Term Limits For the Mayor of 32nd St (plus books, concerts for July 2025)

A glimpse at July, 2025

The only book I completed this month was something called Turn Right at Orion (2000) by Mitchell C. Begelman, a professor of astrophysics and planetary sciences at the University of Colorado Boulder. It uses a thin narrative of a near-luminal journey (with use of cryogenics) of a diarist zipping around the galaxy and explaining what he sees. It’s a very curious volume, in that some sections were quite thrilling while others were dull beyond words.

One thing I came away with was a final acceptance that I will never truly understand Einstein’s theory of relativity. I mean, I can clock what science has learned from it, and how it forms the foundation of nearly everything we (think we) know about how the Universe works. But when I stop to truly ruminate on its basic concepts, such as time dilation, I must confess that I’m taking it all on faith.

Photo by Ren Ran on Unsplash

Reading Brian Greene’s The Elegant Universe many years ago was the closest I ever came to a eureka moment (one could say I was a Plank Unit away!) but… I dunno, I’m sorry, I’m a Fake Nerd. I just don’t get why going fast means that I age at a different rate than someone standing still. Sorry!

Anyway, I do not recall precisely how a copy of Turn Left at Orion came into my life, but I did buy it used. As a result, the pages all fell out of the binding as I proceeded through the text, which I found rather symbolic considering the topic of a Universe expanding with entropy.

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I only visited two concert venues in July: Carnegie Hall and Forest Hills Stadium.

My visit to Carnegie was a list minute decision prompted by a targeted ad via Instagram. (This is where I say that if there must be ads, let them be targeted ads. Hit me with shit I care about.) The ticket was cheap and I had an entire row to myself.

Here’s the thing about Carnegie Hall — this is a venue for hire. Yes, they produce their own works, and the most important artists have and continue to strut their stuff at this legendary location. But on a random weeknight, especially in summer?

As such, I attended what was pretty much a vanity night for an interesting nonagenarian who wrote some not-bad symphonies and wanted to hear them performed on the most revered stage in North America. The hall was half-full (notice I did not say half-empty!) and most of the people there seemed to have some connection to the guy, whose bio was intentionally vague .

After his music, which had John Barry-like elements (compliment!), was performed, there was essentially a receiving line for this gentleman, but, unfortunately, it was directly in front of the line for the restrooms down by the front of the parquet. The worst location!

I typed “Carnegie Hall” into Substack’s dumbass AI image generator and got this awful picture.

The second half of the program was devoted to trotting out an old war horse by Mr. L.V. Beethoven. It was good, even though a French horn player did blurt out a wrong note at one moment during the second movement.

I’ve seen the greatest living performers from Western classical as well as rock, pop, and jazz play at this celebrated venue, but this oddball night was strangely special. I felt like I was in a high school auditorium, and I mean that in the best, most convivial way.

The minute it ended, I left. I love to dart out of the lobby and into the street while there is still applause happening inside.

At the end of the month I saw the rock group Phish at Forest Hills Stadium — the concert venue that is destroying the pleasant neighborhood in Eastern Queens. (You can read no shortage of amusing articles at places like Gothamist for more on that topic.)

The first night I got comped seats because I am awesome and important. The second night I was way up high, but the audio was a little better because I was in the direct line of fire of a relay speaker. I was also with a friend, Matt, who I wish I saw more frequently. He recently grew a beard and now looks very much like Timothy Olyphant.

I got a mediocre pretzel both nights that, with the tip and tax included, cost a little under $11.

On night one Phish played a version of their song “Carini” for nearly 29 minutes, which was a source of great joy for me. This segued into one of their new ones, “What’s Going Through Your Mind,” which took on a weird, polyrhythmic and almost pointillist quality. This is a group that is always exploring new avenues of sound for those that want to hear.

I left the concert then four days later moved from New York City, where I have lived for 33 years, to Monmouth County, New Jersey, where I lived for the first 18 years of my life. (Some of this is fuzzy; where exactly did I live when I was a student at New York University? I guess I did receive mail at the dorm, so that made me a resident, even though I would regularly come back on the bus to give my mother the honor of doing my laundry.)

My move will have great implications for 32nd Street in Astoria because its celebrated overseer, Saru the Cat, will no longer be in the front window.

Saru atop her tower, keeping an eye on the neighborhood.

Our former apartment had a curious layout. The building, constructed in 1901, used to have a porch, but at some point this was bricked in and turned into a detached room. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter, but it’s a really nice command-and-control center, where a fella like me can write articles for the internet about Superman. Most days Saru was there as my Lieutenant, either gazing outside or sleeping in full view of all who passed.

I’d say at least five people a day would stop to talk to the cat, even if the window was closed. Of those five, four of them would make funny faces and noises, then recoil in embarrassment once they realized there was a person just a few inches away banging on a keyboard. This was a never-ending source of amusement for me.

Watching Saru’s run as the Mayor of 32nd Street was probably the best thing about living there. Yeah, yeah, the food and the quick access to theaters and concerts and museums and the vitality of the Capital of the World, sure, this was all good, too. But this daily exercise in comedy is the thing I’ll really miss.

I think Saru’s new view has its pluses, though. Hopefully she’ll see it that way.

I will be in New York City from time-to-time: work functions, my irreplaceable primary care physician, Ann’s involvement in the Art Students League, etc etc. But there are some big changes I need to make. I’ll be seeing classical musicians in Princeton and jam band artists in Asbury Park instead of Carnegie Hall and Forest Hills Stadium. I haven’t quite figured out the jazz scene. I don’t think there is one south of Newark, quite frankly. More pressing, though, are immediate adjustments needed to set up a new home. Today I learned that you have to pay for someone to pick up your garbage in New Jersey. Who could ever have imagined? What other revelations are just around the corner?