filthy lucre

November cold rain and wintry wind. En route to the bank on Jefferson Street in downtown Syracuse (on the way to withdrawing some cash), I spy a twenty-dollar bill on the wet sidewalk and notice it is but one of several bills, maybe four or five, maybe more, presumably the same denomination. I bend to pick up the lucky find, not quite thinking how my conscience will dictate handling or disbursing or saving or reporting or possessing this trove of cash or cache, take your pick. But before I can formulate a plan or even a rationale, as I am bending down to reach for the folded treasure, a man (I assume it was a man, not a mouse or a rat) rapidly swoops down in front of me, swooshes down in an arc with his arm, sweeps up the bills, merrily declares glee in words I can't recall, but that might translate roughly as "whoa! look what I found get out of my way these are the streets har har har seeya," and dashes off in front of me and to the left, down an alley called Bank Alley (but more aptly appellated Dumpster Drive or Blank Alley or Detritus Circle). I am arrested. I stop short. It is a stop-action animation of urban legend proportions. I never see his face. But get this: he is wearing a luminescent yellow vest because he is one of several downtown workers employed either by the city or the downtown beautification committee tasked with picking up trash. Right before my fecking eyes his job description broadens to pick up not only trash but also items signified by a word beginning with C that rhymes with trash, as in filthy lucre. I am steamed, amazed, perplexed, nonplussed, and faintly amused. I got to the bank's ATM and withdraw cash, legit cash. I walk down Bank Alley. No sign of him. I circle back on Warren Street. I spy one of the city or committee (rhymes again) workers with neon-yellow vest. Is it he? Not sure. This guy looks like he needs the filthy lucre desperately. He moves more slowly. Or is it the perp moving more slowly, filled with money in his pocket and contentment and one-upmanship in his bosom? And the only thing jangling in my own chest are a jumble of unspoken questions, such as: whose money was it? do they miss it more than Swoopman and me? what would I have said to Swoopman anyway? and if I were to have pocketed the moulah,what would I do or say? report it? to whom? and why? split the cash with Swoopman? take it, smile, and forgo going to the ATM?

Thanks for something to write home about, Swoopman.

twenty urban questions

what is a city

why

how does it renew itself

who renews it

what is the attraction of cities

how do you reinvent a city

why not move main street

why not call it something else

are not suburbs based on fear

at least in part

what do those in the suburbs fear

how do we convince them their fears are tribal myths

how do we celebrate community

how do we fear less

how do we become fearless

what is the fabric of the city

what is the texture of the city

what is the palette of sight and smell

this city

that city and this city

The $250,000 Question

What kind of second home can you get these days for 250,000?

That's the question bothering The New York Times and its impoverished and restless readers. Appropriately enough, the articles was in yesterday's Escapes section.

Yeah. That's the question keeping me up nights.

Truth be told, we would be lucky to get $90,000 for our recently painted house. Clarification: our first house, not our weekend home or summer demesne. Location, location, location. City, city, city.

Of course, those poor unfortunates struggling to buy a second home for 250,000 beans are not considering locations like the urban location of our manor. (Mind your manors! HAHA!) Oh no. It's got to have a view or be near water -- ideally with a view of water on a hillside. And they certainly do not want messy things like people nearby, especially nonwhite, nonupperclass, nonprofessional people. (Animals are okay, though. "We just love the varied wildlife here.")

I'm willing to wager these are the same folks who have fear and loathing of the "wild life" of our cities, who devise terrific policy solutions for our cities, and who proudly sport their so-called tolerant and liberal-minded moral credentials.

How much do you want to bet?

Bets starting at $250,000 being accepted now.

Right here, right now.

As Tony Soprano might say, while grabbing an important portion of his anatomy,

"Right here."