Slammed

Many will extol the benefits of spending the summer in the city. They will tell you of all of the wonderful events, many free, how much less crowded things are, and how tickets for events are more easily available since many New Yorkers are away. This is all true. But a long wait on a subway platform or a walk in the blistering heat amid concrete and garbage will quickly reveal why so many are away and you have the "city to yourself."

I was really not very enthused about trekking all the way to 236 East 3rd Street between Avenue B and C in this type of heat and humidity to go to the Nuyorican Poets Cafe, where Urban Word NYC was sponsoring the Regional Teen Poetry Slam. A segment about this event had appeared that Sunday morning on TV. The host, an older white man, was extremely effusive about the poetry of a young person who was part of the event. He read some of his work. I was impressed.

I respect poetry and I have read things I like, but I do not seek it out. This event looked to be some hybrid between rap and poetry, written about issues germane to kids a fraction of my age. But why not give it a try?

It was so hot, with the kind of humidity that makes your skin crawl, and a shower is really just a foolish formality - undone the moment you set foot on the street. Surely it would not be crowded. Who is left in the city on a hot summer's day, and who will venture out to the East Village on Sunday at noon to see poetry?

We were the first and only ones in line, and although the prospect of waiting 30 minutes in the heat was very unappealing, after making the schlepp, my companion and I decided to wait. Soon, kids began to arrive and fraternize on the street - apparently many were known to each other in this subculture. I met the DJ and took his photo. By 1 PM, when the doors opened, the line had increased sizably.

The space itself had been reviewed negatively by some online, so I imagined a seedy basement space with no A/C. After paying a nominal $7 admission, we entered the space itself which was a big surprise - clean, cool and comfortable. We had a choice of tables and were joined by a couple who were New York City High School English teachers. They had attended many poetry slams here before and had even brought their classes. They assured me that I would be very pleasantly amazed. Soon the room became full, and in no time, every table was taken and people were sitting on the floor or standing.

My attitude was already changing.

I thought that after four years of writing this blog that my skills and command of the English language had improved and that I aspired to becoming a wordsmith.

Until Sunday.

The command of the English language, the vocabulary, the insights, the creative writing, the rapidity of delivery, the rhymes, the rhythms, the memorization skills, the passion and theater were all nothing short of astounding. I was awed by these teenage kids.

What really struck me was that, when examined closely, this entire activity was a celebration of the word. The event was sponsored by Urban Word NYC. Linguistic fluency and interest in language and writing is not a common association made regarding inner city youth. This phenomenon is really flying under the radar. It left me slammed...

Note: Technically this event was a slam, and like all poetry slams, that means a competition. Winners will go on to Los Angeles for the national competition. However, it was announced early on that the competitive aspect of the event was not the focus. This was a regional event and teams had come from Connecticut, Boston, Philadelphia and the home team from New York City. Poetry slams are regularly performed in New York City. The leader in this art form has been the Bowery Poetry Club. You can read my posting about it here.

Whet Their Appetites

For two weeks, ending July 5, 2010, 60 pianos will be located in the public parks, plazas and streets in all five boroughs of New York City. All are welcome to play. I visited a number of these and witnessed all manner of players, listeners and playing skills.

Play Me, I’m Yours is an art installation resented by Sing for Hope. The idea was created by British artist Luke Jerram, who has been touring the project globally since 2008 (London is being presented simultaneously with New York).

The comments on forums online vary wildly - some individuals are in love with the idea and its efforts to bring music to the people. Others are infuriated or just highly cynical. Why are they located primarily in affluent areas where they are least needed? What about vandalism? Who will tune them? How will chaining them to a cinder block prevent theft? Why did they allow painting of the keys themselves, which will affect playability? Some see its approval by the Bloomberg administration as posturing to feign support of street artists.

