I have things to write about today including more on the crime of the century, my wallet being snatched. I got a call from the detective working my case; he asked me to come down to the station to view videotape. This was not the same station I went to the night of the crime, the Transit District 11 by Yankee Stadium, it was the TD 12 in Morris Park. That was a pain to get to; according to Google maps the fastest route was the 4 train down to 149th street then the 2 or 5 train up to 180th street. Not an efficient route. When I got there, I had to wait a bit for him to finish with another victim and then was ushered into his office, he had a cubbyhole, to watch a video on his computer. It was taken from a church near the train station I was robbed. I saw where the thief exited the station. If he headed south after getting on the street he’d have gone right past this camera. If he entered the same way I’d see him from behind as he went in. I watched for about 40 minutes, from 20 minutes before the crime until 20 minutes after. He didn’t show up. This is what so much of what police work is. The cop next to mine was watching the video from another case. It just showed people entering and exiting the subway.
I continue to be amazed at how hard the police are working this case. My current theory is that my thief’s MO matches that of a serial killer and I’m the only survivor. That would explain why they are putting so much effort into catching him. The cops have not just been working hard, they’ve been incredibly nice to me. This is in marked contrast as to how I was treated when I witnessed the guy being punched. The cop working that case treated me like I was the criminal, contesting everything I said. Too often people treat all police like they are the same. Some see cops as heroes always in the right. Others see cops as oppressors, always in the wrong. The truth is cops are people. It goes beyond some being nice and some being mean. Like all people they each sometimes do good things and sometimes do bad things. Nobody is all one thing.
Getting home was easier than getting there, the timing worked out that if I took the 5 train further uptown I would connect with a bus that would take me home. The bus and train were not in sync when I went there. There was also less walking. Going East-West in the Bronx and Westchester is always a challenge. It’s because of the topography. It’s a series of river valleys that run north south.
When I got home I wanted to immediately make dinner, it was after six and I wanted to leave the house by 7:30. I couldn’t cook right off as my roommate was making her dinner. As soon as she finished I dived in. I finally mastered French fries in the air-fryer. The trick was cooking them for 20 minutes and coating them with more olive oil before putting them in. These were great, made even better as I prepared them with not just garlic salt and black pepper but also cayenne.
My plan was to see Whisperado‘s CD release at Arlene’s Grocery. Doors opened at 8:30 which is why I wanted to leave at 7:30. When I finished dinner at close to 7:30 a wave of fatigue came over me. As much as I wanted to go I decided I couldn’t and fell asleep. I woke up a little before 8:00. That still gave me time to make the show. I decided that I’d be mad at myself if I stayed home so I forced myself out of the house. It took an effort.
That effort did me good. I woke up enough to be able to read on the subway. I have hardly been reading at all. Then I started listening to the fivethirtyeight political podcast. Downloading a podcast and listening on the subway is new to me. It’s only the second time I’ve done it. I’m not a podcast person, and when I listen, I just stream them online. I’m now subscribed to two of them, Wait Wait Don’t Tell me and the politics. The podcast was long, over an hour, so I heard less than half of it.
I arrived at Arlene’s a couple of minutes after 9:00. I didn’t miss anything the band was setting up. I had never seen them before, but I know people in it. I think of it as Jon Sobel’s band. He sings lead on most of the songs and I think he writes them. His wife Elisa plays keyboard. Elisa is one of the Chicks with Dip. John and I are in the Men’s auxiliary, the Roosters. When I made my initial police report they asked me if I were a member of a gang member I resisted saying the Chicks. They are my homies but it’s not what he’d getting at. As expected there were other Chicks and Roosters in the audience including Carolann and Katherine. I was with my people. Is Kirsten a chick? I know her through the chicks. She was part of our clutch at the show.
Whisperado is a no bones about it rock band. Jon plays bass, Elisa keyboard, there’s electric guitar, and a drum kit. Not an acoustic instrument in sight. I know that drums are acoustic, but you know what I mean. They describe their music as roots-rock. To me it had a 60s sound. That’s because I’m a child of the 60s. There are catchy melodies and clever lyrics. You know, good music.
We all went to the attached bar next door after the show. It was really crowded and loud and Carolann scouted other places we could go. When she came back a table opened up and we all sat around it even though it was still difficult to hear. I need to find a bar in that neighborhood that nobody goes to except to hang out after shows and talk. A coffee bar might be best, a business whose main business is giving small groups a place to socialize. I’m calling it parlors, as it’s organized into parlors. We overcame the noise and had our usual great conversations. When the crowd broke up Katherine, Carolann, and Kristen (What is it with me and people whose names begin with the k sound?) walked to the new Essex Market together. Kristen wanted to show it to us, and we could all catch the F train there. It’s a great place to meet with people that have divergent tastes in food. Katherine is a vegan, Carolann a vegetarian, and I’m a carnivore. We could all find food we loved there and eat together.
The trip home was uneventful. I listened to the rest of the podcast which ended one stop before I got off, perfect timing. For once I wasn’t sleepy on the train. I was so happy that I forced myself to go out. Fred Ebb was right. “What good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play.” I knew it was the right decision, I just had to get up energy to do it. That’s a lesson to be learned for things that I find less pleasant but are important for my survival.
Wise Madness 