It's interesting what you can learn bicycling in this city: New York drivers are hateful and monstrous and pedestrians are almost as bad. It's interesting what you can learn walking in this city: New York drivers are hateful and monstrous and bicyclists are almost as bad. It's interesting what you can learn driving in this city: New York pedestrians are hateful and monstrous and bicyclists are far, far worse. It's all about perspectives, you see, which this week's letters point out can be vastly different. As Maude upstairs in 3F always says, no two people ever have the same point of view unless they're looking at the world from 6 feet under. Which I will be doing the next time I try to squeeze my bike between a Mister Softee truck and the M104. Let's 'settle' this . . . Dear John: Re: The discussion of "settling," all of my friends that married the love of their life are now divorced. The others who are with someone they have settled for are still together, including myself, for neither my husband nor I were the loves of our lives, but after 10 years we are "happy.
" Perhaps the word "settling" should be redefined. Sandra Weiss, Joe54@1X netcom.
com Thanks, Sandra. And now, to all you romantics out there: Shall we meet at the Brooklyn Bridge for one mass plunge into the East River? . . . once and for all Dear John: In response to G. of Brooklyn (who moaned last week about going for "passion" as opposed to "settling"), I don't have to imagine the pain of losing the one I truly love. I know the pain too well. A few months after leaving my husband, while waiting on a long supermarket line, I began talking to the man behind me. His name was Bobby and we hit it off immediately. The attraction was instantaneous and mutual. After a week of dating, we both admitted it had been love at first sight for each of us. After a month, I moved in with him. That was the start of a fairy-tale romance that lasted almost six years. I never knew that two people could be so perfect for each other, or that I could be that happy. It has been almost two years now since Bobby was killed when a drunk driver ran a light and plowed into his car. I never got to say goodbye. So I do know the pain of losing the one you truly love, but I also know the joy of loving and being loved in return. I believe that there is someone out there I can be as happy with again, and I will not stop believing or settle for less. MaryAnn from Brooklyn P.
S. I've also come to realize that settling isn't fair to the other person. Everyone deserves the happiness and passion of being truly loved. The interesting thing among my friends, MaryAnn, is that some who settled found a strong love grew; others who started out passionately found that while their initial flame may have waned, a deeper feeling took its place. Still others broke up regardless of whether they settled or went for the pinnacle of passion. As Maude says, all roads lead to Rome. But you might end up in Peoria. Get over it Dear John: I would like to send J.
J. of Brooklyn a message (he likes your column a lot): J.
J., what is it about "Get out of my life, I never want to see you again" that you do not understand? I changed my number so that you would quit calling me. Please, no more letters, no more messages, no more gifts and stop harassing my friends and relatives to find out where I am, what I'm doing and what is my new number. Get on with your life. It's over for good this time. No More His "Sweetcups" Okay, J.
J., apparently your Sweetcups runneth over no more. In fact, I'd runneth in the other direction if I were you. Lost & Found Dept. Dear John: We're a couple of old guys trying to find whether any graduates of June 1934 from P.
S. 76 are still living around the metropolitan area. The school, which is no longer there, was located at 68th St. and Lexington Ave. in Manhattan, near the 68th Street Playhouse. It vibrated from the clang of the trolley on Lexington Ave., the Third Ave. el, and the subway running underneath us, and we used to walk down the street to the fire station to watch the firemen train. It was like an Ivy League school, with its mix of kids from silk-stockinged Park Avenue, and those of us from Second Ave., with its pushcarts and working-class residents. It was quite a place. If the old-lady teachers that ran that school caught you chewing gum, they sent you up the river to Sing-Sing. We never had a reunion, and trying to arrange one after all these many years seems a bit late, but it would be interesting to discover whether class members from long ago are well and living somewhere in the area. Robert E. Leddy, Richard J. Muzio Thanks for an evocative letter, boys AND GET RID OF THAT CHEWING GUM THIS INSTANT! Anyone who has information on the whereabouts of P.
S. 76 alumni may contact Mr. Leddy or Mr. Muzio through this column.