There are certainly worse things to do with people's time and money. In the few instances I watched at various locations, there were a number of highly skilled pianists and children with audiences. Learning to play a musical instrument is a long process requiring substantial time on a consistent basis. I wish these could be permanent installations, indoors and out, installed in all communities, particularly where there is a real need. The availability of these instruments would go a long way to making an impact and fostering musical interest.

For those who can already play, this installation provides for many impromptu performances and summer fun. For those who don't play, perhaps some moments with all that ivory will whet their appetites :)

More about the installation: The 60 pianos will be available to play across New York City from 9am-10pm each day. The pianos are attended by individuals who lock and unlock the keyboards daily. Plastic tarps are on hand for protection from rain. On July 5th, to celebrate the culmination of the Play Me, I’m Yours, the street piano at Lincoln Center’s Damrosch Park will be brought to life by some of New York City’s most talented artists. A map with locations can be found here.

Absolution and Indulgences

There are things that are fundamentally unpleasant, and apart from death, serious physical injury, or absolute calamity, about one of the most unpleasant experiences you can have in New York City is to have your vehicle towed.

As bad as going through any city bureaucracy can be, there is typically some sense of accomplishment, even if it is only renewing a license, obtaining a permit, or having a package shipped via USPS. But the entire premise of the towed vehicle adventure is only to have returned to you what is yours to begin with.

The "tow pound" is located at Pier 76 at West 38th Street & 12th Avenue, along the Hudson River, so the towee has to make a journey to a very inconvenient location. No one is pleased. Not the police, who have been given the particularly ugly job of towing and have to perform this duty for all to watch on the streets of New York City. Nor are the clerks at the tow pound, who often must battle with inflamed vehicle owners, many of whom have some defense which, as they will learn, will never do them any good at all. Not here at the tow pound.

The premise is very simple - pay your fines in full, or you do not get your car. The clerk does not have the ability to negotiate or reduce fines. I have been to the tow pound once to retrieve a vehicle and witnessed every manner of negotiation, all to no avail. Regardless of their culpability, everyone feels wronged.

What is astonishing is the cavalier attitude that visitors have about street parking in New York City, erroneously assuming leniency. But this is a low tolerance situation. The risk is just too high - never leave an auto in New York in an illegal parking spot.

In a twist unfamiliar to me, I recently watched a very puzzling police action. A number of vehicles were towed but only relocated to a neighboring block. The vehicles were parked on a street, legal for that time but superseded by paper "No Parking Sunday" signs tied below street signs for the annual Gay Pride parade. Filming, festivals, events and parades often require the clearing of streets. The NYPD adds paper signs on sign posts indicating the temporary change in parking regulation.

This vehicle relocation policy is relatively unfamiliar to many vehicle owners, particularly visitors, and the Police Department website gives virtually no details.

I have read of one incident where an individual parked legally (at the time he parked) and no special event signs had yet been posted. When he returned to a missing vehicle, he called the police, and no information was available. He was told that if a vehicle was relocated, look in a 5 block radius, and if he could not find it, call them back.

The city has gotten more congested over the years, and unless you really need to have a vehicle in the city, using public transportation and taxis will go a long way to providing a much more relaxed time here, not fraught with the continuing stresses and worry associated with parking. Especially in a city where no absolution is given and no indulgences are sold :)

Quito

At one time, I obsessed over climate and owned a compact little tome published by Pan Am. This travel guide cataloged every country in the world and, most importantly, there were climate tables for every capital city. My mission was simple - to find the place with the "perfect" climate. My search, however, was biased.

At the time, I had also read books by extreme natural foodists who had similar agendas and whose motives were to find paradisaical environments to live off the land and create their own Edens. One writer, Johnny Lovewisdom*, was one of these aspirants, and his quest for the world's best climate led him to the Andes outside Quito, Ecuador.

A quick perusal of my Pan Am guide confirmed that Quito was one of the world's most unique climates, with an average daily high of 71 degrees and average daily low of 41 (other charts measure the average daily high at 65-67 degrees). These temperatures only fluctuate by one to two degrees over twelve months. Quito, at an altitude of 9,186 feet, is the highest legal capital in the world. The city lies within one kilometer of the equator. This unique location in the Andes and along the equator accounts for a climate which can be truly called eternal spring. Moving to Quito became my dream, or more realistically, a fantasy.

