제목 The Metropolitan Diary 작성자 nyt 이메일 홈페이지 조회수 11593 등록일 2007/12/31 (22:47) December 31, 2007 The Metropolitan Diary DEAR DIARY: Riding uptown on the Lexington Avenue local, I was lost in the music on my MP3 player, so it took a while to notice what was going on in my car. One by one, my fellow riders had stopped whatever they were doing and were all staring at a teenage boy. He was engrossed in some kind of Rubik’s Cube drill. His long fingers were a blur as he clicked the multicolored sides into place until he had six uniformly colored surfaces. It couldn’t have taken any more than 20 seconds. Then he hit a button on a big black digital watch on his wrist, studied his time, frowned, rescrambled the cube and started over. Everyone watched, rapt, as he did this again and again. Then, somewhere around 59th Street, the spell was broken. A too-energetic twist popped a little piece out of the cube and he had to stop. Everyone turned away and resumed what they had been doing. It’s interesting how little it takes to entertain people sometimes, I thought. Then I realized I had overshot my stop by two stations. Doug Colligan Dear Diary: “Jimmy Brown” was an agile, suave fellow with a dazzling smile who was recovering nicely from a serious Bowery pneumonia. He needed only a few more days of antibiotics, but I wanted to keep him in the Bellevue medical ward, since outside he might swap his medication for more booze. It was easy for him to persuade me to grant him a four-hour pass on Thanksgiving Day when he told me that it was his most cherished holiday. I was having a busy day on the ward, so to save time, when his Thanksgiving dinner was delivered from the kitchen, I grabbed it, sitting on his empty bed to eat. I mentioned to his bed neighbors that while we were struggling with dry turkey under coagulated gravy, Jimmy’s wife was probably emerging from the kitchen with a hot golden bird to serve to the happy family. The patients near Jimmy’s bed erupted with laughter. “He’s not wasting his time with a turkey. He’s a pickpocket and he’s at the Macy’s parade.” He must have had a successful day. He returned well before “lights out,” bringing me a half pint of cheap wine. It was my reward for helping him celebrate his most cherished holiday. Probably not his real name. He must have had several. Dr. Edward F. Danielski Jr. Dear Diary: During this holiday season, I was shopping at Fairway with my 8-year-old son, Jason, while he noshed on a bagel. After a few minutes, I glanced at him and discovered a gaping hole in his smile where his tooth had been. He hadn’t noticed his tooth was missing and said he had thrown out the bagel. We recovered the half-eaten bagel in the garbage. Sure enough, there was his tooth embedded in it like a fossil. That night we had our inevitable discussion about the existence of the “Tooth Fairway.” Rory Sanders Ehrlich Dear Diary: Recently it was intermission time at the orchestra and I was standing in the hallway to stretch. I wear an Army lapel pin of the First Cavalry Division, having served in the 15th Medical Battalion in the early 1950s. A man about my age approached and, pointing to my pin said, “Is your son serving in First Cav?” I said, “No, I was with them in Korea over 50 years ago.” He saluted me and said, “Thank you for serving our country,” and disappeared into the crowd. In all my years, this had never happened. Dr. Harvey Rosenwasser Dear Diary: A young ballet dancer who was in a dance class that I take was using her hard-won strength and agility to navigate the Christmas shopping crowds around Macy’s early this month. After threading her way through the throngs to cross the street, she caught sight of a small, older woman leaning on a cane. Crossing appeared to be difficult for the lady, and the dancer asked if she could be of assistance. The woman explained that she was having trouble with her Achilles tendon and sciatic nerve. Her descriptions sounded like something only a dancer would say, and the young woman told her as much. It turned out that the lady had been a member of the old Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo and was utterly delighted to learn that her helpful escort was a fellow dancer! As they say, it takes one to know one. Doris Perlman Observations for this column may be sent to Metropolitan Diary at diary@nytimes.com or to The New York Times, 620 Eighth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10018. Please include your name, mailing address and daytime telephone number; upon request, names may be withheld in print. Submissions become the property of The Times and cannot be returned. They may be edited, and may be republished in all media. Home World U.S. N.Y. / Region Business Technology Science Health Sports Opinion Arts Style Travel Jobs Real Estate Automobiles Back to Top Copyright 2007 The New York Times Company Privacy Policy Search Corrections RSS First Look Help Contact Us Work for Us Site Map