Surely, seeing really is believing and is bound to generate more empathy and tangible help. And just being there helps the tens of thousands afflicted, literally in our own backyard, know they are not forgotten and it’s not business as usual elsewhere. It’s up to the media, especially, to keep showing the ongoing devastation and telling the heartbreaking stories.

Before my dinner companion made this most telling remark, the column in progress began with the televised Rockefeller Center tree lighting extravaganza and how I thought calls for Hurricane Sandy aid should have been center-staged and not occasional, relatively low-key requests. And before they performed, the featured artists could have showed some sympathy and brought attention to the massive hardship and loss in places only a few miles away.

But mostly it was showbiz as usual, with too much spectacular background décor. The magnificent tree is all we need, and indeed less is more when it comes to its lighting. As always, I wished the performers had asked the adoring crowd there to sing along, but with fewer ho-ho-ho songs and no “can’t live without you” lyrics. Include family, close friends and good neighbors in the lyrics of the wildly popular “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” And “a home” is what tens of thousands in the tri-state area now most desperately need.

On a closing note, the Park Avenue memorial trees are the most meaningful and serenely lovely of all the city’s December traditions. Once again, this parade of illuminated fir trees are in hallowed memory of those who gave their lives in this nation’s wars. This blessed tradition was started in 1945 by several Manhattan mothers whose sons perished in that war, which so tragically was only a taste of more to come. As the holiday season hits full swing, don’t forget that above all, we must pray and work to prevent this most awful of all human-made disasters!
Dewingbetter@aol.com

By Kristine Keller

It started out like any other weekend. The downtown streets were chockablock with hipsters sporting ironic T-shirts and enduring long waits for a dinner table at Rubirosa. The pulse of downtown throbbed so loudly I could hear it from my fifth-floor walk-up. And then, a flat line. An abrupt horizontal strip on the city’s electrocardiogram. A slow and steady storm by the sweetly deceiving name of Sandy would turn lower Manhattan’s lights black, snatching the city’s voice and unleashing a string of catastrophic events in its wake. Lower Manhattan’s streets looked like a post-apocalyptic universe where the only sounds to be heard were the hushed whispers of trees rustling and the light footsteps of confused residents searching for a candle-lit bodega serving hot coffee.

Though it’s easy to forget a natural disaster’s impact once the shards of broken glass are swept away and refueled taxis frenetically beep their way down Houston again, the stressful aftermath of such an event can leave many feeling beaten and broken. I was young when Hurricane Andrew tore my Miami home away from every side like a film set dismantling after the director calls “cut!” But I’ll never forget the look on my mother’s face when we returned after a safe evacuation only to find our beloved home and possessions destroyed. I’ll always remember her rivulets of tears that formed after finding the water-stained pages of her father’s first published psychology manuscript ripped into shreds. It’s stories like these that have sparked attention from researchers following the stress of a natural disaster. In recent years, research has been devoted to cases of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) as a direct result of natural disasters. For those in the hard-hit Northeast and mid-Atlantic, PTSD may be a harrowing consequence.

Nearly two thirds of Americans will experience trauma in their lifespan, and following a natural disaster, PTSD is the most common mental psychopathology experienced. The symptoms of PTSD, as recognized by the Diagnostic Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders (DSM-IV), begin anywhere from right after the traumatic event to months or sometimes years later. For storm victims, symptoms of PTSD might include re-experiencing the traumatic event in the form of memories, dreams or fantasies so vivid, patients might think they are actually reliving the traumatic incident. Those affected might also eschew activities that remind them of the tragedy. This could mean avoiding restaurants visited the night before the storm and abstaining from other activities once deemed pleasurable. Feeling detached, hyper-aroused or unable to concentrate are also salient symptoms of disaster PTSD. Anyone exhibiting PTSD symptoms for longer than one month should visit a trained medical clinician for a fully formed treatment plan.

Psychologists emphasize that those who believe they are capable of overcoming severe stress are more inclined to recover than those who believe they exercise zero control over life’s negative events. Luckily several organizations are working diligently to rebuild storm-torn communities. It will take time to recover, but New Yorkers are known for strength, grit and resilience, and it’s this power that we must be sure to constantly restore.

