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Those words, from Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven , are especially relevant this Halloween, with much of the Northeast without power. I've made it a Halloween tradition for several years now to read The Raven , whose rolling rhythm and sense of growing dread have always fascinated me. And as much as the poem fits within Poe's macabre oeuvre, it's really less a poem of horror than of sorrow, or the horror of sorrow that doesn't end, sorrow for the lost Lenore.

One of the first things I did when I moved to NYC in the mid 90s was to look for Downtown Beirut, a favorite bar of my brother Donny, who moved to the City in the early 80s. Donny had built up Downtown Beirut in my imagination as the dive bar of dive bars--a dark, dank pit of squalor that served cheap beer and had a legendary jukebox. Although I had never darkened its darkened doorway, I could picture its seediness in my mind's eye--the beer-stained booths, the rank pall of stale cigarettes, the Clash's London Calling playing on the jukebox, and the crowd of East Village regulars that congregated there, misfits and wannabes and ornery old timers with their own personal bar stools. Downtown Beirut was located at the corner of First Avenue and East 10th Street. I made my way there one night with a friend, only to find its doors shuttered, the bar being one of the first victims of the gentrification of the East Village that was underway. This was a time when Alphabet City, just...

This post somehow got lost in the run-up to taking my ordination exams and getting my psychological evaluation, both of which happened at the end of August, right before the start of the semester. Yes, it was a busy end to the summer, which is part of the reason for the silence on this blog for the last two months. One of the reasons I've always loved New York City--and there are many--is that the City is like a living, breathing organism. It's not just the people, but the backbone of the City, its buildings--the bars, restaurants, clubs, cafes, and stores where people congregate--is ever changing. While the change of seasons provides a sense of the passage of time over the course of a year, the changing urban landscape marks the passing of the years. I was reminded of this when I read of the closing of Colony Records , a sheet music and pop culture memorabilia store just north of Times Square, at 49th and Broadway (three blocks from my old office). Colony was the place...

I figured I'd post while I still have electricity; I don't expect to for much longer since Englewood can lose power if someone sneezes particularly hard while outdoors. Because classes have been cancelled for Monday and Tuesday, I'll be riding out Hurricane Sandy in Englewood with my Sandy. I was due to preach at Miller Chapel at the seminary tomorrow, but that won't be happening; I'll be rescheduled for another day. In the meantime, I'm just waiting for Sandy...who's downstairs preparing a late night snack. Oh, and Sandy, who's starting to make some noise outside. Sandy