the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Tag: New York City (Page 3 of 4)

This Week’s Favorite NYC Photos – Week Five

Thanks for letting me share with you these NYC photos over the last two months.

Next Thursday, I’m flying out to Los Angeles to take care of a few things left unsettled.  In the beginning of August, I will attend BlogHer.   After that, I’m seriously debating finding a place in Los Angeles, thinking it would be the best step, career-wise.  But I’m still not sure yet.

And if that is the case, I’ll be missing the tall skyscrapers at sunset, the subway cars screeching around the gritty tracks of Queens, and the thin uptown women in the polka dot dresses crossing the wide city streets in their fashionable shoes.

“The Ride” with Marinka

(via iphone3)

I’m beginning to understand why I never get any PR companies asking me to attend blogging events.   It not because I’m not a parent.   It’s because I am bad in writing reviews of blogging events.

I’m one of those people who find it difficult to separate an event from the people that I am with at the time.  I’ve had as much fun in dusty Bakersfield as I’ve had in exotic Hong Kong.  It depends on who is at my side.  This is important for me to remember when going out with friends. I’d rather be with good friends at McDonald’s then with acquaintances at a four-star restaurant.

On Saturday, Marinka invited me to join her and her kids on THE RIDE, a new-fangled NYC tour bus “experience” that has been getting positive reviews by the local media. Marinka was invited as part of a blogger PR out-reach, and asked them if she could bring me.  They reluctantly agreed.   That means, in blog-speak, that we didn’t pay to go on the Ride.

I first met Marinka in August 2008, when she was a complete nobody in the blogging world.   I wanted to test having guest posts on my blog, but I wanted to do it differently, so I just chose the first five people to write a comment on my blog.    Marinka was the first.  As a test of her skill, I presented her with a topic to write about, and I purposely chose the most ridiculous one ever, “I Woke Up Today with a Penis! Can My Marriage Survive?

As anyone who has ever seen the movie “A Star is Born” knows, it wasn’t long before our fortunes turned, and I was the one bowing at her feet.

On Sunday, I was Marinka’s guest.

The Ride differs from typical tour buses in that the seats face one-way, theater-style, towards a large glass window which is open to the public.   The riders look out at the passing city like it is a movie on a giant screen.  Those on the street can see you, so there is a good amount of waving and photographing going on back and forth.

As we passed a few landmarks such as the Chrysler Building and Central Park, two cheery twenty-something tour guides entertained us with jokey information about the city.  It felt as if were were on a ride at Disneyland. To add to the artifice, actors/entertainers were placed on the street to interact with us.

We might see a UPS courier delivering a package on 45th Street.

Tour guide: “Hey, look, there is a UPS guy, working on a Saturday.  In NY, there are so many people wanting to get a break in show business, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was also a dancer going for auditions.”

A second later, the UPS guy would start break-dancing for our entertainment, and then the bus would move on,  just like in  the Pirates of the Caribbean ride!  Except here, real-life New Yorkers, just walked by, ignoring it all.

The bus was also a character.  Lights blinked, and videos blasted, and the bus even spoke, in that deep electronic voice of Knight Rider, joking with the tour guides, and telling us New York facts and statistics.

My review of the Ride: It is very very clever, making the typical 70-minute bus tour ride around Manhattan as old-fashioned as the evening news in the age of Twitter.

I am a fan of clever.   I love Disneyland.  But in all honesty, I’m not sure I enjoyed seeing New York City turned into Disneyland.   Will the tourist on “The Ride” go home thinking he had a real experience?  Why don’t tourists just walk the same twenty blocks themselves, carrying a tour book? Will future generations of tourists be disappointed when no opera singers approach them outside of Carnegie Hall with a song? Does EVERYTHING have to be interactive and pre-packaged?

If I were on the bus by myself, without Marinka and her kids, I would be counting the time, waiting to get off it and back on the noisy, crowded street with real smelly people.

If I were a thirteen year old tourist with my parents, I would hate it even more. I would not enjoy having tourists in the street taking photos of ME sitting in a bus with my parents, all of us in the dorky “I Love NY” hats.  I do not want to be part of the entertainment.  But maybe that is just me.

That said, everyone in the bus loved The Ride, including Marinka’s kids. They got a big kick out of seeing the performers in the street. I mostly wondered if they were getting paid union wages, and where they waited before their cue.  In their car?  At a Starbucks?

Should you go on The Ride if you are visiting New York?  If you have ten year old kids, and have never been to New York before, the Ride could be a lot of fun (although pricey, $59-$65!).  I also think stoned college students might find The Ride a fun and campy experience if they go on it at night, when the lights are on and there are less kids in the bus, and after the ride, go off for some pizza.