Kristine Keller received her master’s in psychology from New York University. She currently works at Vanity Fair.

Always a lot to talk about, and though I do the talking here, thankfully some of you email a response. (Response is so important!) And, much as I wish cyberspace hadn’t been invented (TV was bad enough), I worry that many in the 70-plus age group are being left out of society’s mainstream even more because they don’t have access to the internet.

Overcoming “being left out” takes a whole lot of doing, so let’s do some immediate good and help prevent a whole lot of falling. I’ve just learned www.icanwalk.com or 1-888-667-4046 can tell you about the revolutionary Sure Step cane that strangers stop me on the street to ask about, as I myself use it.

When I was waiting to get into the Vince Giordano Jam Session at the Kaye Playhouse at Hunter College, Jane Russo of the American Heart and Stroke Association stopped to ask about the cane, remarking that a family member could use the extra stability.

So check it out, and—oh, how good for the heart and whatever ails us (especially those allergic to post-swing-era music) are the Sidney Bechet Society concerts? Special guest, music legend George Wein, now 82, needed a helping hand getting to the piano at the Giordano Jam Session, but not in getting his moving musical message across. Songs about elderhood are also needed; about family, friendship, love and even the “blues.” (Such liberating themes also belong in 85-year-old Barbara Cooke’s repertoire.) Check out www.sidneybechet.org for information about the November 5 “Sidney Bechet and the New Orleans Trumpet Greats” concert.

Here’s to making this happy pre-rock-era music part of election campaigns’ musical mix, along with bipartisan promises to get it back on the charts. And here’s to making elder people visible on those campaign trails and platforms—especially those needing canes and walkers and wheelchairs. But where is that first grandmother who takes such incomparable care of the first daughters? And where are the challenger’s elders? They must exist, since Mormons are known for leading healthy lives.

But critical elder problems are woefully missing from mainstream view; how many Yankee fans knew Joe Girardi’s dad suffered from Alzheimer’s disease for many years before his recent departure from this life? And this only made the news because his son, “with a heavy heart,” managed the first game of the ALS playoffs only 24 hours later.

And here’s to mainstreaming this grieving son’s tribute to Joe senior for teaching him “the value of hard work and making a living, and being a good husband and father.” He added, “If I could be half the father and husband he was, then I’m doing something right.”

That’s all-important, but now this son must teach the world about being, yes, a good offspring, but above all, describe the suffering, like no other, caused by this dreaded disorder, with no known cause or cure or truly effective treatment. And protest how it’s often hidden with even a stigma attached! Is this why so little was said about the late George Steinbrenner’s failing brain power? Attention must be paid.

With Halloween upon us, we might also pay attention to the spiritual elements of the holiday. There’s comfort and hope in this passage from the Litany of Commemoration that Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church used to print in its All Saints Day Sunday bulletin: “For dear friends and kindred ministering in the spiritual world; whose faces we see no more but whose love is with us forever … for every hallowed memory and our abiding hope that where they are, we shall be also.”

dewingbetter@aol.com

We have now had two presidential debates, and the issue of healthcare has been front and center.

In New York, nearly 40 percent of the entire state budget is spent on healthcare—and it’s rising every year. It’s clear that our economy won’t be competitive unless we figure out how to improve the quality of healthcare while also lowering costs. President Obama understood this, and it’s part of the reason he pushed so hard to pass healthcare reform.
After two years of arguing and lawsuits, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that “Obamacare” is legal. Most Americans are ready to move on and implement the law. Yet the Republican leadership on Capitol Hill—led by Romney’s vice presidential candidate Paul Ryan—is itching for a new, and wrong fight: abolishing Medicaid by turning it into a block-grant program.

If you’re like most Americans, you probably think of Medicaid as primarily providing healthcare to the poor. But it also supports elder care for seniors. In fact, one out of every five seniors in New York state depends on Medicaid, and the program is the main funding source for over 70 percent of New York seniors in nursing homes.

