So, I went back up to the Upper East Side yesterday. Peg spotted a listing in the real estate section of the Sunday Times about an open house for an apartment on E.91st between Lexington and Third (a two-bedroom, two-bathroom duplex with a patio in our price range, no less). It certainly sounded promising. So, around nap-time for the kiddie-kids, I hopped on the 6 train at Astor Place bound for my old neighborhood, to check the place out.
I don't get back up to the Upper East Side too often these days. In simpler times, I made it up to Central Park pretty regularly to pitch for the TIME Magazine softball team, but didn't have the opportunity this year (and being that all my old comrades from same have just been unceremoniously given the keys to the street, I dare say that those happy, surprisingly athletic, booze-drenched days are now officially over). As I mentioned in this post, when I left the Upper East Side in 1996, I never really looked back, de-camping to implausibly cooler accommodations downtown. With the various changes in my circumstances, my opportunities to stroll around the byways of the neck of the woods I grew up in are few and far between. But, presented with this new possibility, I figured that the time was right once again.
The apartment itself, I'm somewhat sorry to report, wasn't really right for us. While yes, it was technically a duplex, it was basically one tiny, cramped studio on top of another tiny, cramped studio, awkwardly fused by a treacherously steep spiral staircase made of cold, unrelenting metal (which would be a nightmare with two under-3 year olds in the house). The downstairs was as cozy as a set-piece out of "Das Boot", and there was simply no way in hell we'd be able to cram all of our crap into the place (what with Peg's sprawling collection of books and my stupid, unwieldy garden of compact discs). The patio was nice -- and the notion of private, outdoor space is such a luxury -- but it simply wasn't nice enough to make me overlook the place's myriad limitations. The couple showing it to me could not have been more pleasant, informative and accommodating, but they realized as much as I that it wasn't for us. Thanks, but no thanks.
Thanking the couple and wishing them good luck, I took my leave of the place and decided to go for a walk, heading west towards Central Park. The Upper East Side gets a bad rap, albeit sometimes deservedly so. Inarguably, it can be grim, uptight and devoid of all semblance of character. But in the Upper 80's and Lower 90's, once you cross Lexington, it can be quite lovely and neighborhoody. I'd suggest that the stretch between East 86th Street and Lexington Avenue and East 96th Street and Fifth Avenue is pretty idyllic (if thanklessly whitey and, in many instances, insufferably affluent). Granted, I'm a bit biased -- having lived there until about 1983 -- but the place does still exude a pleasant vibe, though it's only gotten ritzier and more exclusive in the ensuing years.
I strolled by a succession of familiar haunts including my old building on 93rd street. When the doorman was momentarily turned the other way, I took the fleeting opportunity to peer into the ground-floor window of the apartment that belonged to one of my old friends from the building, David R. (also presumably long-gone from the premises). Staring into what was once Dave's parents' living room in the late 70's and very early 80's, I recalled hours spent in there watching "Battle of the Planets" and listening to Kiss records, the signature strains of "Detroit Rock City" immediately filling my ears.
Proceeding onto Lex, my head still filled with water-colored glimpses of my childhood and incongruous Kiss riffage, I wondered how strange it would be if we did indeed move back up there (illogically presuming that we could even find the right space for the right price). Would it be weird to return to the very streets I used to walk on as a child now with my own children? While it's still the same city, this portion of the Upper East Side could not be more different from our current neighborhood downtown. It would certainly be a jarring transition for my almost-3-yr-old, whose entire little life revolves around University Place and the playgrounds of Washington Square Park. We'll see.
Heading back towards the 6 train with Kiss still playing in my head, I was reminded of an article I'd recently read on some ridiculous Kiss fansite. Evidently the old wooden door pictured on the sleeve of the strenuously maligned Music From The Elder album is from the church on the North side of East 86th Street between Park Avenue and Lexington. Sure enough......
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