Did I have fun? Yes, I did. I was with Marinka. I’ve know her long enough now to have developed some a rapport.  When the Knight Rider “bus” made some cliched New York-centric joke about cupcakes in “Sex in the City” or “Robert DeNiro” in Taxi Driver, we could just glance at each other and, without words, know each other’s snarky response.

And that was fun. It is always who you are with that counts, not where you are.

Vintage Subway Train

Every year during Christmastime, the MTA in New York City runs this special “Nostalgic subway train,” made up of subway cars from the 1930’s and 1940’s.  On a few Sundays during December, it runs back and forth between Queens and Manhattan.  To ride this old train costs the same as a regular ride and it makes the same stops as the M train.  Many regular subway riders had no idea this holiday train exists, and when it pulls into the station, they stare in wonder, as if they are seeing an iron ghost.

This holiday gimmick attracts three subsets of visitors: families with kids into Thomas the Train, Japanese tourists who read about this in some tour book, and very geeky, hermit-looking, New York men who wait all year for this occasion, and can name the model number of a specific E-train running in 1955.

And then there was me, of course.  I’m probably closest to that last group of train geeks, but not THAT bad.  I certainly didn’t wear a t-shirt that showed the map of the NYC subway circa 1972.

So, on the day after Christmas, I spent a good part of my day hanging out in the subway with other train geeks, unaware that a major blizzard was occurring outside.   (Ironically, the only trouble I had with mass transit today was with a modern bus that got stuck in the snow on the way home)

I can’t imagine many of you will be interested in this little video I made on my iphone.  I’m publishing it anyway, mostly for my childhood friend, Barry.

A few of these old style subway cars were still around, even into the late 1970s.  I remember these uncomfortable seats from when I went into the “city” with my parents.  The sounds of the old trains — the racket, the heat, the open windows — is a great way to connect to the classic era of New York life, not the upscale world of Madison Avenue, but of the working class.   The subways were gruffer and noisier.  I forgot how the lights flickered all the time, making the experience a little seedy, like the gritty street scenes from the old movies, where guys smoked and wear hats and were knifed in the alley for looking the wrong way, certainly not the same, slightly-boring Manhattan of today where Times Square is populated not by real-life Guys and Dolls, but the M&M store.

Sex in the Male City (in honor of BlogHim ’08)

New York City may have nine million residents, but it is a small town when it comes to meeting available women.  Or at least so it seems when we go out on the town. 

At a half past ten, I was dressed to the nines and entering Maxwell’s, located on the corner of Right Now And Everyone Was There.  On a normal night, I would never make it within ten feet of the velvet rope, but ropes seem to jump by themselves with a friend like Robb.  He is what Glenn would call “a trifecta” — a high-profile attorney, one of the Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors according to New York Magazine, and currently representing the daughter of the biggest real estate developer on the Upper East side, in a nasty divorce case that makes it to Page Six as frequently as she has gotten DUIs in the Hamptons.

So, there we were, in Maxwell’s, four attractive single men, Robb -the lawyer, Jake – the ultra-successful financial analyst, who never said no to a nice pair of legs, but always dropped her as fast as a T-bill in his money market account, Glenn – the former ballplayer, now a sought-after commercial artist, the only man I ever met who had slept with seven different women in one week, but who secretly would throw everything away just to become a stay at home dad, and me – the under-employed writer, currently living with his nice Jewish mother.

I spent much of the night thinking about Atlas, and how he struggled to hold the world up, despite his powerful arms.  What does friendship really mean to me and my friends?  Are we like four Atlases?    Would we always be there to help each other hold up our own little worlds? 

Of course, our conversation in Maxwell’s revolved less about Greek Mythology then our favorite topic — male shoes and fashion.

“Hey, Neil, my main man, are those Dockers you’re wearing?”  asked Glenn, admiring the fit.

“F**k no,” I answered.  “I wouldn’t wear those piece of sh*t pants again after the Docker/Levi Strauss Company screwed me with that “free flight” that ruined my going to BlogHer.”

A gorgeous model sashayed by, catching our attention.  This was not just any model.  This was Ashley Maran, the latest cover model in Vogue.  Our conversation quickly turned to our second favorite conversation — the fairer sex.

“I’m breaking up with Annie,” said Robb, batting first, hitting us with a foul ball.

None of us were surprised, but we were a bit sad — we actually liked Annie.  She was a Mets fan.  So, we pressed him for more info.

“One of the reasons I was initially attracted to her was because she is a dentist.  I figured — a dentist, oral sex, a perfect match.   But she gave the worst blowjobs I ever had.  How can you explain that?  She even used her teeth!”