If Mitt Romney wins the presidency, he and Paul Ryan are keen to push Medicaid to the states, giving states more flexibility to run the program—but likely with less federal financial responsibility over time. Progressive states like New York would certainly try to maintain current eligibility requirements, but realistically would face unsustainable budget shortfalls over time. And we all know where the cost burden will rest if neither state nor federal resources are forthcoming. Thousands of seniors on fixed incomes would suddenly face not only additional costs for living expenses—but also for prescription drugs.

This sounds like a bad deal for seniors, and it is. The good news is that seniors are increasingly wary of the Romney/Ryan entitlement plans, and these issues are impacting the presidential election (even if the GOP Medicaid plans are not well-known). Polls show voters in the all-important swing states of Florida, Ohio and Virginia oppose the far-reaching changes to Medicare and Medicaid proposed by the GOP ticket. Ironically, Obama is now gaining ground with a demographic group that he struggled with in 2008. Seniors backed Republicans in the last two presidential elections, but that support is quickly eroding because they don’t trust Republicans on the issue of entitlement reform.
Republican leaders love to talk about entitlement program reform as the main solution to the country’s budget deficit. But entitlement programs alone are not responsible for our budget deficit. Republicans never mention they created the overwhelming majority of this deficit by voting for President George W. Bush’s unfunded prescription drug program, an unfunded tax cut that mostly benefited the wealthiest in our society, and support for two wars that had no end.

Certainly, entitlement programs need to be reformed, or they won’t be there for the generations to come. But the notion that this burden should be shouldered by the men and women who are now in their twilight years goes against the time-honored values of American society. All must sacrifice—the top 1 percent , the 47 percent that Mitt Romney doesn’t care about and everyone else in America—but we cannot lose our essential core along the way. As Americans, we have always cared about our fellow man, and we can’t allow that to change because we now are living through difficult times.

The stakes this fall are high. For New Yorkers—and others in America, for that matter—this presidential election matters a lot. We all should participate in government, by holding our elected officials accountable. That begins on Nov. 6.

Most recently, Clyde Williams was a congressional candidate for CD 13. He served as national political director at the Democratic National Committee under President Barack Obama, domestic policy advisor to President William Jefferson Clinton, as vice president at the Center for American Progress and as deputy chief of staff of the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

Readers may remember how often I have expounded on the social benefits of living in this crowded, vibrant, melting (and mingling) pot of a city—where the possibility of conversations with strangers is always right at the tip of your ears, and even if you are too shy to talk to strangers, you can overhear the most interesting things and later serve them up as conversational tidbits to your friends and acquaintances.

But there is, of course, always the other side of the urban “proximity” coin; there are often interactions you really wish you didn’t have to witness, ones you wish you could block out. Loud, boring conversations between salesmen about numbers or statistics. Ugly relationship arguments. Parents being mean to their toddlers. People spouting racist or sexist opinions.

Or, as I experienced recently: rude customers abusing the people who are waiting on them.

In New York restaurants, it’s extremely difficult to ignore your fellow diners. Tables are often so close together you may as well be eating at the same table. It was for this reason that, one night last month, it became extremely hard to ignore the demanding, absolutely pissy diners sitting immediately to my left.

The irony was that, as my friend and I were settling into our seats, we were talking about how wonderful this particular restaurant was, and at almost that exact moment we became aware of a man at the next table berating the waitress.

“Miss, I have to tell you,” said the man, who had a pointy nose and wispy hair that pouffed out on top, “this is not medium-rare, this is medium. Take it away and bring me one that is prepared correctly.” And a little while later: “Waitress, please bring me another set of silverware; these are not clean. Also, I need some more bread, and another drink. And can you tell the bartender to use Tanqueray this time, like I asked? Whatever this was, it wasn’t Tanqueray. Don’t think I can’t tell the difference!”

The other man at this table was also fairly demanding, though at least he was polite. “Sorry, but can I have some more parmesan?” “Excuse me, I seemed to have dropped my napkin, can I have another?” “May I have some extra dressing?” It was something every few minutes.

The poor waitress was running back and forth to their table as if she were running a relay race and she was the whole team. We tried to ignore the unpleasantness. With all my powers of concentration, I looked over at my dinner companion, trying to block out the petty drama beside us, so we could enjoy our dinner (and each other) instead of focusing on the complainers beside us. But once we had become aware of them, it was hard not to listen. (How about a little negative energy with that roast duck?) Our attempts at tuning them out were to no avail.

