yes, I think of that screed any time I encounter one of Lower Manhattan’s change-of-streetname.
…
Someone brought a large, well-appointed bike onto the train today. It is a holiday and the subways are not crowded at all but he reminded me of a rush-hour incident a few weeks ago where I and others were squeezing our bodies through the door to exit the train when two women shoved their occupied baby strollers into the melee. Who does that? Who thinks it is productive to shove an infant into an extremely packed and panicked subway crowd?
…
Every day for over a month now I wake up to numerous “END OF LIFE” notifications. I imagine an email or text missive will be how I am informed when my end of life will be scheduled. That is not what this is but in the morning grog I cannot be blamed for accepting it in grim humor. I would think other disciplines use the term but in computer speak end of life (EOL) means that a piece of software is no longer supported or updated. One of my machines has been past EOL, i,e,: dead, for over a month, yet it lives on past its pronounced EOL. As do I. I see those warnings and assume they are unsubtle announcements that my death is coming soon, or even past due. I remember how deaths were reported in old magazines and newspapers. It is said to have “occurred.” “Someone’s death occurred last week…” Somehow death does not seem like an occurrence. It is too final for that. An occurrence implies consequence. It implies that an action took place and some resultant reaction is expected. But when one is dead they cannot partake of the consequence of their action. There is no occurrence for them. When a death is said to have occurred its incidence is cast into the realm of the living, the small swarm of activity that surrounds a freshly deceased individual, regardless of whether plans had been made. But to say that a person’s death “occurred” implies that they did this. They did not do anything. They died.
…
I thought about an article that passed me by last week. Something to do with how men, in general, do not wash their toes or legs. They just let the soap and shampoo roll down their body and assume that takes care of it. I don’t do that. First of all, I sit in the shower. The only other person I knew who does that, or at least did it while I knew her, was the sperm derm. She had never done it until I introduced her to the practice, and she was greatly appreciative of being gifted such a simple, effectual change to her diurnal routines. But the feet thing. As I scrubbed soap on my toes today I felt aware of the grit and gristle (is that a word?) of the gesture. A man, alone in the tub, aggressively cleaning to spaces between his toes. A motion picture moment sledome if ever captured