Now I dream of Quito for another reason. I live in a very special and unique older building on Washington Square North. However, like many apartments, there is no cross ventilation. Perhaps the date of the building's pre-Civil War construction in 1837 explains why segregation is still practiced in my home and bodies of air inside and outside will not mix. With windows wide open, cold air outside and warm stagnant air inside just coexist across a climactic Mason-Dixon line.

Today in New York City we have a break in the recent heat spell. Temperatures this morning moved from 71 through 77, spanning the averages, means and other ways of measuring the daily high of Ecuador's capital. The typical high temperature in Quito at noon is 77 degrees. As I write this, the current temperature in Central Park is 77 degrees. When I stand at my window's edge, lean out and feel that cool springtime air, for a moment, I'm in Quito ...

*Prior to the existence of the Internet, accurate information on elusive characters like Johnny Lovewisdom was nearly impossible to find. Now, information is readily available - his age, real name and other biographical details. See his Wikipedia entry here to read about a man at the extreme edge of dietary movements.

Related Posts: Miracles in Our Midst, Part 1; Miracles in Our Midst, Part 2.

With Six You Get Egg Roll

It was 1968, and I had been told that our family was going to a drive-in movie and that "with six you get eggroll." We were all very excited, but I was very concerned because our family only numbered five. Anyone could clearly see that. But I trusted that my parents had some strategy - I had never had an eggroll and really wanted to try one.

The drive-in was created by Richard M. Hollingshead, Jr. in Camden, New Jersey in 1933. In its heyday in the 1950s/60s, there were over 3700 drive-ins in the United States. It was the perfect family outing or place to take a date - an outdoor movie viewed from within your own private environment. Sound was provided via a speaker which could be hung on the inside of the auto's window. Concessions were a short walk away.

As my family drove to the entrance of the Drive-In, my heart sank. There it was on the marquis. With Six You Get Eggroll was the title of a film starring Doris Day (I later learned this was her last appearance in a film). No eggrolls for me.

But once I moved to New York City, closure was achieved - I had many an eggroll. But no drive-ins. However, we have the perfect urban equivalent. For some years, films have been aired around New York City in various parks during the summer. The Bryant Park Summer Film Festival screens films on Monday evenings. The event began in the early nineties and is now sponsored by HBO. What better way to enjoy the season than an outdoor film (or concert)? People bring picnics, chairs and/or blankets.

The death of theater has been predicted since the beginning of video and home entertainment systems, yet theater business booms. The numbers of drive-ins has declined dramatically - there are only about 400 nationwide. However, there is an independent revival afoot - groups like mobmov.org and guerilladrivein.org are doing impromptu screenings projected on surfaces like warehouse walls or bridge pillars. One thing missed in many of these fatalistic predictions are social needs. The huge turnouts for outdoor events, soldout theaters and independent revivals demonstrate this need. People enjoy sharing entertainment with other people, not just from the comfort of their homes.

On Friday, June 18, Films on the Green presented the French Film 8 Women in Washington Square Park, shown in today's photo. The cast of eight, with Catherine Deneuve, may appear quite large, but not if With Six You Get Eggroll :)

Note: The Films on the Green series of free screenings is jointly organized by the Cultural Services of the French Embassy and the New York City Department of Parks & Recreation for the third year running.

CYA

I was visiting a New York City doctor once, and I queried him as to why a specialist I had been referred to had ordered a number of tests which seemed unnecessary. He quickly and casually responded, "Probably CYA." Embarrassed that I did not know the meaning of this acronym, which apparently was common knowledge, I was forced to ask what it meant, to which he responded: "Cover Your Ass", i.e. order the obligatory tests to protect oneself from possible malpractice. CYA is practiced by many organizations and professionals, notably in banking and journalism.