We all cringed in pain.

“Didn’t they teach her about this in dental school?”

We all agreed that this was a legitimate reason for dumping her like a third-rate draft pick, even if she did like the Mets.

Jake had oral problems of his own.  Jake had been dating a busty stock broker from Goldman Sachs, and apparently she was bullish on him going down on her.

“That’s all she wants.  Apparentlly, she can only have an orgasm through oral sex.   I mean she’s been going to therapy for years because of this.”

We all agree that Jake was practically a Mother Theresa for sticking around with this woman for longer than he ever has with anyone else — nearly three weeks.

“You know me, I’m eager to help out.” said Jake.  “I drive you guys to the airport whenever you need me.  But not driving my c*ck between her thighs is torture. ”

Jake looked like he was near tears.  Robb gave him a sympathetic hug.

“I can’t sit there for two hours with my tongue doing all the work,” Jake continued.  “I’ve lost ten pounds this month because my jaw hurts so much, I’m too tired to chew any food.”

After we all consoled Jake, It was now Glenn’s turn on the witness stand.

“I sometimes wish I could just settle down, have a child, and become a stay at home daddy.”

For years, I never understood Glenn’s fantasy of being a SAHD.  Here he was, a big success with a fancy Soho condo, women up the wazoo – and he wants to throw it all away?  For what?  For dirty diapers and daddy blogging?   But New York can do that to you.  It gets at you.  It wears you down.

“I just want to meet the right woman.”  said Glenn, sighing.  “But it feels as if the only women over thirty in New York are either taken, unable to commit, lesbian, or trans-gendered men.”

“What about Lisa?” asked Jake. 

For the last month, Glenn had been seeing Lisa, the cute V.P of this hip new internet marketing firm in Chelsea.

She’s very passionate, but a little too short.” said Glenn.

“Short?  What are you talking about?” asked Jake.

“Well, I mean she’s compact.  She’s 5’2″, and when we are in bed… and I’m a big guy, so… uh…”

“Are you saying your d*ck is too big for her p*ssy?” asked Robb.

Glenn nodded.

“Has this ever happened to any of you?” he asked.

“Of course” we all said, nodding, as if this was a frequent problem in our lives.

Finally, it was my time to be grilled, like salmon filet at Tavern on the Green.  I could feel the guys looking at me as closely as they would a brunette’s tight ass as she climbed on the Stairmaster at the Crunch Gym in Tribeca.

“What about you, Neil?” asked Robb.  “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.  You getting any action in Queens?”

I think it was Isaac Bashevis Singer who said, “The best stories come out of the daily experiences of your own life.”  So, I took the writer’s advice.

“Well, I went to McDonald’s for a cup of coffee and as I was drinking it, I got a major hard-on.”

“Was the girl at the counter really hot?” asked Jake.

“No,” I said.  “I think they just added too much sugar.”

After a long, uncomfortable pause, Glenn changed the subject.

“Have you heard from Ms. Big?” asked Glenn.

The others looked at each other, concerned.  Was it too soon to bring up the name of Ms. Big?

“I IM-ed with Sophia last night.  She’s in LA.”

They all were eager to know what she said.

“Well, she sent me this message: 

 “You should start seeing someone there.” 

I said, “A woman?” 

She wrote back, “A man or a woman.” 

I answered, “A man or a woman?!  I don’t get it.  Are you saying I should start seeing someone — like going on a date?” 

She said, “No.  I meant you should start seeing a therapist in New York.””

My three friends laughed.  But it was OK.  I know that if I were Atlas, and had to hold up the world with my skinny arms, they would be at my side, helping me carry the weight.

Update:  BlogHim 08′ recap

The Slummification of Kissena Boulevard

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This is where I grew up and where my mother still lives. It may not look like much, but it is one of the nicer apartment buildings in my Queens neighborhood. My grandmother lived a few blocks away, in a lower-income apartment. When I was in elementary school and my mother went back to work, I went to my grandparents after school. My grandmother made an excellent tuna fish sandwich, with chopped celery and dill.

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My father was a physical therapist at a city hospital and my mother still works in publishing, so they never made that much money. They worked hard to put me through two very expensive private colleges, just so I could obtain two completely useless degrees — a B.A. in English and an M.F.A. in Film. I was totally spoiled by them.

I had an excellent childhood growing up in the Flushing/Kew Garden Hills area of Queens. The public school was good, the public library was two blocks away, and the neighborhood was incredibly diverse — blacks, Jews, Puerto Ricans, Indians, Chinese. I’m still good friends with guys from the neighborhood who I’ve known all my life. They’re the first people I see every time I fly into New York.

