The Pigeons Fly at Dawn

Victor Kerlow

Dear Diary:

As New Yorkers arise from sleep,
a flexing flock of pigeons sweeps
the rooftops of yellow-brick Brooklyn
and circles Bensonhurst by the sea,
their keeper standing by the coop,
eyeing every dip and swoop,
entranced by the white-and-gray whir
of their wings, a salt-and-pepper
semaphore signing the sky at dawn.

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\'The Hobbit\' Holds Lead at Busy Movie Theaters

Bloody violence (“Django Unchained”) and dirty actors singing (“Les Misérables”) both intrigued North American movie audiences over the weekend, but it was a furry-footed holdover that claimed the No. 1 spot: “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey,” distributed by Warner Brothers, took in a robust $32.9 million, for a new three-week domestic total of $222.7 million.

Quentin Tarantino's R-rated “Django Unchained” (the Weinstein Company) was second, selling $30.7 million in tickets, for a total of $64 million since opening on Christmas Day, according to Hollywood.com, which compiles box-office data. “Les Misérables” (Universal) was a close third, taking in an estimated $28 million, for a total of about $67.5 million since opening on Christmas; Universal said that girls and women accounted for 67 percent of the weekend audience for this musical.

The comedy “Parental Guidance” (20th Century Fox ) finished in fourth place, selling about $14.8 million in tickets, for a total of $29.6 million since its Christmas opening. The Tom Cruise thriller “Jack Reacher” (Paramount) was fifth, taking in about $14 million, for a two-week total of $44.7 million.

Several Eras End at One Lower East Side Building

The collapse and demolition in 2006 of the First Roumanian-American Congregation synagogue at 89 Rivington Street - the “cantors' Carnegie Hall” - seemed to have eradicated almost every trace of what was once a large and vibrant Jewish community.

David W. Dunlap/The New York Times In the women's gallery.

But it had not. There is a remarkable vestige of the First Roumanian-American Congregation at 70 Hester Street, between Allen and Orchard Streets. It is the synagogue that the congregation built in 1860 and expanded as its membership grew, before moving to the much larger sanctuary on Rivington Street.

The narrow, two-story space still has a U-shaped women's gallery and a stained-glass window over the wall on which the ark was situated. Two octagonal skylights dimly enhance what little daylight reaches the space through vaguely Moorish arched windows. Gas jets poke out of the walls. Scraps of prayer books still turn up in crevices.

Last used for worship in the 19th century, the space housed a still during Prohibition and a raincoat and shower-curtain factory after World War II. In 1967, the artists Thomas Nozkowski and Joyce Robins moved in. They made their paintings and sculptures there. They raised their son there. And they lived much of their lives there until June, when they were told to get out in 30 days. With the help of a lawyer, they won a stay of eviction until the end of the yea r.

Through Brown Harris Stevens, 70 Hester Street was sold Friday. The asking price was $3,999,999. A spokeswoman for the brokerage did not identify the buyer or divulge the purchase price.

The existing building has roughly 4,000 square feet of space, but zoning rules would permit an 11,288-square-foot structure on the lot, which “makes this desirable for a developer,” the Web listing said. “But for the buyer who wants to renovate and own a piece of significant New York history, this dramatic synagogue is worth the restoration,” the listing continued. Whether the buyer considers it a tear-down or a fixer-upper is a mystery at the moment.

This much is certain: the Nozkowski-Robins association with 70 Hester is ending after 45 years. So is another chapter in the Bohemian era of the Lower East Side. The couple, now 68, met as students at Cooper Union. They were looki ng for a 2,000-square-foot loft for $100 a month. That was once a realistic aspiration.

On the day after their wedding in May 1967, they spied a “For Rent” sign at 70 Hester, owned by Sarah Feifer, an old-fashioned leftist. “The only newspaper she read was The Daily Worker,” Mr. Nozkowski said. Harry Snyder ran a fabric store on the main floor, but the former sanctuary upstairs had been vacant since the factory closed, leaving a floor full of grommets. Yet Ms. Robins, who had grown up in an Orthodox Jewish family, said she discerned something “very genial and obviously special” about the place.

Casimir Nozkowski The sculpture of Joyce Robins filled the upper walls of the loft.

In exchange for a few months of rent-free tenancy, the couple spent about $3,000 and a lot of elbow grease to replace windows, upgrade electricity and add plumbing. (From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.) The space was certified habitable under the city's artist-in-residence program.

Warm, it wasn't. When the couple decided to have a child, they built a small bedroom so there would be one easily heated space in the loft, which had only a potbellied stove in early years. “We spent winter nights with a stolen shopping cart out looking for wood,” Mr. Nozkowski recalled.

