Where the child-free, cell-phone-free jury room at 111 Centre street is not only the location of one woman's civic duty but is also the manifestation of the mother's greatest (legal) fantasy.

Where at "Tunes with Tina," Tina asks a young boy in a Batman costume what his name is and the boy says, "Batman," and Tina asks him what his real name is and he looks at her skeptically and says, "Bruce Wayne," and she smiles and points to the boy's mother who is sitting across from the boy and Tina asks, "Ok, well, what is your mom's name?" and the boy looks at her incredulously and says, "My mom? My mom is dead and so is my dad."

Where the decorative pumpkins on 34th street are still partially covered by yesterday's early snowfall.

Where at the Metropolitan Museum of Art a woman between Modern and Contemporary Art and is almost unbalanced by Kiki Smith's Lillith.

Where after spending an hour at the interactive IBM THINK exhibit at Lincoln Center, a young boy assumes that the elaborately choreographed fountain around the corner is responding to his stomps and points.

Where on 57th and 5th avenue Bill Cunningham is out in his blue jacket taking photos.

Where the old man eating barefoot, the conversation between the racially insensitive head cook and his demeaned underling, the homeless woman sleeping in the corner, the purgatorial lighting, and the very bad kosher food are just a few of the reasons that the 92nd Street Y cafe is saddest place in New York.