In the new

This phenomenon of doing new things--or at least recognizing them, whether they be trivial or grand--is contagious. Last night I did something new: I spent the night in Brooklyn. I know that doesn't sound impressive, but I have lived in New York for over half my life, and I have spent the night in Queens, Manhattan, and The Bronx--because I have lived in all those boroughs. But never Brooklyn.

My Bronx apartment is being renovated, and I found a good sublet deal on craigslist. By Saturday night I was all set up; so there I fell asleep in the back room on the top floor of a three-story brick walkup to the sounds of people in the yard below chatting and drinking beer. The apartment doesn't have air-conditioning; so, keeping the window open for cross-ventilation in this weather is essential. Jenny is staying with a friend, also in Brooklyn--her first night ever in Brooklyn was Friday.

I have been in Brooklyn late at night before. One of my first jobs in New York was monitoring fire and police radios and dispatching a freelance TV crew. As I went off shift at 2 a.m. one winter night, the crew was in our Times Square office dubbing tapes to deliver to TV stations when the radios came alive with dispatchers sending fire engines to a two-alarm blaze in Brooklyn. "Ever seen a fire, Tony?" one of the guys said. I hadn't, and so I went with them. We sped through empty New York, running red lights, and when we got to the fire, which was on Avenue U or something, I carried a spare battery belt for the crew. Nobody got hurt in the fire, and a cat that had been overcome by smoke inhalation was revived on the hood of the fire marshal's car. That was the clip that ended up on the local news later that morning.

A house fire has an awful mixture of smells: The pleasant smell of burning pine, which you might experience in your fireplace when you're glad to be home on a dark winter evening. But it's mixed with the dust and dirt of dry old timbers and the buttery smell of burning paint, which might contain lead. And the burning tar of the roof. And the house's vinyl siding. This smell sticks in your hair and coats the inside of your nose for days. You smell like fire till you get your clothes off and take a shower and then you still smell like a fire.

Last night was a lot more restful than that. And I'm going to do it again tonight.