Gradually, in order to try to compensate for the rude neighbors, we began to over-compliment our waitress.

“Thank you so much,” I found myself gushing to her. “This risotto is the best I’ve ever had.”

“I’m going to come back to this wonderful place all the time,” my friend chirped in.

Of course, we were aware that the rude people next to us could overhear us as easily as we could overhear them. And I believe it made them meaner!

Hence the battle between praise and complaints began, much akin to the proverbial battle of good and evil. We could tell the waitress was grateful to us; we were the heavenly balm to the hellish job she had to endure three feet away from us.

In truth, at a certain point during the meal I really wanted my water glass refilled, but I felt so bad for the waitress that I could not bear to ask for this. Nevertheless we—quietly, subtly—began to get better service than the complainers, only because we were so comparatively nice. And so, this friendly, unspoken relationship with the waitress eventually began to substitute for the communion my friend and I weren’t having with each other. It became a different kind of social night, one where we had adopted a put-upon waitress. We felt that part of the reason we had come to this restaurant was to help her get through the night.

I’ve heard stories about what chefs do in the kitchen to the food of “problem” customers. One thing is for sure: I would not have wanted to eat from the plates of the two persnickety gentlemen sitting beside us.

Jeanne Martinet, aka Miss Mingle, is the author of seven books on social interaction; her latest book is a novel called Etiquette for the End of the World. She can be reached at JeanneMartinet.com

Like most of us, politicians prefer to avoid pain—they’d much prefer to take the easy route than tackle the tough issues. Here are a couple of examples.

The Legislature has gone along with Gov. Andrew Cuomo’s tough fiscal regimen on its agencies and citizens. Tax caps, the lack of a hike in the minimum wage and finger-wagging at teachers all come out of what is known as “The Second Floor,” Cuomo’s office. The hypocrisy comes in when, during the lame duck session that follows an election before the new Legislature is sworn in, they raise their own pay. They do this because they desperately want the money but also know that people who have been hurt by governmental austerity are deeply resentful when the government types raise their own pay.

The solons have to do this in two separate sessions. Of course, they could do it the honorable way—vote the pay raises in and then suffer the consequences with the voters—but they are loath to do that. I suspect that if you were a legislator, you might opt for the less painful way yourself. Aw, come on, of course you would.

Naturally, the governor (with his 70 percent approval rating) has to sign the pay raise bill. That’s where the trading comes in. If they want the raise, they’ll have to give him something significant in return. It’s the American way, you know. Governors have been doing this for years.

If there is one thing that Cuomo now understands, it is that the people will not hold him responsible. After all, he campaigned on the platform that he would not allow the majority parties in the Legislature to follow the despicable process of drawing districts where they had the best chance of winning. When he broke his word, no one seemed to care. They gave him credit for cleaning up Albany.

I suspect this pay raise business will follow the same sort of track. Not only that, my bet is that Cuomo will either not accept a raise for himself (he’s got plenty of money) or announce that he will give it to charities of his choice. After all, he’s running for president.

You can see another example of pain avoidance in the massive toll hike that has been proposed for the New York Thruway. That road is already one of the most expensive in the nation when it comes to making truckers pay. That, of course, is the point. The Thruway authoritarians, who have been severely criticized for sloppy work by uncompromising State Comptroller Tom DiNapoli, know that many of the truckers who use the Thruway are out-of-staters. Of course, out-of-state folks don’t vote in New York, so the idea is to soak them. The politicians probably figure that the truckers will just raise their rates and we’ll all end up paying more at Walmart and the grocery store to offset the increased trucking costs.

When you raise tolls on commuters, however, you do so at your own risk. When you give this kind of power to so-called “independent” authorities, politicians are shielded from having to accept the political responsibility. The governor has declined to say much about the toll hikes on the Thruway except to suggest that if the hikes are needed, they are needed. Anyone who thinks that even the isolated members of the Thruway Authority would proceed with the draconian hikes without a wink or a nod from the governor’s office must live on another planet. Just sayin’.