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I am so diverse — here I am with my Jewish childhood friend Barry at the Blue Bay Diner in Bayside last week, which looks exactly the same inside as it did when I was in high school.

When I was a child, Queens felt isolated from the excitement of Manhattan, but it was close enough to travel to by subway. (…ok, first you take a bus to get to the subway) My parents took me to museums and concerts all the time, so I was able to participate in the “high culture” of the city. We also lived near Queens College, which had a symphony orchestra. I spent many weekends in the audience with my parents, falling asleep to Schubert.

Although the stores in my neighborhood weren’t very fancy (still no Starbucks!), you could get everything you needed just by walking down the block. There were grocers, a bakery, a Radio Shack, a cleaners, a pharmacy etc. This was perfect for my parents, who didn’t drive a car. It also created entertainment for me. After school, my friend, Rob, and I could pass several hours just stopping in the Kissena Boulevard shops, or reading the comic books in the stationary store.

I only felt embarrassed about “Queens” once I went to Columbia, and met rich kids from the Upper East Side, Beverly Hills, Boston, etc. They had actually gone skiing in Aspen and visited museums in Florence. All of a sudden, Kissena Boulevard was very small time. I began to feel ashamed of my background, like a Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, moving from the steelmill to the hoity-toity ballet studio. It felt as if the entire borough of Manhattan looked down on Queens. The only reason to visit Queens was to go to the airports or see a sporting event. There was even talk about building a new stadium in Manhattan, so there would even be less reason to travel to Queens. Queens was the home of misfits, from Archie Bunker to Ugly Betty. During snowstorms, Manhattan was quickly shoveled by the plows since it is the center of the business and tourism worlds. Queens was always plowed last. Queens had her big moment in 1963-64 when the World’s Fair was in Flushing Meadows Park, but then most of the fair buildings was just left behind to decay.

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“Sorry, we don’t have enough money in the budget to fix the NYS Pavilion.” – Mayor Michael Bloomberg

Eventually, I learned to embrace my Queens neighborhood. There was a cool mix of people on the street, and it felt more “New York authentic” than many of the streets of Manhattan. Today, “Sesame Street” reminds me of Queens, not Manhattan. Big Bird could never afford Manhattan. Sadly, whenever Sophia comes with me to visit my mother, I’m always disappointed that she can’t see the area in the same positive way I do.

“It looks like a slum,” she said recently, as we walked down Kissena Boulevard. This hurt my feelings, especially because, in my heart, despite my romantic view of the neighborhood, I believed the same. At one time, the street was lively, with all sorts of shops and ethnic food. Gene Simmons, who grew up nearby, even named his group KISS, after Kissena Boulevard. Now, the neighborhood has deteriorated almost beyond recognition.

Half of the stores on the block are gated and closed — some stores have been empty for five years! Can’t the management company find any tenants? What happened to the bakery, the pharmacy, the seafood store, the stationery store, the women’s clothing store? Surely some business can make a profit here? People are afraid to walk outside at night because everything looks so abandoned. Why has this happened?

Perhaps the answer can be found on the website of the management company, Pelcorp. On the site, they advertise the entire block, not as available individual stores catering to a community, but only as a 240,000 sq. ft. shopping center. There had been rumors that the landlord isn’t renting out the stores because it’s interested in selling the entire block to a big-box entity like Kmart. This might explain why no stores never seem to be rented, despite having “For Rent” signs plastered on the gates of shuttered stores. Is the management company waiting for the opportunity to unload the entire property at once?

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A view of Kissena Boulevard at noon, a far cry from what this busy street used to look like.

The management company has every right to sell the entire complex if they want to, but should they be allowed to thrust the entire neighborhood into a downward spiral? Who wants to live in an area where more than half the stores have been closed for years?

It is pretty sad state of affairs. I remember how The Garden Bakery made the best onion rolls I’ve ever tasted. There was “Sweet Donut,” a little coffee shop/donut store. Dr. Sakow, the friendly optometrist, fitted me with my first pair of dorky eyeglasses in the third grade. All of these stores are now gone, with no replacements.

Even if the management company does want to sell the entire property, shouldn’t they at least be responsible for its upkeep? What about all the garbage and graffiti everywhere? Why should I be embarrassed to show my wife the “old neighborhood?” Why should my mother have to walk past the junk in the parking lot? People still LIVE in the neighborhood.

At one time, the landlord/management company was a local one, headed by a New York builder. He was always seen around the area because he also created middle-income housing across the street. After his passing, his son took over the real estate property, and it didn’t surprise me at all that his management company is based in Palm Beach, Florida! Out of sight, out of mind.

