Close encountersIn the two plus years I've been in New York:
1. I've been asked questions by a detective. He was wearing a trench coat, I remember. I was in my pajamas. He was inquiring after a co-tenant, who wasn't even staying in the apartment anymore.
2. My apartment has been burglarized. That was Apartment #2 in Park Slope (same apartment as above), where the co-tenants just loved to leave the door open. The police came and poked around in the basement, the only room the thief was able to break into.
3. I've been visited by the fire department thrice. Once, in Apartment #2 when the upstairs tenant left the water running in his tub, and the ceiling almost caved in. The second time at my office - ten fire trucks parked along Broadway as I stood and watched across the street. And the other night, a firetruck stopped right in front of my apartment. Instinctively, I looked up at the bedroom window, didn't see any smoke, and quickly went up to check anyway. Minutes later, a fireman came to look around. Apparently, the next-door neighbor's smoke alarm went off. They smelled smoke in the apartment, but didn't see a fire, called the fire department anway, in case it was an electrical fire. The firemen left soon after.
Before I moved here I've never even so much as seen a fireman up close.
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Yesterday, after looking for my travel agent's office in the depths of Chinatown, I decided to walk along Broadway to the next nearest train station, which was Prince.
Pearl River Mart was right across the street and I'd been planning on getting a lantern, but decided against it because I didn't feel like crossing the street at that time. So I just kept walking along Broadway. I discovered a funky little jewelry shop where I spent most of my time browsing. I finally left when I noticed it was getting dark. About a block away from Prince, I heard a huge explosion. It came from across the street. An underground explosion of some kind blew a manhole cover into the air. The explosion we'd heard was the cover popping. Manhole explosions are almost common in New York;
last night 44 buildings were evacuated in Brooklyn because of high carbon monoxide levels caused by burning electric cables in manholes. I shudder to think, though, that someone could have been stepping on that manhole at the exact moment it blows. After looking to see if anyone was hurt (nobody was), I quickly walked towards the subway station. Sitting in the train, I still had goosebumps all over.
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A bit of good news: I finally got a
camera. I think I made a good choice. All the S50 vs S400 debates come up with the same conclusion. Sure, the S400's pretty and tiny, but the S50 has way more features.
In quite a number of forums , a lot of digicam users have said that the S45 was even better than the S50 because squeezing another mega-pixel into the same size sensor affects picture quality. Unfortunately, no one carries the S45 anymore. J & R doesn't even have the S50 anymore. My contact says they're ordering a new shipment, but who knows when that's arriving. I had to go to the almighty B&H, whose drab color scheme I abhor. I must say though, the way customers are herded like cattle in an impressively organized assembly-line style, is very efficient. At times it does feel like a violation of one's humanity. But hey, gotta get with the program if you want your camera before the store closes at seven.