These politicians are really pretty clever. The last thing you want to do is to bear any pain. Rule No. 1 for politicians has always been “Get re-elected.” Rule No. 2 is also familiar: “Never forget rule No. 1.”

Alan S. Chartock is president and CEO of WAMC/Northeast Public Radio and an executive publisher at The Legislative Gazette.

Josh Rogers

A storied history for the Games, just not a feel-good one

My neighborhood should be relatively quiet for the next few weeks, although I’d be surprised if Mayor Michael Bloomberg cares any more.

Seven years ago, he and his deputy mayor at the time, Dan Doctoroff, were determined to get the Olympics to New York City by building a stadium in my backyard—well, a few blocks from me, actually. Knowing what long shots these things can be, I didn’t have too many NIMBY concerns.

I also wasn’t thinking too much about the Olympics’ history of hypocrisy, corruption and worse (we’ll get back to that).

The Olympics were on my mind because some of the Lower Manhattan leaders I was covering then were worried that the administration seemed more focused on the Hudson Yards stadium site than on rebuilding Downtown after 9/11.

It was clear City Hall was more interested in a stadium than the Olympics. For one, the city pushed Hudson Yards as the be-all to the Olympic gods, when there was a suitable alternative in Flushing where Citi Field now sits. For another, Doctoroff told me and undoubtedly many others that the Olympics are the spark that gets cities to do the big projects that they should be doing anyway.

I wonder. With the Olympics about to start in London, it doesn’t look like the city is happy with the $17 billion public investment. Perhaps the bribes that Olympic powers used to collect from cities were not worth the money. Reuters surveyed 27 economists—all but four said the Olympics would not bring a lasting economic boost to a city mired in Europe’s doldrums.

A column by John Lanchester in a Bloomberg-owned publication, Businessweek, noted that subway commuters are being warned about 30-minute waits to board London’s Tube. He also wrote that Londoners are grumbling so much that pop stars were warned at a BBC concert not to play to the crowd with negative comments about the Olympics.

The stars would have hardly scratched the surface of the problems. At its best, the Games bring together the world’s greatest athletes to compete in many different sports at the same time. If the International Olympic Committee could stick to that simple, remarkable thing, it would be fine, but instead it bills the competition as some great effort to achieve international harmony—a task it has failed at miserably and repeatedly.

Hitler used the ’32 Olympics as an effective Nazi propaganda tool. Forty years later, the games returned to Germany and 11 Israeli athletes and coaches were killed by terrorists. IOC President Avery Brundage did not mention the athletes at the memorial service, and the Olympics has never done a permanent memorial.

But the Olympics has not only not been “good for the Jews” as the saying goes. Tommie Smith and John Carlos were stripped of their medals in 1968 because they acted politically when they raised their hands to symbolize black power, even though German athletes had been allowed to do the Nazi salute.

The 2008 Beijing Olympics does not appear to have helped the cause of human rights in China, as proponents argued it would. For this year, the Olympics has tried to solve a problem that doesn’t exist—male athletes pretending to be women—by imposing a humiliating sex test based on questionable science on some women athletes.

With all of that said, London still may play host to some exciting moments with inspiring stories of individual athletes So let the Games begin—over there.

Josh Rogers, contributing editor at Manhattan Media, is a lifelong New Yorker.

What is it with boys and trucks?

by Josh Rogers

The fire truck backed up, and West Side parents scrambled with their little boys to where they hoped the line would start to get on board. Almost immediately, there were over 100 people waiting

Were there any girls at the West Side YMCA’s Touch-a-Truck event a few weeks ago? Certainly, but as my 2-year-old son and I stood on lines to board the big vehicles, I noticed only a few girls waiting with us; most went to the activities that aren’t stereotypically male.

It seems we haven’t come a long way with our babies.

Boys and girls, certainly with exceptions, do, in fact, tend to play differently with different toys. Apparently, the research backs this up across different cultures, although we’re a long way from settling the nature vs. nurture debate on how much male and female behavior is taught.