Eleventh Avenue is one of the twelve numbered avenues in Manhattan.

The Commissioners' Plan of 1811 established a grid In Manhattan, between 14th and 155th Streets. As part of this plan, sixteen numbered and lettered avenues were created, running north/south, parallel to the Hudson River: First through Twelfth Avenue. Where Manhattan bulges outward in the East Village, avenues A, B, C and D (Alphabet City) were created. On the the Upper East Side, Sutton Place/York Avenue was originally an extension of Avenue A.

Later, two avenues were sandwiched in between originals to the plan: Madison Avenue (between Fifth Avenue and Park Avenue, formerly Fourth Avenue), and Lexington Avenue (between Park Avenue and Third Avenue).

It is unlikely that the visitor to New York City will ever visit Eleventh Avenue, apart from the Meatpacking district, where Eleventh Avenue starts or the Jacob Javits Convention Center.

What's happening on Eleventh? At one time, it was popularly known as "Death Avenue," owing to a section where the West Side Line of the New York Central Railroad ran directly along the avenue.

Today, there are a number of commercial establishments: the CBS Broadcast Center, Comedy Central studios, car washes, but, most notably, the largest concentration of auto dealers in Manhattan. If you are in the market for a Lamborghini, BMW, Jaguar, Mazda, Nissan, Acura, Lexus, Bentley, Rolls-Royce, Spyker, Porsche, or Lotus, this is where to go. There are a couple of architectural gems like the striking Gehry-designed IAC building at 18th and Eleventh - see my story and photos here.

Why, you might ask, would I do a posting on such an innocuous and essentially nondescript thoroughfare which few will visit when there is so much more of inherent interest in Manhattan? Because there are things we must all do and, although this is not Wikipedia, I would be somewhat amiss if I did not do at least one posting in these pages on Eleventh Avenue. Or simply, just a case of CYA :)

Urban Road Warrior

I thought I had seen the extremes in high heel elevations in New York City, but in reading various articles, I came across the "armadillo" stiletto claws designed by British fashion designer Alexander McQueen as part of his Spring 2010 Plato's Atlantis shoe collection. These shoes, which number only twenty-one pairs and range from $3900 to $10,000 were worn by Lady Gaga in her "Bad Romance" video.

The shoes are a staggering 12 inches tall, perhaps the first where height can be measured using an altimeter. Some models refused to wear them, worrying about potential falls.

High heels themselves are mired in controversy. They are responsible for a litany of health concerns: foot pain, deformities, sprains, fractures, degenerative knee joint problems. But their allure remains - heels make a person appear taller, legs longer, the foot smaller, and they make leg muscles and the butt more well defined. They alter the posture for a sexier gait.
Some see other reasons for their popularity:

There are many theories about sartorial behavior as an economic indicator. In dark times, hemlines go down. Lipstick sales go up. And high heels grow ever higher, an attempt to lift our collective spirits by elevating women a few extra inches off the ground. - Amanda Fortini, The New York Times, December 13, 2009.

In New York City, we are walkers and, unlike the suburbs or countryside, the prospect of using shoes which depend on the wearer being transported by auto to and from destinations is largely not realistic.

But lack of comfort for extensive walking is not the only impediment to wearing high heels. New York City is mired in land mines for the woman wearing heels and engaging in the daily slalom of potholes, sidewalk grates, uneven sidewalks and subway stairways. The extraordinarily treacherous pedestrian trails make walking more difficult and the harsh environment guarantees to eventually tear and damage fine shoes. Solution? Simple - wear flats or sneakers on the streets and change to heels at the office or function. Some women tote dress shoes in their bags, others may just keep a pair of heels in the office.

However, arriving at the office in old flats or sneakers does little for a woman dressing for success or allure. Like the woman in today's photo, changing on the streets is one way of keeping the wardrobe intact for the urban road warrior :)

Mermaid Parade 2010

I have attended the annual Coney Island Mermaid Parade for the last four years. It is one of the most enjoyable parades in New York City. This year, the weather was extraordinary and the turnout enormous. Please visit my photo gallery of the event here.

