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New York Times
04-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
‘My Heart Was in My Throat, and the Tears Were Flowing'
Very Kind Dear Diary: I was in the audience for a performance of Rebecca Frecknall's production of 'A Streetcar Named Desire' at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. In the play's final minutes, my heart was in my throat, and tears were flowing. In my clouded peripheral vision, I noticed a young woman next to me. Her shoulders were shaking softly as she wept. After the house lights came up and the ovation died down, I turn to her. 'Could I give you a tissue?' I asked. 'Yes, actually,' she said. 'That's very kind.' I handed her a tissue. 'The kindness of strangers?' I said sheepishly, unable to help myself. She took the tissue and blew her nose. 'Too soon,' she said. — Deborah M. Brissman Like Diamonds Dear Diary: In 1954, when I was 11, I traveled from Washington, D.C., to New York City to visit my camp friend, Judy, for a week. Thrillingly, my parents let me travel alone on the train. It was part of a planned 'historical adventure.' Another part involved returning alone by airplane. Judy's widowed father met me at Grand Central. I waited for him near the lost-and-found window. I remember looking up at the sky mural on the ceiling and feeling at home in the universe. Judy lived in a huge, old-fashioned apartment across from Central Park, with maybe 12-foot ceilings and tall windows hung with dark red velvet curtains. She had cats and an older brother who played the violin. Her father seemed old to me. He also seemed confident, which is probably why my parents trusted him to host me. He took us to museums and the public library and let us explore on our own via the subway. The family had gotten tickets to 'Peter Pan' on Broadway, with Mary Martin as Peter. On the day of the show, a big storm with high winds materialized. I was afraid we would miss the show, but Judy's father was undeterred. We walked and then ran together to the theater in the rain, without umbrellas. As we did, gusting winds shattered a window above us, and glass showered down onto our heads like diamonds. The play was magical, and the characters flew on wires. The next day I flew home on American Airlines. It was a very bumpy ride. — Ruth Henderson The Guggenheim Dear Diary: My first day as an intern at the Guggenheim Museum was my third day in New York City. Fresh off a plane from Scotland, I had rented a room at the 92nd Street Y because I didn't know a soul in town. My internship supervisor took me to lunch to celebrate my first day, and while we were in line getting our food we met a tall, shy man, a former intern. When I sat down at a table, the former intern did too. My supervisor got up and went to another table to talk to some colleagues. The former intern, Austin, and I struck up a conversation. Eventually, we became part of a gang of friends that summer. After the internship ended, I was hired full time, and a year later Austin became my roommate. Two years after that, he asked me out on a date, and three years later, we were married. The group of friends I met that first summer came to our wedding and have remained our New York family ever since. These friendships are now two decades strong. I think of them every time I am in the Guggenheim's rotunda. — Michelle Millar Fisher The Band Shell Dear Diary: Earphones in and sunglasses on, I was power-walking home through Central Park. Suddenly, I noticed an older couple waving at me. It turned out that they were lost. They unfolded a paper map and asked for help finding Naumburg Bandshell. I squinted at the map, nodded as if I understood it, then pulled out my phone to check Google Maps. As luck would have it, we were heading the same way, so we decided to walk together. They were off to hear an orchestral ensemble, and their faces lit up when I mentioned that I played the viola in a graduate medical student orchestra. When we got to the band shell, they surprised me with an extra ticket and insisted I join them. At intermission, we discovered that we lived just a few blocks apart on the Upper West Side. We shared a taxi home, and over an impromptu dinner, a friendship took shape. A year and a half later, we still gather for dinner, a reminder that some of the sweetest connections are the ones that come unexpectedly. — Mollie Hobensack Unacceptable Dear Diary: I went to a new bagel store in Brooklyn Heights with my son. When it was my turn to order, I asked for a cinnamon raisin bagel with whitefish salad and a slice of red onion. The man behind the counter looked up at me. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I can't do that.' — Richie Powers Read all recent entries and our submissions guidelines. Reach us via email diary@ or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter. Do you have a tale of a memorable experience that occurred during a childhood trip to New York City? Please submit it below or share it in the comments. While you're there, join the conversation.
