From this week's "Diary"

so the first one is a bit over the top, but it's kinda touching in a way, i think.

Dear Diary:

I was coming out of a “Can this marriage be saved?” weekend in early March, when I headed downtown to report for jury duty at Federal District Court. As I walked into a courtroom for my first voir dire with roughly 30 other prospective jurors, I noticed the judge’s name on the door: Leonard Sand.

I remembered him as a legendary guy my then boyfriend, now husband, had covered in his days as an Associated Press reporter, back when he and I drove each other wild in a very different way than we had over the weekend.

Judge Sand looks like a legend: the demeanor of Moses, with a Santa Claus beard cut like that of an Amish farmer.

Courteous and occasionally downright charming, he asked us for basic details, like our occupations and those of our spouses or significant others. One young man replied, happily, “I’m not married — but I will be in three months.”

Judge Sand stopped writing on his legal pad, looked up from beneath his white eyebrows, paused, and with exquisite delivery, said, in a voice resonant with meaning that carried throughout the courtroom:

“Good luck.”

The whole courtroom burst into laughter.

That night, I said to my husband, “Given our current state of marital bliss, you might enjoy this,” and told the story.

He eyed me suspiciously, but I could see cracks in his icy demeanor.

Later that evening, after story time and tucking kids into bed, I punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Hey,” I said. “Good luck.”

The ice broke. Big time.

Thank you, Judge Sand.

And to that optimistic young man: Good luck.

-Kate Rice

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aight, if you're looking for the entry of the week, this is definitely it..

Dear Diary:

After having been in exile for a while, I relished being back in the city. I waited for that serendipitous moment that would prove to me I was back in New York, the place that jumps to a different drummer.

Now, the Roosevelt tram had passed directly over me, I had seen Trisha Brown dancing with robots, I had seen Kathleen Turner and Jon Stewart on the street (not together), but still...not quite there.

The moment came in my local Johnny Rockets diner. I was eating a late breakfast when Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” came through the jukebox. As one, the white-hatted waiters formed a line in the center aisle and danced to the song, to my delight.

I thought that was the moment. But it wasn’t. The real moment came when I looked around the room to share it with my fellow New Yorkers.

No one was paying the slightest attention.

-Paul Peacock