From their website:

Our President, Prescott Lester, is the fourth generation of Builder Developers. He is responsible for building and developing nearly 3,000 residential units in Palm Beach County, Florida. Projects included Lakes of Laguna in West Palm Beach with 2,204 residential units and Cascade Lakes in Boynton Beach having 556 dwelling units.

Mr. Lester’s Greatgrandfather began building in Brooklyn, New York around the turn of the century. He was followed by his son David Minkin who became one of New York City’s Master Builders. Mr. Lester assisted and succeeds his great uncle, David Minkin, in running the family’s building, management and brokerage operations.

Here is a promotional photo of the late David Minkin, Prescott Lester, and former NY Mets (yeah, Queens!) pitching great Tom Seaver, who has apparently sold his New York baby boomer appeal for some hard cash.

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Despite a history of New York building, the fourth generation of builders now “specializes in the marketing and sale of luxury properties in Palm Beach County. This includes waterfront, country club, and other estate properties.”

The Kissena Boulevard holdings, one of their four retail holdings still in New York, must be their least attractive holding, compared to their shiny new malls in Florida. No wonder they seem so disinterested in the upkeep of Kissena Boulevard!

I talked to a few people in my mother’s building and they are very unhappy with the way Kissena Boulevard looks. Some say they would even move away, if they could afford it. The shopping area is pretty disgraceful, and much of the blame must go to the management company. They have played a major role in making the area look like a slum. Of course, since Pelcorp is in Palm Beach, and the executives don’t get to come to Queens very often, I’ve included some photographs of Kissena Boulevard for Prescott Lester and his partners to see.

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The Pharmacy, now closed, the letters falling from the sign

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The Laudromat, closed

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The shoe store, closed

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The graffiti along the “Wholesale Liquidators” wall

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The garbage along the wall, opposite the closed shoe store

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The kosher deli, closed

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The Rainbow Women’s Clothing Store, closed

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The pharmacy, closed, is now a haven for pigeons

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The Bakery, closed for years

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The fish market, closed

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Ugly graffiti and disrepair along the property walls

More Finds in the Closet

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Here is a photo of my parents on a date at the Luau 400, a famous New York Tiki-bar that is long closed.

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The Luau 400 (Polynesian), at 400 E. 57th St., is another example of what we think the South Seas should be like. To enhance the atmosphere, owner Harry Bloomfield has employed all his theatrical skill to present tropical trees, waterfalls, and exotic birds as a background for the sloe-eyed waitresses, ukulele players, etc. A favorite with show people, especially for private parties, and one of the last ports of call for upper East Side theatregoers on the way home.

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brochure photos from Critiki

My mother didn’t really remember much about the evening. Hopefully, it wasn’t as bad as my first date with Sophia.

When I searched for Luau 400, I discovered that there are Tiki bar collectors out there. A Luau 400 “mug” can fetch as much as $170! Unfortunately, my mother didn’t have any tiki mugs in the house.

But all is not lost! Look what I found in the back of my closet!

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I apologize to my mother for saying that she gave all my baseball cards away. I apologize to my cousin for saying that he became a millionaire selling my baseball cards on E-bay. I am RICH. Hank Aaron! Pete Rose! Roberto Clemente! Ha Ha, you suckers have to go back to work after the holidays. I’m ready to rule the world with my millions! (well, actually the most valuable card, the Roberto Clemente (with added crayon-colored uniform), is only worth $45 dollars mint-condition, so I will only rule the world for a few days until I am poor again).

Luck is Getting Three Chopsticks

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Today, on the second day of my New York trip, I felt my luck changing.  Why?  Because we went out for sushi and when I opened my package of wooden chopsticks, there were three individual chopsticks inside.  Now getting three chopsticks seems as useless as three shoelaces in one package, but the waitress said that in her seven years of waitressing, she never saw this happen before, and said it was “for good luck.”

It is important to work hard and take chances, but let’s be honest with ourselves — there’s a lot of luck involved in life.    Sometimes, we just find ourselves in the right place at the right time.  I know there are some of you that think that everything is dependent on some “secret” or that God actually cares if you win the big game, but that’s insulting to the important concept of “LUCK.” 

Getting three chopsticks is pure luck. 

Unlucky is paying fifty bucks to take a romantic buggy ride through Central Park and getting stuck with a driver who spends the whole trip gossiping on her phone with her girlfriend from Brooklyn. 

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Unlucky is getting a modeling job where you have to sit around Rockefeller Center in your underwear… in late December.

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Unlucky is coming to New York to take a photo of your family in front of the “big tree,” not realizing that 1000 other families are also there, blocking your view.

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We had a nice day, so we were lucky.

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