Lego took some flack this year for its new line marketed to girls. A change.org petition collected nearly 60,000 signatures protesting things like the pieces’ pink colors and a new emphasis on people over buildings. Girls have been playing with Lego for a long time, but they apparently appreciate the new line, judging from reviews of the toys posted on Amazon.com.

“I was delighted that Lego finally came out with something a little girl could get excited about,” was a typical comment from a mother who had played with Lego and bought the new set for her daughter.

I’m sure I wasn’t the spark for my son’s love of trucks. When it comes to wheels, I know a lot more about strollers—even though I may never buy another one, I still check out the new models and colors. I could tell you the type of stroller used by a dozen or so neighborhood children, but I hardly remember the cars my friends or relatives drive.

I now know the difference between a front-end and backhoe loader, and have learned more about trucks in the last year than I ever knew before.

So Isaac’s fascination with big wheels started somewhere else. That’s not to say that dad, mom and others haven’t played a role. Had he been drawn to dresses, dolls and long-haired wigs, I don’t think I would have done anything he’d have to someday tell a therapist, but I’m sure I would not have been as enthusiastic and encouraging as I am about the trucks.

Last weekend, at a small family reunion, my father-in-law, a devoted grandfather, used much more gas than necessary to drive his pickup there for my son and his cousins. All four preschoolers had fun playing in the back of the truck, but the two boys stayed in longer.

On our seven-hour drive back, no easy thing for a toddler, we had the perfect scenery on the last leg. The New Jersey Turnpike’s construction work provided enough excavators, cranes and backhoe loaders to prevent a meltdown.

Josh Rogers, contributing editor at Manhattan Media, is a lifelong New Yorker.

Support the Bill

It is not a surprise to read that those making a living off the backs of the New York City carriage horses want to see the industry continue.

It’s the people WITHOUT a financial interest in it whose opinion should be taken most to heart, and the great majority of those people want to see an end to this antiquated business.

Note that the recent reports of accidents and deaths are only the ones that have been captured by cell phone and camera; it’s logical to assume that there are many other stumbles, spooks, collapses and, maybe, deaths that go unreported.

Please support State Sen. Tony Avella and Assembly Member Linda Rosenthal’s bill to ban horse-drawn carriages in New York City, and then let’s do all we can to prevent Christine Quinn from becoming mayor in 2013, as she is a staunch supporter of the carriage industry.

—Mickey Kramer

A Gold Standard

Just finished reading the article by Anam Baig and Sean Creamer. I am not a city resident but a frequent visitor, living in Sleepy Hollow, Westchester County. Having owned and ridden horses for the better part of 15 years, I have some knowledge of the horse world.

It appears that the New York Horse and Carriage Association has done its due diligence for the profession. The formation of ClipClopNYC to distribute information and open its doors to the general public is a gold standard for any profession. The fact that the New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene licenses the horse and carriage industry is another gold standard.

Have horses sustained injuries in the carriage business? Yes, they have. If one were to really examine the circumstances surrounding these incidents, I am sure that much less sensational stories would emerge than what appears in the local papers and would certainly diminish the fire behind the so-called activism.

—Jim Masiello 

All in Your Mind

The bottom line is that it is far safer to take a carriage ride than ride a bike. Or walk or exist. The argument “carriage horses are abused because the city is a risky place to live” is hilarious. Ban all animals and living beings in New York City because they are mortal. Grow up, peeps. The stables are great, the horses are great. The only abuse is in your own heads.

—CWgirlvalerie1

Right From Wrong

Having just finished reading the article with great hope that it would be in favor of abolishing the carriages, I was dismayed to see it take a turn toward the opposite. I’m certainly not against the presentation of both sides, but it seemed to me it weighed heavily in favor of the carriage industry.

Then on to the comments (sigh), all of which seemed to be written only by carriage supporters. Excerpt: “look at the faces of the children when they see the horses, when they get to pet the horses and, if they’re lucky, get to feed the horses a carrot.” As if this cruel industry was all sweetness and light (not to mention this is not about the delight of children). But I suppose any press is good that brings this situation to light. Those with a conscience will know right from wrong.

—Catherine Messina

Ranches Next?

