My Dog is Chelsea

Hey there.

It’s me, MDIC. Remember me?

Guess what? I’m procrastinating.

So I’m back.

See, thing is, I’ve got this story I’ve got to finish up for work. Every December, the company I work for publishes a compilation of our short stories, memoirs, essays and poems.

Last year, my “story” was a hand-drawn comic about why it seems impossible to write even though I AM A WRITER. I write for a living and yet, somewhat predictably, I no longer write for me.

So I’m trying to finish up the story I started (about coming home to New York and the people who make my old neighborhood feel like home even though it’s always changing) and something’s just not quite right about it. I know what’s missing, but getting there seems impossible.

Maybe it’s because New York feels a million billion quadrillion miles away right now. Maybe it’s because the thing that I need to add to my story is more detail about how much the neighborhood has changed, and that’s a topic I don’t much like. Or, maybe it’s just because I love procrastinating and felt the need to get back to my roots.

So here I am. Procrastinating. Writing about how I’m not writing.

IN OTHER NEWS:

• I have been cheating on MDIC by posting things elsewhere on the intertubes. For the occasional food-related story, check out Remember the Pudding. And my latest blog, Dog Doodles, where I post my drawings, paintings and doodles of my dogs and their furry friends.
• FOR THE WORLD’S MOST ADORABLE DOG BLOG (really), you must must must visit Sage Tails. I like to read Sage’s posts out loud in my dogs’ voice, which inevitably reduces me to belly laughs and gets the dogs all riled up because dog voice, of course, means something fun might be happening.
• I actually don’t have another news item. And for some reason, a whiff of inspiration to write has hit me, so I think I’ll head on over to the Microsoft Word department for a little typing action.

That’s all I got, folks!

Signed,
MDIC

I read some sad news today: H&H Bagels is closing its Upper West Side location. Tomorrow.

In case you are not a New Yorker, let me help you understand the magnitude of that statement: What if, overnight, the Grand Canyon zipped back together? Chicago deep-dish so-called pizza ceased to exist? The sun decided not to rise? This, dear readers, would be like H&H Bagels shuttering its doors. Something that always was suddenly no longer is.

The reason for the closure, according to Grub Street New York, is a “rent issue.” This, I can only imagine, is a euphemism for what has happened to so many other businesses in the neighborhood: skyrocketing rents have made it impossible to keep the doors open unless you are a) a major bank b) Starbucks c) Ray’s Pizza d) a fine-dining establishment e) a cell phone store or, best of all for financial security reasons, f) an upscale chain retailer.

Aside from the proliferation of Ray’s Pizza, this is not the Upper West Side I grew up with.

I remember a neighborhood that required the use of the word “character” to describe it, in a city where rent control kept things somewhat reasonable and relatively affordable. One where “coffee shop” meant a diner with the best chocolate milkshakes ever. Where you could walk into a bookshop that sold only mysteries, and where your pharmacist knew more about your family health history than you did. Where you could sink into an Eeyore-shaped bean bag in the children’s bookstore while you and your brother searched for Waldo. Where the homeless man who lived on your corner knew your name—and your dog’s. Where your favorite Chinese takeout place asked, “You sure?” if you changed your regular order. Where you could cool down with a shaved ice on a hot summer day, buy an egg-and-cheese on a kaiser roll at the corner deli, watch a fellow dog owner stand on a park bench and rant about leash laws to a sizable crowd of nodding heads, and strike up a conversation with the guy who made a career out of repairing and reselling discarded air conditioners (easy to spot—always wearing a black trench coat in June, pushing a dolly loaded up with broken window units).

First, Barnes & Noble opened. Eeyore’s, the lovely children’s bookstore, closed. So did the famous bookseller Shakespeare and Co. Then the coffee shops left, replaced by four Starbucks in a ten-block radius. The mystery bookstore moved a bit further uptown, and then closed for good. The two Duane Reades and one CVS within five blocks shut down both local pharmacies. The fish store closed, and soon thereafter, the fish restaurant next door. Delis became shoe stores. Hardware stores turned into fancy hair salons. Multiple businesses got kicked out to make room for the giant Victoria’s Secret, and across the street, a Coach store (because who needs a place to get a spare key made or a prescription filled by someone who knows you when you can purchase an overpriced leather wallet?).

But the one place that you’d never thought would give up—the place that sells nothing but the quintessential New York staple—was H&H. It was a gritty store—sawdust on the floors, lines out the door, bagels stored in subdivided, scratched-up plexiglass tubs. Labels were rudimentary: SALT. PUMPERNICKEL. PLAIN. This was no pristine chain store operation. What it had instead was character—a whole lot of a character and the best damn bagels in the world.

