Where else could this happen? I headed down E. 51st and turned right on 2nd Ave, looking for an Italian restaurant the hotel doorman recommended. I didn’t find it, but spotted Pescatore, at 955 2nd Ave. Went in and had Linguine Nero: pasta stained black with squid ink, and shrimp, calamari, arugula, spicy tomato sauce. Salad, glass of chianti, preceded by little bowl of warm olives in olive oil, crusty whole wheat bread. It was about the best pasta I’ve ever had. I’ve been admonished about my frequent superlatives, but this was in the category of foods that transport you. Alchemy. Told waiter to tell chef it was a brilliant dish, pretty soon the chef came out, George Bermeo, and he beamed. Chefs love praise, it’s such a hard job, and if they are true artists they appreciate being appreciated. I ended up getting gelato, a glass of sambuca and an espresso on the house. As my friend Rod Lundquist said in 1955 after a great meal with the O’Neill family and their 6 kids, “Life is rich!”

Lord, just stepping out of the hotel is like going into another dimension. Overdrive, baby. People here are so on-the-ball,  so alert. (This ain’t southern California.) There’s also a special chemistry when the weather is good. The city has its moods, and right now, good vibes are enhanced by comfortable weather. Once I was here in August on a Monday after a big parade; it was 95, high humidity, and the entire park smelled like piss. I went back to my hotel every hour or two to take a cold shower. Miserable. Locals were cranky. Another time I went for a run in slushy snow (at night) in January (my serious running days). Today, though, was sit-on-the-stoop or at an outdoor cafe weather.

Last night I went to Trattoria della Arte, across the street from Carnegie Hall, and sat at the bar, masterfully tended by Cynthia, whose judgment I invariably trust in what to order and drink. A woman was on the next stool and we started talking. She told Cynthia to bring me a plate and gave me a piece of her thin-crust pizza. She was from Amish country in Pennsylvania, on vacation from her 3 teenagers. The guy on the other side of me hears us talking and he’s also from Pennsylvania. A designer of stores and stage sets. The guy next to him has an iPad, and soon the 4 of us are yakkin it up like old friends. There’s an intimacy in NYC due to proximity, especially in restaurants, and many times I’ve had wonderful random encounters like this.

Afterwards walked down to the village and had vanilla ice cream and an espresso at Cafe Riggio (left).

I just got back from a massage with an extraordinary bodyworker. I’ve, yes, injured my left ankle, right hamstring in running, and needed some unlocking of scar tissue. I looked up “sports massage NYC” online and found Robin Rubenstein (646-337-8634) and as soon as she touched me I knew I was in good hands. I’ve been to tons of bodybworkers over the years, a necessity from a lifetime of physical activity, and Robin loosened tight muscles and got the chi flowing. Now it’s 10 PM and I’m going out into the warm night to find an Italian restaurant.

I think they’ll keep me down on the farm, but I sure do like Paree.

It was a bright beautiful clear Sunday afternoon yesterday, and I was killing time until going to the airport, riding my skateboard on the streets near Ocean Beach in San Francisco. I was using a Big Kahuna stick, a kind of paddle with rubber stoppers on the bottom so that you propel yourself along, like paddling a canoe. It often amuses people who see this device in operation. I passed a young oriental woman on the sidewalk and she broke into a grin and said, “You have…” and than ran to catch up. She didn’t speak much English but she was just delighted with the whole setup. (There aren’t actually that many people out in the world who see what’s going on around them.) So I got her on the board and had her hold my arm while we went down the sidewalk. She loved it.

I pulled her along and she gradually got her balance and I had her let go of me and she was laughing in glee at her first skateboarding solo. We did this for a while. I taught her how to jump off when she lost her balance, before falling. After a while I retrieved the board and started skating again, and she said, “I run…,” and she started running alongside me. We were like two kids playing.

She said she had just recently come from China and was on the way to visit her auntie. I asked how old she was. How old you think?” she asked. I told her I didn’t guess ages. She insisted. “22,” I said. “24.”

She ran along for a while, I mean, really ran, then we parted ways. It was so much fun. Just out of the blue.

Tell us about the boy from New York City

Whoo-eee! Ain’t nothin like it. After a restless red-eye flight, no sleep (in fact about 3 hours sleep in 2 nights), got a $20 van ride from JFK in to the hotel, Lexington and E 51st, and voila, the room was ready at 9 AM, so I’m now set up at Shelter Publications East Coast headquarters for the next 7 days.

I got cleaned up, checked email, got B. B. Kings Bluesville station (Sirius satellite radio) playing on my MacBook, and I am stylin…

I took a 30-40-min walk to check out the immediate hood. The people. The people. There are so many more people of substance on the streets than you see in California. They’re low on lame-os. A huge black guy, maybe 6′-9,” 285 lbs of muscle; an elegantly dressed guy speaking Italian; a 12–year-old girl dressed to the nines, walking down the street with her Dad, talking like a college grad; great-looking women of all persuasions, exotic tattooed punks…

The great depth of cafes and restaurants, the killer traffic, an ambulance went screaming down 3rd, bagel and hot dog stands, a lot of street food, the weather is actually perfect, overcast, maybe 70 with a breeze and a few refreshing raindrops. When she’s good, she’s very, very…

I’m about to set out for some reconnoitering…Oh boy!

Godfrey Stephens wrote: “I took this pic at about 50 mph from a car entering Cochin (Malabar Coast), India, in April 2010. Imported by the Portugese as shade trees way way back.”