I was hit by a biyclist on Sat. I’m all right, all in all. I was crossing a street (W. Houston, at 6th Ave). It’s a complicated intersection. Houston splits into two one way streets; both eastbound. 6th both merges; with a triangular divider, and offers the opportunity for a direct left turn (which is probably not a legal turn, but it gets made, every so often). Since 6th is a four-lane street, all one way, and Houston is a divided street of four lanes in each direction there is a complicated visual sightline when looking upstream for traffic.
The Cyclist was going the wrong way. He was nice, if a bit self-exculpatory/victim blaming (he said, “I tried to warn you, but you had your headphones on). Me, I was stepping off the curb when the street hit me in the left side. Then I became aware of having being hit on the left side; and got up. I thought my right ankle was a bit sprained. My right knee was a bit scraped. Everything else seemed ok. I probably should have asked for cabfare to the train; since it was another 3/5ths of a mile, or so, to the house, but I wasn’t really thinking at that point. Adrenaline, the sense of dislocated shock (one of the things which one forgets, until it happens again, is the way the suddeness of it all makes such events seem to have happened out of time. I am sure the guy who hits me has a much clearer memory of it, and probably a more horrific one; he was braking; though he should have been swerving, and I just kept moving into his path).
My ankle wasn’t sprained, though I did make use of my removable cast from breaking my ankle 2 1/2 years ago, on Sunday when we went to see “My Name is Asher Lev”. Yesterday I spent in bed. Recovering is hard on the body, even when one thinks one isn’t that badly hurt. My right leg is strained, from hip to calf on the medial side. The distal side is strained from the knee to the ankle, there is some strain on the medial portion of my right foot. I also seem to be contused on my hip.
My left knee is coloring nicely, and typing this is telling me there is some contusing of my left forearm (I’m guessing it’s from the handlebar).
I don’t recall the transition from vertical to horizontal. There was a world-filling BANG, and then I was looking up. From the lack of, detectable, injury to my neck/shoulder/ribs/head I assume I put my right arm out on the way down, and so broke some of my fall, but I don’t know. I rolled to my feet to get up; so that I’d not be using my right foot to rise (it was tender immediately, though no coloring, nor evident swelling was apparent).
The play (My Name is Asher Lev), was great. It caught the kernel of the book, and avoided a lot of possible pitfalls. It took a basic understanding of Hasidism/Judaism for granted; so there wasn’t much in the way of, “as you know Bob”, apart from a little; in the way of trying to explain the way in which some Rebbes are like tribal/feudal leaders. There were some cultural in-jokes. A spare, but not bare, set. A cast of three; playing ten roles (The lead solos, there are three female roles, and four other male roles). The presentation of the major supporting male characters was clean; they were different, in all the ways they needed to be, and had the similarities their role in the life of the narrator would imply.
It was stunning. It’s one of a handful of performances I was straining to stand for at the end, as opposed to joining to the crowds standing ovation (I, don’t quite, rise pro-forma. If I think the show was less than adequate I’ll sit while everyone else stands). The story is intense, and the emotional impact of the inner struggles, and the sense of awareness Asher Lev develops, and the pain of being something of a stranger in a strange land when he is away from home; and (in a different way) a stranger in his own land when he is home was rendered well. The pain of having a great talent (the kind which burns to be let out; something I’ve only had glimpses of; and for that I am, largely, grateful) is there.
It is probably more effective (and affective) if one has read the book. I’d say it may be better if one has read it more than once, and not so recently that it’s fresh and clean. I wasn’t burdened by my sense of, “but it was this way).
If you get the chance, see it.