I was all set to recommend this new razor I just used but I’m going to hold off. I took it in the shower this morning and couldn’t believe how the blades slid across my skin like there was no blade at all. When I got out and put on my glasses to inspect this breakthrough in shaving technology I noticed I had neglected to remove the protective plastic film the manufacturer put across the blades to prevent nimrods like me from slicing themselves up handling the razor. So it felt like no blade at all because it was no blade at all and I’ll try again tomorrow and get back to you.
I’m tempted to blame Gillette for abandoning the razor I was used to but they are not the first entity to discontinue a product I’ve fallen in love with and welcomed into my life. Clinique changed my Chestnut blush to New Chestnut which made me look like a clay pigeon so I had to go back to the sales counter where you stand in line for one of their consultants like you’re waiting to be picked for dodge ball. Physicians Formula cosmetics has made it a point to introduce a mascara or eye shadow, wait for me to realize I can’t look good without it, and then send it out to the cornfield. Remember that Twilight Zone? This seemingly normal little kid had the creepy power to make people disappear by wishing them into the cornfield if they aggravated him. Let Physicians Formula discontinue one more product I need to maintain my natural look and that’s where they’re headed.
To challenge my struggle with change, I recently considered replacing the photo at the top of this blog, but that would mean discontinuing a picture that I love, the view of the Chrysler and Empire State buildings as seen from the Queensboro Bridge. This photo was taken by Daughter, an accomplished photographer who I always assumed snapped the shot while riding in someone’s car. A signed print of the original recently sold at a charity auction for $250 sparking the renewal of our conversation about who was driving while she took the picture and finally she admitted that it had been her. As I gasped for breath at the thought of someone I gave birth to driving over the 59th Street Bridge while focusing a camera, Daughter threw her hands in the air and said, “I would have told you I was on foot but everyone knows they don’t let you walk across the Queensboro.” Except that once I did.
On August 14th, 2003 at 4:15pm, I was just boarding my train for home at Penn Station. I had spent time with both my parents that day, both terminally ill in different locations. Soon I would watch the landscape rush past the train windows and let my mind be quiet. Then everything went silent. And dark. The train doors had already closed. We waited for the announcement telling us about the delay. No announcement, no lights, no sounds, no opening doors. Minutes passed and we started saying to each other that something was wrong. There was too much nothing, let’s get the doors open and see what’s going on outside. Several men pried the doors apart. The platform was empty, bleak in its desertion.
We ran up the stairs and into the huge station, our footsteps like echoes, the rotunda filled with swarming crowds of commuters and an air of hysteria. It was the terrorists, I heard someone saying, just like two years ago, only this time they’re after Penn. Get out of the station. Or is it better to stay inside? Ask the policeman over there. He doesn’t know. Call somebody and ask. No cell service. Is your phone working? No? Why aren’t the phones working? Go outside.
Seventh Avenue and 34th Street is gridlocked. The traffic lights are out and horns are honking and a bus is on the sidewalk. A businessman in a suit is directing traffic in the street, a young guy with a backpack on the next block doing the same. Pedestrians step over locked car bumpers, trying to cross the street. Why? Where are they going? There’s noise but it’s not normal noise, it’s unnatural, suspended. And everyone is talking, asking, everyone is worried. Nobody knows. Two people standing near me say they’re walking to Queens, over the bridge, they’ll find a way home from there. I start walking with them. We introduce ourselves on the way.
Most of the city walked somewhere that day, the Great Blackout of 2003, unless they slept on the steps of the library or a museum or in the park. Once we knew it was a manmade catastrophe and not an imminent tragedy we could relax and work through it. It was only time and distance, not fear and death. I walked to Queens with some nice people that day. I walked across the 59th Street Bridge and looked back at the Chrysler and Empire State buildings, leaning over the railing to take in a sight on foot most people never get to savor for as long as they want. And now that I think about it, the picture stays.
More NYC photos by Daughter
south street seaport
brooklyn bridge at dumbo arts festival
downtown from 24th street
59th street bridgeview