Stacy Horn

I was uptown yesterday for a New York Cares volunteer thing. All I had to do was sit and talk to people learning English, but it felt awkward because they don’t give you any training and I couldn’t tell how much was being understood. Maybe it helped.

I was extremely curious about the lives of the two women from Nicaragua I was with, but the other volunteer seemed impatient with my questions, and he was actually very prepared. He bought stories and vocabularies, and I didn’t want to get in the way of him actually helping them.

Anyway, I loved being in Washington Heights. It feels like the Manhattan of my youth up there. Not as pretty, but more alive and exciting, and more normal people on the streets (by normal, I mean not wealthy). And I’m sure there’s pretty areas. Washington Heights is way northern Manhattan, where I never go. Inwood is above that, almost in imaginary territory, and Marble Hill is the most northern spot in Manhattan, although I think it’s not really attached. I have to google it. I’m dying to explore these places now, except I know through researching my last book that there are a lot of unsolved murders in Inwood, so, there’s that. Not good.

(The picture is of the George Washington Bridge, which was near where I was volunteering. I started to walk over it, but I’m afraid of heights and I got a little nervous and there were other places to explore so … I bolted!)

But being at Lincoln Center brought up a nice memory from my twenties. My friend Shelley had told me that from time to time she put dish washing liquid in public fountains. A simple, tried and true prank that I couldn’t wait to do myself. The first time I did it was at the fountain at Lincoln Center. I was SO scared. I used the Shelley method, which was to buy a bunch of liquid detergent, empty it into a plastic bag, then while sitting at the fountain, poke a hole in the bag and let it slowly drain into the fountain.

I did this one afternoon, trembling the whole time. After a few minutes the bubbles started growing and growing, mountains of bubbles. Guards from Lincoln Center came out, discussing what to do about it, and I’m still sitting there with the bag, empty now, still shaking and trying not to look guilty, but loving the bubbles which were growing up and over the fountain. It was the middle of the afternoon and there were a ton of people around, who started reaching into the fountain, playing with the bubbles, throwing handfuls at each other, and I just got happier and happier, the whole thing was just so much fun, and everyone was enjoying it, even the guards who were still discussing what to do.

For the next few years, whenever I needed a lift, I’d pour some sort of bubble making substance into a fountain.

(The picture below is the fountain at Lincoln Center. A perfectly designed bubble-churning device is how I see it now. After doing this for a while you learn which fountains will work better.)

This was in the window at Bergdorf’s. Gorgeous, no? That neckline would not work well for me, but still. It’s pretty to look at.

The pictures yesterday were of my friend Howard. He needs an author photograph for his next book and so I took a bunch in Washington Square Park. Thank you you for voting! (My favorite is 48.) Now that everyone has seen them, I’ll probably take them down later today.

I’m going to the ballet this afternoon! I got tickets for that free dress rehearsal I posted about earlier. Can’t wait. Never go to the ballet, so something new! Should be good. And pretty to look at.

Oh dear. I have to fill the rest of this space to get down to the bottom of the photograph. Random thoughts:

– I wonder who picks the songs for Friday Night Lights. I love every song they chose.

– Why does it seem like everywhere else in the country gets snow but us in New York City? Come on country. Share.

– I can’t wait until American Idol gets past the auditions and to the real competition, starting in Hollywood. Love the kindler, gentler Simon. He still tells the truth, but is not so cruel about it. What can I say? I’m a wuss.

– Have you all see Cloverfield yet? Because you should.

– I’m hoping I get to go to the FBI’s Quantico to do an interview.

I’ve been looking into various volunteer opportunities and yesterday I called the Central Park Zoo. They called me back right away because a training session starts on Saturday. So now I’m going to run up to the zoo before calling them back because it occurred to me that working there might upset me, depending. I forget what the Central Park Zoo is like! I don’t remember if it’s an upsetting zoo or not. The Bronx Zoo used to be but they’ve been fixing that over the course of my lifetime.

Meanwhile, in other news, my editor said they’re moving onto the line edits, which means they are happy with the draft I handed in! YAY!!

In other other news, did you know that when you call the Secret Service they actually answer the phone, “Secret Service.” I felt like saying, “Come on. You’re not even trying!”

(The picture is of a red panda at the Central Park Zoo.)

Update: My Shot of the Red Panda. The little furball was asleep while I was there, alas, and I didn’t want to wake him.

This is Wendell Stradford, one of the detectives I wrote about in my last book, coaching a high school basketball game. I’ll never forget the first time I met him. Looming and quiet. The commanding officer called him over to introduce us, and Wendell was polite, but didn’t say much. He was just big and looming, that’s what I remember.

In this shot, doesn’t it look like he saying, “What the hell was that??” I went to one of his games and had a lot of fun. But the coaches get very emotional. The guy on the right was on his feet screaming for a good deal of the game (very entertaining when you’re not a player and just watching). Wendell did more of a quiet smolder. Wendell is tough, but he’s also basically a sweetheart (thank god). I’m sure the other guy is, too. They love their basketball playing kids.