What I’m realizing as I write this, with more than one tear dripping down my cheek, is the reality that I’ve seen unfold in my hometown since I left more than 10 years ago: the New York City that I remember as a kid is gone.

One of my favorite things about Twitter is following the feeds of the Portland Trailblazers: Nicholas Batum, Rudy Fernandez, LaMarcus Aldridge, Marcus Camby, Wesley Matthews, and my personal favorite, the scrappy Aussie point guard Patty Mills.

Mills’ tweets are particularly exuberant and endearing, filled with phrases and terms that are JUST BEGGING to be turned into a special Patty Mills edition of conversation hearts:

If I ever update this, I might add a few more (the last two are courtesy of my season-ticket holding coworker):

• G’day bala
• Tweet me — like the old “call me,” which became “fax me” (WTF? Has there been a suitor in the history of the facsimile-using world that has ever FAXED someone out on a date? I doubt it.) and then later “email me.”
• Howzit bala
• Australia is for balas

That is all. G’day balas!

Hey there, Internet.

There’s but a week left in February and yet this is my first post of 2011. And it’s a picture post at that. Shame on me, the writer who never has time to write anything that isn’t for a client.

[Well... not entirely true. Check out my new food blog: Remember the Pudding.]

Behold the Great Fence Replacement Project of 2011:

BEFORE: This was in May 2010. In the background, you can see the old fence, which was precariously lop-sided. Panels would sometimes randomly fall out.

AFTER: The fence is no longer falling down. It now features a door to the alley and a trellis, which, with any luck, will fill out with luscious grapes, hops and beans that will help mask the eyesore that is my neighbor's never-ending roof project. Seriously, that tarp has been sitting there for going on 6 months.

A closer look at the door and the trellis.

Not fence-related at all, obvs. Today we took the dogs to Thousand Acre Park, an amazing dog area at the Sandy River delta. A thousand acres (duh) of off-leash trails: dogs are everywhere, pathways meander through meadows and puddles abound. A 20-minute walk brings you to the protected shores of the Columbia (excellent stick-retrieving waters). Anyway, this was the car ride home—they were (and still are) completely zonked.

Alright… this Presidents’ Day weekend is coming to a close and it’s time to hit the hay. Until next time, Internet!

What the what? It’s the end of 2010 already? I only just got used to writing the correct date on my checks. But I guess that’s my fault for still using checks.

I really don’t have much to tell you—but I wanted to post something in December seeing as I don’t like to miss a month on MDIC. This December I:

• Won tickets to a Blazers game.
• Went back to the Blazers game four days later with $15 tickets—and someone in the stairwell handed us two FREE 100 level tickets—Row G. We were eye level with the basket and THISCLOSE to the players.
• Launched a new blog, Remember the Pudding, to chronicle my favorite food memories. (Still in beta stages—i.e. I haven’t posted my first memory yet—it’s my New Year’s Resolution to make that happen.)
• Drew many, many pictures of dogs.
• Flew home to New York for Christmas, only to get stuck there due to the blizzard.
• Thanks to the aforementioned blizzard, snowshoed in Central Park! (Only in New York can you get away with snowshoeing in an overcoat and skinny jeans.)
• Arrived back in Portland just in time for yet another Blazers game, this time with 100-level seats courtesy of Martin’s boss.

Sorry for the low quality here. I have a dumbphone with a low-tech camera, OK? Here you can see the Blazers warming up after half time: Rudy Fernandez and Patty Mills in the foreground, Andre Miller shooting free throws, and that tall white guy who isn’t Joel Pryzbilla. This was the view from the aisle just a few rows up from our seats.

This is Rosie, my coworker’s dog.

Daisy, my coworker’s other dog, with her mama.

Uncle Joe’s dog, Ajax. (Whut a cute wittle face he haz!!)

The backside of my mother’s building as the snow began to fall.

Sledding with good friends in Riverside Park.

We used the same Flexible Flyer I sledded on as a kid. We were the only people with such old-school equipment, mind you. Some kid even pointed to it and said, “Cool!!!” as if we’d arrived with some sort of extraterrestrial transport mechanism.

Off the beaten path on our snowshoes in Central Park. A gorgeous day (and a brilliant idea to rent snowshoes).

Go figure that I’ve lived in both Colorado and Oregon but yet the first time I go snowshoeing is in Manhattan.

The Bailey’s-spiked hot chocolate helped to revive us along the way. Also influenced a round of snowshoe can-can.

Martin takes a seat in a snow-covered field to observe the buildings sprouting up along the southwest corner of the park.

That’s all for now. Happy New Year!