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Black and White Photography, New York: Saturday, August 21, 2004


Working for Micky D.

7:39:28 PM    


Street Corner

Street Corner

7:38:03 PM    

It is quite obvious that the gods have decided that they don't want me to sleep anymore.  Last night (not tonight) I awoke to the cat meowing at 2:50.  Okay, I know you want some food.  Oops. No food for kitty.  Please kitty be quiet. I can't go searching for food at 3 o'clock in the morning...  Here, try some of this nice little tuna fish.  No deal, huh.  Won't eat anything but dry cereal.  How about some corn flakes dipped in tuna fish?  Finally, after being kept up by meowing, I went downstairs at 5 a.m. and luckily the food emporium was open.  Huge supermarket, but I didn't see anyone around in there.

Half-asleep and and pissed off, I arrived at the checkout with two bags of cat food but there was no one in sight.  Finally, distressed and grumpy I yelled out: Hey, anyone home?

A guard who had been asleep on his post came over and asked what I wanted.

I just want to pay for this damned cat food and go to sleep.  The guard picks up some microphone: There is a customer in aisle four.  Customer in aisle four. 

I expected swat teams.

Got the food.  Returned through the murk of New York and give same to cat who instantly eats a couple of nuggets and hops off to bed.  By then it is 5:30 a.m. and I return to sleep, only to be awakened at 8 a.m. by my sister's phone call asking if I want to move the car for her. Good night nurse.

Tonight, I'm sitting here with plaster falling from the apartment above where someone new moved in.  His air-conditioner is leaking and there is a steady drip of water and plaster.  Should I go upstairs and wake him up in the middle of the night?  I don't think so.  I put a pot underneath it - metalic pings - but the ceiling in that area is getting that buckling bulged out look (that the Republicans will have after a trip to 42nd street - sorry couldn't help that).

Two nights in a row with very little in the way of prolonged slumber.  I don't see how I can be expected to write anything fascinating about digital cameras and their ilk if I keep getting up in the middle of the night.

As an aside, as anyone who gets woken during REM sleep knows - it is pretty easy to remember your dreams and for the record, I was dreaming about the Adobe RGB setting on the camera and whether it was a good idea to shoot in this very subdued mode or not and yes, it was a dream in color, but Adobe RGB color.

9 a.m. Boom.

Sitting at the computer when a big chunk falls in.

 

So I went upstairs and met my new neighbor.  While I was introducing myself and telling him that his air-conditioner had leaked backwards, causing my ceiling to fall in - he stopped me and asked, "Are you saying that I'm liable for this?"

I didn't quite get what he was asking and asked him to come down and see what the mess looked like.  When he arrived and saw the mess and the slats and ancient crap all over, he asked again - is  that is my fault?

I told him that it wasn't his fault.  That the landlord would fix it. 

I guess he had visions of finding himself on the People's Court. 

- - -

The call to the landlord.

"Management," the voice says.  Pretty thick accent but I think that was the word.

I tell him what had happened.  He says, "You don't expect us to send anyone over today do you?"

"Yes," I reply.  "I do. It could be dangerous."

"Let me explain something to you," he said dryly.  He might have been reading from a card. "An emergency is when a toilet overflows.  An emergency is when there is a broken pipe.  Some plaster falling down is not an emergency. "

"Well, it's an emergency if another piece falls down and bonks me on the head," I say. 

So he tells me that he needs to transfer me to the manager of the building and I should talk to him.  Which, before I have a chance to say anything - he does.  I get an answering machine message that says that the manager for this building is on vacation and that his machine will not accept any messages. 

I call back the first guy: "Management"

I tell him that the number that he just transfered me to isn't taking any messages and that I want to talk with our super.  I ask him for the supers number (which used to be posted downstairs but isn't anymore).

The Management tells me that he can't give out the supers number unless it is an emergency.  He begins to tell me what an emergency is again and I interrupt him and tell him that if he doesn't give me the supers number I'm going to call my cousin who is a real-estate lawyer.  So now, here I am - entering into lawyer land.  He promptly gives me the supers number and the super (who is a wonderful guy) says he'll send someone right over.

End of story - or is it?

3:19:14 AM    


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