New York Times
27-04-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
‘A Few Steps Into Our Walk, I Heard a Tremendous Thud Behind Me'
Close Calls Dear Diary: New York City dog owners have their regular routes. For years, mine began with a right turn out of my Yorkville building. One evening, I decided to turn left. My terrier tugged to go right, but my tug won out. A few steps into our walk, I heard a tremendous thud behind me. I turned to see an air-conditioner that had tumbled from a window several stories up on the sidewalk just on the other side of my building's front door. A young man stood nearby facing me. He had stopped short in time to watch the heavy metal crash down at his feet. I walked toward him and stopped, with the air-conditioner between us. His face was ghostly pale, as I imagined mine was. A woman rushed out of the building. 'Oh my god!' she cried. 'My air-conditioner! I opened my window and didn't realize it was keeping the unit in place!' 'Or, perhaps,' the young man said, 'that's yours.' He pointed toward a second air-conditioner on the ground a few feet away. 'Oh no!' the woman said. 'Mine hit another one on the way down.' — Sylvie Farrell Così Fan Tattoo Dear Diary: I have been attending operas for more than 25 years and getting tattoos for almost twice as long. On a trip to New York in 2018, I attended a Metropolitan Opera production of Mozart's 'Così Fan Tutte' that was staged in Coney Island and featured actual sideshow performers, including a fire-eater, a sword swallower, a snake dancer and contortionist. Later that summer, I returned to the city for an annual tattoo show in Manhattan. Some of the same sideshow performers provided entertainment. As one woman came off the stage, I told her I had seen her earlier that year in the opera. She looked at the heavily tattooed and pierced crowd. 'I'm guessing you'll be the only person this weekend who tells me that,' she said. — Jil McIntosh Lost and Found Dear Diary: I recently went to the Lost and Found at Grand Central, a musty office tucked in a subterranean corner of the terminal. I explained to the man there that I was looking for my bright orange AirPods case, which I had left on a train about a month before. He disappeared and then returned with a bin of at least 100 AirPods cases, each one carefully bagged and tagged. We looked through them together, one by one. A young woman appeared at the counter. She said she was looking for her purse. Another employee disappeared into the back. 'I've been here four times since Tuesday to see if it's shown up,' the woman told me, an air of desperation in her voice. She ticked off some of the important things in the purse: her wallet, a favorite lipstick, a deodorant she loved. I told her about my missing AirPods case. We stood there looking forlorn together. The employee helping her emerged from the back. He was holding a purse. Her face lit up. 'Oh my god!' she said. 'I can't believe it!' She threw her arms around me, and we hugged. By then, the man helping me had gotten to the bottom of the bin of AirPods cases. Mine wasn't there. 'I'm sorry you didn't get your case back,' the young woman said. 'Well, I'm really glad they found your purse,' I replied. 'Thanks!' she said, running off to a train. 'If it's any consolation, they didn't find my gloves.' — Jennifer Bleyer Home Alone Dear Diary: I was home in Brooklyn when he texted me: 'I just walked by your apartment.' Smiling, I responded: 'Did you hear the dulcet sounds of 'The White Lotus' theme song?' 'Ah, you're watching!' I paused, flirting with a rare moment of spontaneity. 'Do you want to watch it with me? I just started.' The text came back: 'I just missed my train! But I would.' He was already at the subway. 'Oh, then never mind,' I told him, feeling sheepish. 'But I would,' he insisted. I told him to holler when he was outside my window. Ten minutes later, I heard my name. — Louisa Savage Loose Change Dear Diary: It was the 1980s, and we were going to visit relatives in Manhattan. I had read that the fare boxes on the buses did not take dollar bills. You had to have quarters to pay the fare. So before we left for the visit, I went to the bank and got a $10 roll of quarters. While we were in the city, we got on a Fifth Avenue bus near Central Park to go to Greenwich Village. I paid my fare and my husband's. People kept coming on the bus and asking other passengers for change for a dollar. I made change for four people. The man sitting in front of me turned around to face me. 'What are you?' he asked. 'Some sort of good Samaritan or something?' — Marlene Hellman Read all recent entries and our submissions guidelines. Reach us via email diary@ or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter. Do you have a tale of a memorable experience that involved a close call of some kind in New York City? Please submit it below or share it in the comments. While you're there, join the conversation.
