Drinks With NYPD Blue

Last week, I met up with 37-year-old Long Island native Rich, a member of Match.com and the NYPD.

Over drinks at Merchant’s on NYC’s Upper East Side, Rich filled me in about his legendary barbecuing talents and what led him to life on the beat.

Merchant’s: Rich and I enjoyed drinks at this UES bar/restaurant/cigar lounge hybrid

After a stint in the military and a semester of studying public health at the graduate level -- with a detour in Russia to learn the language -- Rich went to the police academy, eventually finding himself working one of the city’s toughest sections, the South Bronx.

I couldn’t resist asking Rich to give me the 411 on what being part of NY’s Finest is really like. He happily dispelled some myths and clarified others.

Of the multi-talented, charismatic cops on shows like CSI who also happen to be forensic experts, Rich told me -- they don’t exist. Detectives don’t typically do double duty, while forensic guys tend to be nerdy science geeks.

As for donuts hitting the NYPD blue’s sweet spot, that’s true. But only, Rich explained, because they’re easy to find and quick to consume, the latter being especially important when suddenly dispatched to a crime scene mid-bite.

Rich has been shot at, chased drug dealers and faced down hostile crowds. But, he said modestly, it’s all in a day’s work -- and most days involve a lot of waiting around.

After humoring me in my interrogation, Rich showed equal interest in my day job, and in checking out the new Yankee Stadium together on a second date. Our evening ended with him walking me home and giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek.

A cute cop who likes the Bronx Bombers and loves to cook. Take me out to the ballgame!

Opening The Vault: Part Two

One of the benefits of revisiting your past is that it makes you appreciate just how far you’ve come. As I comb through the archives of journals spanning more than 25 years, I can’t help feeling grateful for the learning curve that comes from weathering life’s many trials and tribulations.

Admittedly, my learning curve has been, ahem, flat at times when it comes to affairs of the heart, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve never been happier being single, so I must be doing something right.

I think the last time I enjoyed singlehood this much was during my junior year in London. That eventful time brought with it a diverse menu of romantic distractions. On the October night when I was hit by a truck, I was very fortunate to have one of those distractions step up to the plate.

I now open the vault once again to Halloween night 1993….

Sunday, October 31st
Commonwealth (Commie) Hall, London

Dear Diary,

“Oh my God!” I heard someone scream as Eduardo caught me in his arms and carried me into Uncle Alf’s building.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I said, trying to reassure myself as much as Eduardo, but tears rolled down my face anyway.

Although I told Eduardo he didn’t have to carry me, I was glad he didn’t put me down until we were inside. I could feel my entire body weakened from the shock.

Eduardo, Gaby and Camilla urged me to go to the hospital but I knew that I didn’t need to. Still, I sobbed for a moment, overwhelmed at how close I’d just come to losing my life.

Though I managed to walk away with only a headache and grazed knees, Uncle Alf insisted we go to his doctor so I could get checked out. The doctor covered my wounds with bandages and gave me a tetanus shot. I felt better now that I had doctor-certified proof I was okay.

* * *

Later, back at Commie Hall, I went down to the bar to find Eduardo and Gaby. Gaby seemed much more concerned about how I was than Eduardo, but that could be just because Gaby is nicer to me, generally speaking, than Eduardo is. Eduardo made me feel like I was intruding and I didn’t appreciate that. I thanked him for the ride and made my exit.

I decided to knock on Fabian’s door but there was no answer. Back in my room, I tried to think of what I could do to lift my spirits. I didn’t feel like reading or watching TV. I wanted my mother and father or Fabian, period.

I ended up chatting with my next door neighbor and good friend Lionel about the accident. Suddenly, there was a knock on Lionel’s door and I was euphorically surprised that it was Fabian. I told him I’d stopped by his room earlier and he said he didn’t want to interrupt. I got up to leave. Maybe it was rude to exit Lionel’s room so quickly, but I needed Fabian more than anything else. He came through for me – more so than I ever could have imagined.

* * *

Indeed, Fabian was full of surprises…including an encounter on this side of the pond that caught the attention of a local NYPD officer.

Coming up…A review of The Boss at Giants Stadium and following your bliss to a new career path.