Stacy Horn

When I come across buildings like the one below at 392-393 West Street (along the Hudson River, between Christopher and 10th Streets) which used to be many things, but mostly a saloon, I try to imagine what it might be like to walk through the door and into the 19th century. The clientele was probably pretty scary back then. When I first moved here my neighborhood still had the remnants of the kind of people who lived here before it became gentrified and it was pretty rough trade. The closest AA meeting was filled with aging sailors who yelled and cursed at me whenever I spoke (I didn’t follow the AA rules).

For the longest time the people who lived in my building for instance, were strictly working class—sailors, barmaids, but also actors, artists, students—and it was like that up until the 60’s and 70’s. When I moved in (early 80’s) it still had something of that feel. God I’d love to walk down the streets I walk down every day but at different points in time. I’d visit all the famous and infamous spots, eat in an oyster bar, fake having a drink in a saloon (I’m an alcoholic, can’t drink), dance in a dance hall, swim in the Hudson.

I always think practical things when I have these kinds of daydreams, like “You should hide all your electronics,” but also “Try to sneak a picture.” I worry about what to do about how I’m dressed. How do I explain my jeans? Plastic? If I think too much though, problems inevitably arise and I decide that if time travel ever happens I’m sticking with the future. Because at some point I think about all the great events I could witness and that leads to the terrible events I should try to prevent, and other things like, “Should I tell Frederick Douglass about Barack Obama?” Actually, in these daydreams it’s the racists I want to tell about Barack Obama. “Hey bigot, I’ve got some news for you.”

This is 392-393 West Street in 1920, when it was Billie’s Clam Broth House (I found the picture at the Museum of the City of New York). This was during prohibition and the owner was being creative. It’s actually a tiny building, those signs are sitting on top, there’s nothing behind them.

This is 392-393 West Street now (the small wooden building with the blue and white awning). I’m always amazed at how much is the same. For more background about the building try, Daytonian in Manhattan. For the most thorough history of all, here is the New York City’s Landmark Commission’s report.

Here’s a closer view. It’s in sad shape, so of course it’s attractive to me. I want to fix it up and live there. A view from behind, on Weehawken Street follows.

Did you all see this?? Am I the last to see this?? My favorite parts were “Oh my God, I love this song,” and “Out of snyc electric slide.” We have the coolest, most beautiful first lady ever. She can really dance. She has a sense of humor. In other I-Love-the-Obamas news, a nice reminder about healthcare.

Other reasons to be happy. 1 – 3. Unemployment is down, the Dow is up AND I had a good hair day yesterday. 4. Snow. I sang Walking in a Winter Wonderland on my way home from swimming. (Sorry Karen and Peter, who were driving out to Amagansett.) 5. I was wondering what it would be like to swim with music and totally out of the blue a friend sent me an underwater MP3 player. 6. My cats aren’t dying, (I just watched this, about a cat who died) and oh my god, Bleeck is looking particular cute in his favorite spot on top of the tv. Amirite?

I was thinking how one day, when Finney dies (not sure how I will recover from that) I will have to get another cat for Bleecker. I wish it could just be the two of us, but he so loves other cats I know he would be heartbroken without another cat to torture love.

I’ve always wanted Guantánamo closed and the prisoners there brought here to New York City. Then try the ones where there is enough evidence to bring them to trial and free the others. I’m sorry, but if you don’t have enough to put them on trial we must let them go. For the rest, I have always wanted the supreme satisfaction of putting them on trial.

I just read the Times article about Abu Ghaith though, (I’m not an expert on terrorists) and I’m reading that he did not play a role in the 9/11 attacks. They’re saying he was basically a propagandist who called on their supporters to attack us. But I remember being taught that in America you are allowed to say things like that, and it’s only an issue if the threat is imminent. IE, you can say, “We must overthrow the government,” but not, “Pick up your guns NOW and overthrow the government.” Although I was taught that decades ago and so many laws have changed since then. I don’t know if any lawyers read my blog but I’d love a clarification about that.