New York Times
20-04-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
‘When a Seat Freed Up at the Next Stop, He Sat Back Down'
Stand and Deliver Dear Diary: The E train to Queens is always crowded at 4 p.m. On this day, I was standing and perfecting my scowl when I noticed a restless older man sitting in front of me. To my left stood an older woman. She was holding three large bags and kept drifting off. The man stood up and offered her his seat. She accepted and thanked him profusely. He and I were now standing together. I saw that he was holding a cane. When a seat freed up at the next stop, he sat back down. He stayed there for only about two minutes before offering the seat to another woman who was standing and carrying a heavy load. He and his cane were now standing again. This sequence kept repeating. He would sit down, look around, see somebody he thought should be sitting instead, and give up his seat. He circled the train car, standing and sitting, smiling and you're welcome-ing. After the fifth time, he was back where he had started, in the seat in front of me. After settling in for a minute, he looked up. His eyes met mine, and he started to stand, grabbing his cane and offering the seat to me with a soft smile. I shook my head. It's OK, I told him. You sit. I'm fine. He didn't believe me. He offered again five seconds later. I told him that I liked his jacket and that I was just fine standing. He smiled, and that was that. Then another older man stumbled into the car, grabbed onto the pole I was holding and the whole dance started again. — Ella Argaluza After 'Gypsy' Dear Diary: After seeing 'Gypsy' on Broadway, my husband and I stopped for a pretzel. We walked slowly as we munched on our snack. I saw a man and a woman walking together ahead of us. When I noticed the Playbill in the man's back pocket, I realized that I had lost mine. We must have passed them at some point because when we sat down on a bench to finish the pretzel, they walked past us. I noticed that the woman was holding her own Playbill. I jumped up. Approaching them, I explained that I had left my Playbill at the theater and asked whether they might spare one. I said I had seen one in the man's back pocket when I was walking behind them. 'Are you looking in my pockets?' he asked. Looking bemused, the woman gave me her copy. We agreed that Audra McDonald had given an award-winning performance. I don't usually keep Playbills, but I will keep this one. — Judi Karp Hummer Dear Diary: Our family had a few routines when it came to riding in the car: As the youngest, I always got stuck in the middle seat, my dad always drove, and my brother always rolled down the window and said ridiculous things to other drivers. Sometime in the early 2000s, we were on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway when my brother opened the window and yelled out to the driver of a Hummer. 'Nice car!' he said. I cringed. Then the Hummer slowed down, and my heart began to race. The driver pulled up close to us, with the East River in the background. 'I know you,' he said. 'You went to Ditmas, right?' My brother grinned and shook his head. The Humvee driver pulled in closer. 'No, not you,' he said. 'Her.' I looked up. It took a minute; time had changed his once chubby face. But I did recognize him. I smiled, and he kept talking. Then the traffic took over and we went our separate ways. A few months later, I was on Court Street in Brooklyn when I saw a Hummer, a rarity for the neighborhood. There was a man sitting on a bench nearby drinking coffee. This time I recognized him immediately. He looked at me. 'You went to Ditmas, right?' — Elana Rabinowitz Play Ball Dear Diary: I was running some errands in my Upper West Side neighborhood on a Saturday in March. First, I dropped off my shirts at the dry cleaner. From there, I walked briskly up Broadway. As I did, I approached and then began to pass an older man wearing a Yankees jacket. The lettering and logo on the front and back were gigantic. With spring training in full swing, I asked how he thought the team was shaping up for Opening Day. He shrugged and chuckled. 'I don't know,' he said. 'My cousin gave me this jacket.' — Chris Parnagian Toasted Dear Diary: I was having breakfast at the Hampton Inn at J.F.K. The man in front of me had stuffed an entire bagel into one slot of the toaster and was struggling to pull it out. When he reached for the metal tongs, I suggested we unplug the toaster. When he finally extracted the bagel, it was in pieces. As he walked off, he thanked me. 'No problem,' I said, 'I'm a mom.' 'I'm a surgeon,' he replied. He certainly wasn't an electrician. — Barbara Howard Read all recent entries and our submissions guidelines. Reach us via email diary@ or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter. Do you have a tale of a memorable experience that occurred while attending a Broadway show? Please submit it below or share it in the comments. While you're there, join the conversation.