It seems to me that if the stables and horses are well kept, as the experienced horse people seem to be saying (horse people are generally the FIRST to shut down horse abuse!), then the animal rights people have forgotten that America was founded on the relationship between people and horses. How did we transport ourselves and our belongings to the West Coast to achieve “Manifest Destiny”? How do we catch and medicate cattle on 600,000-acre ranches—will we ban the use of horses on ranches and relegate those cows to live in large sheds instead of roaming the range?

—K. Taylor-Rhys

Well Taken Care Of

We went to ClipClopNYC to see for ourselves what was going on with the New York carriage horses. We found a pleasant, well-kept working barn. The horses looked good and were well-groomed. They were friendly and wanted to interact with our large group as we wandered about the building. An abused or stressed animal would go to the back of the stall and attempt to ignore us or turn away. Not these guys; they were very friendly—something a horse out in public needs to be.

The stable was airy, with good ventilation. Fans and misters were available for summer heat. There were sprinklers throughout the building. Each stall was matted and well bedded. There was free-access hay and water. Manure was managed well enough that there was next to no odor in a building housing 75 horses—something that is not possible if it is not regularly kept up with. The workers we saw throughout the building were calm and gentle with the horses and we saw several being prepared for their day’s work—including walking down the ramps. The horses negotiate the ramps at a normal walk, not sliding down or walking with a hesitating step as if to keep their balance. Not an issue to be concerned with.

—T. Haertlein

Horses Can’t Cope

I don’t know if you folks missed the fact that there are no sprinklers on street corners, no hay beds in the roads, no fans or heaters. New York City climates are hard to endure at times, but people can cope—we can stop in air-conditioned stores or heated cabs. For the horses, it’s not all that simple.

You speak of ignorance, but there is no greater ignorance than the refusal to change. How can you possibly say that a horse is better off living in crowded New York City than in an open field, free to roam where they please? If you want your kids to see a horse, take them to a farm, not Central Park.

—V. Rebel

Until he moved next door. Not in the next building or across the street, kind of kitty-corner—I mean wall-sharing, within earshot, might-as-well-be-living-together, A3-to-A4 next door. In sleep, our bodies lie but 20 or so feet from one another.

It’s weird, at best. In our building, these two ground-floor apartments have the New York City luxury of a humble courtyard behind them. With this most recent occupant, however, my previously prized haven of solace has been rendered a potentially hellish, too-close-for-comfort point of collision, divided only by a flimsy cedar fence and a thick dollop of resentment.

My previous neighbors were the brilliant couple that introduced us. Approximately a year ago, when their twosome became nine months away from being a trio, they knew they would have to break their lease. Who better to fill the void than their old friend, her college buddy, his drinking buddy—my ex-boyfriend?

We had actually reached a comfortable tolerance after a raspy breakup, but when my soon-to-be-ex-neighbor broke the news to me over dinner one night, I don’t think I processed the depth of the situation. Despite a few hopeful lapses regarding a shoddy credit record and several delayed move-in dates, the lease was signed Nov. 15.

Since then, I’ve seen him maybe three times, with just about as many words exchanged on each occasion. His nine-to-five and my inconsistent freelance schedule provide for thankfully few encounters.

The frustration on my end lies simply in my insatiable curiosity; I honestly couldn’t care less what he feels about me at this point, though this might answer a few lingering uncertainties, but I do desperately want to know how he regards me, whatever it is. Disdain, disinterest, unrequited passion, animosity, vengeance (should I be wary?), fond nostalgia? I don’t know if I care which of these it might be (though my druthers would be the latter), I would just love to know whatever the hell he is thinking.

Beyond that, my only point of contention thus far is that he plays his raucous thrash music loud enough that I can feel the bass in my chest. Nearing 10-ish on a weekday winter night, having endured a solid two hours of his iPod shuffle, I guess I’d had it. I thumped five times, hard, on our shoddy sheetrock dividing wall.

It was only then that I bothered to recognize to tune that was invading my soundspace. I believe the band is Bread. I believe the title of the track is “Everything I Own.” Yup, that’s right: “Just to have you back again.” Do understand, though—it was coming from his Bose, not mine.