So settle in, Sulaiman. I hope you have a nice view of One World Trade Center. And I really hope your guards are female. I would particular enjoy how much you would hate to be bossed around by women packing heat.

Outside my window right now, looking west towards the Hudson River. I love snow, but this is a very dreary snowfall.

I’ve posted several times about the animal rescue efforts of Eldad Hagar, and most recently about a dog he rescued in South Carolina named Shaggy. Shaggy has a number of health issues and some of them are very serious. Every day she’s had one test or another. Today it’s a CT scan, and the results won’t be back until late today or tomorrow. Shaggy has a mass that could either be a tumor (lung cancer), a granuloma as a result of heartworms, or a hernia. She also has arthritis and other things I can’t remember.

I’ve never even met the dog, but every afternoon I anxiously await the results. I can’t rest until Patty Hall, the woman who adopted Shaggy, posts the latest updates on the Friends of Shaggy Facebook page. I don’t know what I’ll do if she can’t effectively be treated. I can’t imagine how Patty will be. Actually, yes I can.

I once thought being a veterinarian must be one of the greatest jobs in the world. But when I interviewed a vet for my book Waiting For My Cats to Die I realized veterinarians are doctors who eventually see all their patients die. Animals don’t live that long. A doctor who treats humans can reasonably expect that many of his or her patients will live decades and decades, perhaps most outliving the doctor. Every cat or dog who comes through a vet’s door will eventually be brought in for that final treatment. A veterinarian with a long career will eventually see thousands and thousands and thousands of patients die. If you’re like me, and a lot of people are, you pretty much fall in love with all animals on sight. In Shaggy’s case, you don’t even have to get closer than a livestream or a Facebook page for that to happen.

I realize being able to help animals the way veterinarians do must make up for all those thousands of repeated heartbreaks, but still. I’m glad there are people who are strong enough to do this work. Shaggy, please please please be treatable.

Update: It’s the best possible news. The mass they saw is a granuloma, and Shaggy is strong enough to start the heartworm medicine. They can address a bad cough she has, so it looks like all will soon be well for my favorite dog who I’ve never met.

This is looking up Broadway. I took this before heading into Grace Church for choir practice.

Somewhere around the year 2000 I was hired to pick writers for a web-based tv show that Barnes & Noble planned to launch called Behind the Words. The show was basically video interviews of the writers I’d chosen, and I also had to write the interview questions and the content for the pages we were building out for each writer. It never launched, and I don’t know why.

But it was an incredibly eye-opening experience for me about working with writers. About half were perfectly fine to work with, but a surprisingly large number were rude and difficult, and some were outright horrible. To this day I can’t read a word any of the horrible ones have written, they were that terrible. I’m surprised they’re still alive (one of them isn’t, but he was very very old). I always expected them to spontaneously combust from awfulness, or from someone finally deciding, “That’s it. You can’t be in the world anymore.” I’m sure the process was annoying for them, and my questions maybe have been irritating. Oh god, for all I know they were the stupidest questions EVER, but I was trying to think of questions that might illicit answers that would work on the web. The point is, I was doing everything I could to sell their books.

Some of the writers however, were absolutely wonderful. And of that group, the writer George Saunders was hands down the most gracious and fun. The answers he sent back were so funny and endearing they were passed around to everyone in the office and all our friends.

He’s now hugely famous and respected (he was known and respected then, but now he’s a mega-writing star) and I love the justice of that. Everyone I know is talking about his latest book. One friend said she wanted to read it aloud to people she loved it that much, and another is reading it aloud to a friend in the hospital.

I just went through a folder of old email I’d saved, hoping I’d saved the email with the answers he’d sent, but I couldn’t find it, damnit. Tomorrow I’m going to post about how depressed I got seeing some of that old email.

Yet another picture of One World Trade Center, this a view from Sullivan and Houston Streets.