Stacy Horn

I’ve finished the first draft about the Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell’s Island, and now I’m onto the Workhouse. I was concerned that the Workhouse wasn’t as fascinating as the Asylum, but it turns out I wrong. I don’t want to explain, because I want it to be a surprise! The Workhouse is where New York City sent people who were convicted of minor crimes in the 19th century.

Skaters behind the New York Public Library. Look at that guy smiling at me! Isn’t he adorable?? I’d be very proud if such a nice young man was my son.

It was fairly quiet when I went, but this was during business hours and with the wind chill factor we’re in the single digits in the City today. That said, there was a steady stream of visitors.

Those fuzzy legs at the lower left? That was a spider from Mars.

A look at all the offerings. I didn’t think to bring anything, alas.

A few close-ups follow. A favorite among the visitors, these shoes.

I wondered about the significance of the bottle of milk. Does anyone know? I also wondered if Sara Mednick was someone who actually knew him but couldn’t be there, and asked someone to leave a note for her.

It’s like he knew when he wrote them how these lines might read one day.

I was relatively late to appreciate David Bowie. It was 1975, and I was in college. I already loved the hits, which were essentially the most mainstream songs from among what he’d written so far. But I wasn’t aware of the more interesting stuff not played on the radio so much. Then I was. Then The Man Who Fell to Earth Came out. Then obsession.

Also, I just remembered! I was VERY skinny in my youth, and no one believes me, they think skinny people have it made, but when you are not thin but actually kinda freakishly skinny, growing up that way is not a picnic. People can be very mean. Maybe it was a backlash against the meanness towards being heavier in our culture. Anyway I loved that this fabulous person was also very skinny! It was even a part of what made him so interesting.

I’m thinking of walking down to Bowie’s apartment, but I don’t know if I can get there today.

Discarded Christmas trees in the West Village.

The times I’ve called the landlord so far about the heat: 12/30, 1/5, and now, 1/9. In keeping with my 30 Day Mental Challenge, I will note that one can always bundle up against the cold, and it’s not that chilly today in any case. And, thankfully, I can shower at the gym at least, after I swim.

Meanwhile, I’m thrilled that Finnegan has deemed sharing my lap with Bleeck an acceptable practice. This could become my favorite cat thing.

I need two root canals. Not one, two. We were watching two teeth and I was hoping to catch a break, and maybe only need one, but no. I need two. Of course. Because the universe hates me. Not enough to kill me, thank God, but enough to want to torture me.

Meanwhile I can hear steam hissing in the radiators! The heat is back! At least there’s that. The cats and I will be warm tonight.

The picture below is of someone actually sitting in Gramercy Park. For those outside New York City, Gramercy Park is a small, beautiful, well-preserved part of New York. They also have a park that only residents there can use. It’s locked to everyone else. It’s lovely, looks restful, and NO ONE USES IT. I walk by it every time I go to the dentist, which is a lot, because as we know the universe dislikes me intensely, and the park is almost always empty.

It makes sense in the winter, but it’s often empty in the spring, summer and fall.