New York Times
13-04-2025
- General
- New York Times
‘She Said She Lived in Las Vegas Now but Loved New York'
Just Lovely Dear Diary: Walking into a coffee shop on Second Avenue and 63rd Street, I was having trouble opening the heavy door. A woman behind me grabbed it and held it open. 'Thank you,' I said. 'Are you coming in or are you just lovely?' 'Both,' she said. Eventually, we headed down Second Avenue together. She said she lived in Las Vegas now but loved New York. She said I looked like a New Yorker. I said I was. 'Do you know someplace around here where I can get pound cake?' she asked. I recommended a place three blocks away. She frowned. I suggested a cafe that was closer. 'Oh forget it,' she said. 'My husband doesn't need it anyway.' — Marion Barak Loose Vegetables Dear Diary: I was in New York City for a summer program at NewYork-Presbyterian. I would often go downtown after classes ended for a late lunch in Chinatown and to buy some groceries before taking the Q and the 1 back to my Upper West Side apartment. One sweltering July day when I had been extra ambitious in my grocery shopping, I waited 45 minutes for a 1 train and then had to squeeze into a completely packed car. As the train left Times Square, I struggled to balance myself while unsuccessfully corralling my grocery bags around my feet. By the time we left Columbus Circle, my tomatoes had rolled over several pairs of feet, my lettuce was under someone's seat and I was more frustrated than I had been in a long time. A gentle tap on my arm pulled me out of my self-pity. It was a young mother sitting nearby. She called her toddler onto her lap and then nodded at the newly empty stroller in front of her. From there, we traveled uptown in companionable silence as her stroller overflowed with a watermelon, two cantaloupes and three bags of vegetables. — Amelia Ng Grand Time Dear Diary: I was on a downtown A in November 2023 when I noticed a happy family sitting across from me. Mom, dad and the children all appeared to be having a grand time. It was relatively warm for the season, and dad was wearing shorts. He obviously did not care if anybody noticed that he was also wearing an ankle monitor on his left ankle. As a criminal defense lawyer, I certainly noticed. When I got off the train, I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. He smiled back at me. — Robert Beecher Wild and Free Dear Diary: We had been married a year and were living in Kew Gardens Hills when we decided to make a Target run at 9 p.m. with our 3-month-old. We could still live wild and free, right? We picked out two bright-green lawn chairs that would fill our porch (really just a tiny slab of cement off the kitchen). We were not sure they would fit in our compact car, but we bought them anyway. Somehow, stuff always fits, we figured. When we got to the parking lot, our baby ran out of his patience, and we realized the chairs would not fit after all. A man approached us to help. The woman he was with called out to him. 'Stop chatting,' she said. 'It's after 10 o'clock.' 'They have a baby!' he yelled back. He reached down, took the laces out of both of his sneakers and tied down our trunk. I tried to pay him for the laces. 'Nah,' he said. 'Just drive slow and take Jewel. You'll make it.' We did and we did. — Avi Friedman Summer Clearance Dear Diary: This occurred years ago, when I was a newly married New York City public-school teacher furnishing the new apartment my husband and I had moved into. One late-August afternoon, I met two friends for lunch at a restaurant on the Upper East Side. Afterward, I walked to Bloomingdale's to see if they had any items I could use in the apartment. As I entered the store, I saw a sign hanging above the lower level: 'Big Summer Clearance Sale.' I went downstairs. To my amazement and delight, I saw tables overflowing with kitchen items like dishes and small electrical appliances; bathroom towels; and blankets, comforters, sheets and pillows for the bedroom. Everything I needed. A young saleswoman offered to help me. I soon realized that I could not carry all of my purchases home on the subway. The saleswoman said that Bloomingdale's would deliver everything to my home at no charge and within a week. I gave her my address: 495 East 55th Street. She looked overjoyed. 'Sutton Place?' she asked. I smiled. 'No,' I said. 'Brooklyn.' Her smile vanished. But my purchases were delivered within a week, as promised. — Evelyn Oberstein Read all recent entries and our submissions guidelines. Reach us via email diary@ or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter. Do you have a tale of a memorable encounter in a New York City coffee shop? Please submit it below or share it in the comments. While you're there, join the conversation.
