5 posts tagged “the new york times”
Dear Diary:
While waiting for the light to change at the corner of 96th and Columbus, I was approached by a somewhat sheepish middle-aged man who said to me, “Excuse to please?” “Um ... yes?” I replied.
“I look for a Mr. Dan,” he said.
“A Mr. Dan?” I asked.
“Yes, a Mr. Dan.”
“Does he live around here?” I lamely responded.
My interlocutor nodded vigorously. “Yes! A Mr. Dan.”
“I’m sorry,” I started to say, when he suddenly announced, “A Mr. Dan Avenue!”
Aha! Case closed. Pointing westward, I told him, “Just walk that way to Amsterdam Avenue.”
Jeffrey Kindley
Is the metamorphosis a true story? A journalistic account?
Who knows? But in the wake of our current literary upheaval can the truth be found?
peace, nyenye
Dear Diary:
In late January, we celebrated an important family event at our favorite Astoria restaurant, Trattoria L’incontro.
As our waiter was rattling off the very impressive list of specials — “Dover sole, osso buco, filet mignon, bison” and so forth — our 3 ½-year-old grandson, Nathan, interrupted and inquired, “But do you have pasta?” For a few seconds, the waiter was speechless!
Maguy Bronson
Dear Diary:
On Martin Luther King’s Birthday, I hailed a cab to take me and my two sons (Noah, 10, and Emil, 8) downtown. The radio was tuned to a station that was playing excerpts from various speeches given by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. For 50 glorious blocks we sat in silence, listening to his mesmerizing and powerful words.
As we reluctantly got out on East 35th Street, in the middle of the famous “Mountaintop” speech, Noah turned to the driver and said that was the best taxi ride he’d ever had!
I quite agree.
Christine Chidoub
Dear Diary:
In the early ’80s, my father and I had gone to the Kiev Restaurant, on Second Avenue at Seventh Street, for soup and salad. The tables were small and crammed together. It was a time when people were still allowed to smoke indoors.
There was a young man next to us who asked my father if he could light up a cigarette. My dad replied that he most certainly would object to the young man’s smoking.
The fellow lit up anyway.
My dad, perturbed, asked the fellow why he had bothered asking.
The reply: “I was brought up properly.”
Cynthia Stickler
Dear Diary in The NYTimes
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peace, nyenye
These were the words spoken to me by a friend at the end of a performance.
Obama/Clinton? Clinton/Obama? Obama/Edwards? Clinton/Clinton?
peace, nyenye
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