FOR ALL THE TALK about this city’s action and energy — “So much to do!” people say, “The best place in the world!” — I’ve had the feeling, this spring, that there’s really very little going on.
Oh, there is, I suppose, a form of energy that’s traded around, expended as stress, frustration, rage, or, for the more sensitive, used as a shield against these things. But nothing of significance, I find, truly happens here most days. Today, for instance, there is work and rest, and there is dancing and drinking on weekends. There is, twice daily, a walk in the park with the dog, and there is the rush of the subways, the pasta bubbling whitely on the stove. True, there are in between these moments frights and irritations,…