Yahoo
11-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Letters to Elon
Writer and mediator Lucy Moore's ongoing project writing to Elon Musk inspired writer Miriam Sagan to do the same. Elon Musk is my muse, my writerly inspiration. He is also a chaotic, destructive, and unelected force in our federal government. Yet he has become my pen pal, if one sided. How on earth did this happen? In this current political climate, many people I know have felt frightened and helpless. But my friend Lucy Moore, a Santa Fe writer and mediator, took a creative as well as entertainingly sarcastic approach. She says 'Elon Musk was my nemesis, torturing me day and night. I had to do something, and so I wrote him a letter…As Elon Musk asked federal employees to list 5 things they did to justify themselves I wrote him thanking him for the brilliant idea to write down 5 great things I did this week.' I was immediately inspired. Lucy tends to send a postcard, but my hand writing is illegible and I am going on a bit more, so mine is typed. I like to mix obvious actions like philanthropy and calling representatives with a more personal take. At first my notes to Elon were pretty straightforward. Dear Elon Musk, Thanks so much for the opportunity to share 5 things I did last week. I appreciate your interest. Here goes: I participated in the 2/28 buy nothing boycott. I gave $ to Girls Inc. to support empowering young women. I gave $ to New Mexico Coalition Against Homelessness as the HUD grants are vanishing. I took visitors to the Indian Arts and Culture on Museum Hill in Santa Fe, to emphasize diversity. I'm celebrating Mardi Gras because carnival is always about the power of the people. There is more, but these were highlights. Have a nice day. I look forward to checking in next week. Yours, Miriam Sagan But I did not want Elon to get bored, so I started varying things. I'm also sharing things I am refraining from. These include what I am NOT doing: 'Building a case against the situation in Washington, DC. The problems are obvious. Bemoaning that 'no one is doing anything.' We're doing plenty. Becoming depressed or terrified. Cui bono? Feeling I have to come up with the perfect action. That is, not exaggerating my own importance. ( know you'll agree this isn't always that easy). Have a nice day!' As I write Elon each week, I feel motivated to keep doing the things I care about. I've always loved To Do lists and systems as to how to get through my day. This is a natural add-on. As Lucy says: 'You actually do 5 resistance things each week, which is better than wishing you had done something and crawling back under the bed.' And it has been a fascinating literary exercise. After all, numerous novels are 'epistolary'—written in the form of letters, most often by one character without a reply. Often a personal diary is written to an invisible but ideal reader, as in 'Dear Diary.' As I look at the accumulating letters, I see a record of my own life as well as of the larger socio-political sphere. It helps to have an audience and a listener—even if it is Elon Musk. Both therapeutic and micro-activism, writing Elon Musk is fun. Lucy Moore has seen more people join in and write, a group who are doing good deeds and writing '5-things-I-did' postcards weekly. All are welcome to join. You can see Lucy Moore's letters and cards at or on her Facebook, substack and bluesky pages, where you can post your own.