Their son, Casimir Nozkowski, now 36, attended Public School 124 on Division Street. You'd think a loft would be an ideal place to bring pals. It was - to a point. “The pro was that there was a lot of floor area,” the younger Mr. Nozkowski allowed. “The con was tha t everything was covered in art; not just on the walls, but mounted on the floor and hanging from the ceiling. You were so easily backing into a ceramic piece of sculpture.”

Casimir Nozkowski is a writer, director and video artist. He is working on a documentary about his family's last days at 70 Hester, remembering how he used to spend evenings enveloped in a couch from which he could watch a television set and, a few feet away, his father painting at his easel. Upstairs, in the women's gallery, his mother would be working on her paintings and sculptures. Music - often soul music - filled the space, which was ablaze in incandescent light.

When Casimir left for college, his parents moved their primary residence to High Falls, N.Y. In 1992, their lease expired at 70 Hester. They have been month-to-month tenants ever since, paying a rent of $1,100. They don't, in other words, expect a violin accompaniment. “We were n't so unrealistic as to think this wouldn't one day happen,” Mr. Nozkowski said. “But it's a shock when it does.”

“I was very conscious of the spiritual qualities of the space,” he said.

His son remembers something else: having a hard time going to sleep on occasion, looking out at Hester Street through three high Moorish arches. “It's a little creepy,” he said. “You're staring at these huge windows that have a vibe like ghosts are passing through.”

The real estate listing said, “Delivered vacant.” One wonders.

David W. Dunlap/The New York Times Casimir Nozkowski, now 36, looked up at the gal lery where his boyhood bedroom had been constructed.

Game Theory: The Year of Antisocial Gaming

It had been a while since any of my friends had spent significant time together online in Call of Duty or Madden or World of Warcraft or any of the big-budget experiences we knew as multiplayer gaming. Things like deadlines, dinner parties and changing diapers were taking up all of our time. But suddenly, here we were, playing and competing with one another just like the old days.

The game was Letterpress, a lovely word game for the iPhone. Imagine if Boggle and Chess birthed a brilliantly gifted child who'd been raised by Steve Jobs. Beautifully simple at first, the game is deviously layered and complex and, even better, is played one-on-one in an asynchronous manner. When one player completes a turn he must wait for the other player to go before it's his turn again. This allows the player to take a turn anywhere, anytime.

Letterpress

Games like this had come and gone. Words With Friends and Draw Something were both national phenomena. But for some reason, neither had grabbed us like Letterpress.

The game took over our lives this year. We made multiple moves an hour, with several games going at once. We played back and forth during any free time we had, rekindling old friendships and rivalries we hadn't exercised since the freeloading days of college.

Then, it all changed with a simple question: “Did you go yet?”

The first time I heard that, it was a friend at work as we passed by each other in the hall. I looked at him, confused at first, unsure of what he was asking. He reiterated, “In Letterpress. Did you go yet?”

“Oh, no. But I will.” I said, surprised to hear about this offline.

“Good,† he responded. “You always take so long to play.”

I take so long to play? Well, guess what, dude, I'm busy. I put in long days at work. I have to buy things from time to time. I eat. I have a family. And I was just told by my own children to put the iPhone down. So, yes, I take my time.

The interchange gnawed at me. This was an entirely new development. Guilt. Anger. Betrayal. All because I wouldn't play this dumb little iPhone game. Looking back, my friend probably did care about what was happening in my life at the time but he was blinded himself. He just wanted to play his turn.

I slowed way down, stopped opening the game. Other things took over my free time. The games began to pile up. Friends started coming out of the woodwork, trying to get me to play my turns. I got texts from some, e-mails from others. One guy even took the time to put a Post-it note on my computer. These people - who I work with and love - were suddenly on my back, all the tim e. I started to actively avoid places I knew I'd see them, turned corners more quickly, closed my door more.

It was in one of these moments, holed up in my office, wondering exactly how many people out there were waiting on me to just take my turn, that I decided to end it all. I pulled out my iPhone, held down the little icon, and deleted Letterpress. I took a deep breath and a wave of relief washed over me. I was out. Free.

At first, no one believed my departure would last. I assured them it was real. They scoffed, told me what I was missing out on, and would try to talk about the game to make me feel guilty. I didn't care. In less than a week, my life was back to normal and my friends went back to being friends.

They say 2012 was the year of the social game. Don't believe them. This was actually the year of the antisocial game and the smartest thing I did was get out.

At least until the next invitation shows up in my inbox in 2013.

Gavin Purc ell is the producer of “Late Night With Jimmy Fallon” and has clearly surpassed Anders Ericsson's 10,000-hours rule when it comes to video games but with little positive effect.