Day 7

Part 1
I posted this as a grumpy but wonder of it belongs here too.  In fact maybe I will add my other grumpy days in New York to this blog.

New York, the big bad city, a city of crime, gangsters, violent thieves and violent cops. A city so scary that 25 years ago I was convinced I was going to die there, and even stuffed 4 dollars down my sock just so I could get back out to New Jersey in the event of a horrific, violent attack. How disappointing then to find a friendly, well policed city, with helpful people and a sense of community. How sad to find the guns had been replaced by gardens, the gangs with gladioli and the grime with gastronomy. There was no threat, no thrill, no tension. I wasn't murdered, pick pocketed or robbed at gunpoint. I didn't see any police brutality, or witness any violent crime. It was like the big bad wolf had grown up a bit, become vegetarian and was now renting a room from one of the three little pigs; huffing and puffing and blowing your house down had been replaced by pipe and slippers and comfy dressing gown, which is all very nice but doesn't make for a great story.

Part 2 
Final Morning Walk
Despite late night drinking with strangers in the Belgian bar, including a giant called Russ, I was still wide awake by 7. So once again I enjoyed the delights of Manhattan morning rush hour. And delightful it was with some people, although not many, going to work in fancy dress for Halloween. I wonder when Halloween became an excuse to wear a bear onesie or Captain America outfit to work.

Final Breakfast
If you go to New York, check out the Morning Star deli on 2nd avenue between east 51 and 50. Tell George I sent you. Down to earth, great food, friendly atmosphere. Sit at the bar and watch George deal with the phone orders! It is poetry in motion. He's an artist.

Dunkin Donuts.
25 years ago I lived off dunkin donuts. It was cheap, the coffee was bottomless and the food gave us energy. So addicted was I to this delicacy that I decided to go to university in London just so I could be near one. (Poor Sam got dragged to it more times than she probably wanted to). This time I've barely given it the time of day despite it being on nearly every street. So today, just to treat myself and as a nod to the 18 year old me, I popped in for a tea and a donut.

New York Public Library Shop.
With three hours to kill between checking out and heading to JFK I thought I'd pop into the library. The architecture is really nice

and the bookshop within the library was a little curiosity shop with all sorts of goodies on sale.  But I wondered if this book was unintentionally a bit racist.

And speaking of ists, this sign certainly counts as anti-semitist. Unless of course he is celebrating that fact. But somehow I don’t think so.

John's
Back to John's for one last pizza pie. Sat up at the bar and made some new friends from Arizona in town for the football. Nice guys, weird how I become so chatty here. I am sure I will be back to my cold, shy self when I am back in Prague. The barman was in especially frisky mood! giving out two free shots to his friends at the bar? happy birthday gareth

JFK
Last chat to a stranger, a random in the queue, now I have put my Czech face on and will be back to my grumpy best.
I was surprised how shitty JFK airport is, it reminded me of East Midland Airport and that's bad.

100 Days of Grumpiness Post Birthday Tongue Twister

So today I turn 44, which is a nightmare age for me. I am not a big worrier about age - 30 passed without fanfare, I was not too perturbed to be moving out of my twenties, after all I was healthy and happy and doing fine. Then people said ooh forty getting old, it's all down hill from here, but again I survived. Despite the fact I was in a weird place in my life, I managed to enter my 40s healthy and wise, (wealthy has never been my thing). So why is 44 such a problem for me? Well it is mainly because I live in the Czech Republic. That means sometimes I have to answer questions in Czech and they are often personal info questions, like name, age etc. the word for 44 in Czech is čtyřicet čtyři. Now if that looks like a nightmare to say it is because it is. Any word with a ř is a tongue twister for me, an insurmountable tongue twister that my poor mouth can't get around. Trying to say it can lead to jaw dislocation as I try to contort my mouth around the alien sounds. That or suffocation as I swallow my tongue trying to roll my rs. So please Czechs don't ask me my age for at least another year.