Previous Mermaid Parade posts: Mermaid Parade 2006 P1, Mermaid Parade 2006 P2, Mermaid Parade 2007 Part 1, Mermaid Parade 2007 Part 2, Mermaid Parade 2009

Everything No

On April 4, 2008, I wrote Key Privileges, about Gramercy Park - the city's exclusive private enclave and Manhattan's only private park. Read the story of the park here. That visit was like that of virtually all New York City residents and visitors - from the outside.

Recently, a friend, a regular reader of this website and Gramercy neighborhood resident who lives just off the park, let me know that she was in possession of a rare and highly coveted article - a key to Gramercy Park. The key was loaned to her by a friend who was away for a short time, so time was fleeting and was my window of opportunity. A number of us were invited for the outing, so we decided to meet at an opening at the National Arts Club on Gramercy Park South.

The convenient location on the park and a short immersion into the club's historic structure made it the perfect launching point for our excursion into the park. The National Arts Club, which also abuts the Players Club, is housed in one of New York's finest mansions, both a designated New York Landmark and a National Historic Landmark. The building, located at 15 Gramercy Park South, is worthy of a visit itself.

I made a big ceremonial event about the unveiling of the key and the opening of the park gate. Gramercy Park requires a key both to enter and leave. Once inside, we toured the park, spent some time enjoying the extraordinary bucolic ambiance, and alighted on a number of benches for some friendly chatting. See my gallery of photos here.

All of our group was in agreement, however, that although the park's landscaping and natural beauty was quite exquisite, the park itself, with its list of don'ts, was rather boring. In fact, the park is not heavily used.

The list of rules is quite long (see them here). After reading them on our way out and observing a nearby "Please No Pets" sign, one of our group was prompted to comment, "Everything no." A recent immigrant to the USA, we found her outside perspective and slightly broken English to be a charming, succinct, and not altogether inaccurate characterization of the environment. Smiling, I felt compelled to respond, "Yes, everything no..."

Cast Iron Stomach

I recall my roommate in 1970, telling me that he was moving to a "loft in SoHo." My first question was, of course, "Where is SoHo?", the second was, "What is a loft?" and the last was, "Why?" It may be hard to imagine, but when I first moved to New York City, SoHo was quite undesirable - an industrial backwater with little residential appeal.

Remarkably, I lived in the Village, and SoHo was just a stone's throw away - south of Houston Street - yet I had never been there. A visit quickly revealed an industrial neighborhood with little charm at all. Regarding the term "loft", I was told that this term derived from the large, upper floor "lofty" spaces. And the "why" was simple - cheap rents.

In hindsight, the explanations of why a New York City neighborhood was "discovered" always appear obvious. However, the individual is rare who will recognize this before it is "discovered" - early adopters are often artists who see the merits shining through the demerits, which are typically many.

Becoming a pioneer of an unpopular neighborhood is now much more difficult - everyone is looking for the next place, and news moves with extreme rapidity.

More importantly, all the reasons why a neighborhood looks undesirable and shows little promise are what really prevents most from getting in early. Successful stock investors know this well and have the ability to go against human nature and buy when stocks are going down, much as the pioneer, in spite of popular sentiment, moves to neighborhoods that are downtrodden.

Another huge issue in "buying in on the ground floor" is waiting until an area improves. This could take decades. Worst of all, many areas never fulfill their promise. I have always felt that housing stock was a key element. This is no guarantee either - areas like Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, and Harlem have beautiful row houses, yet have not seen the rapid gentrification that other areas have.

Despite the improvements in these communities, they often continue to be stigmatized by a lingering public perception left from the rougher times of the past.

If you believe you are a person that really can see past a place's obvious detriments, go to Brooklyn and visit the Gowanus Canal. Some tout this as the future Venice of New York City.

Once a tidal inlet of creeks, marshland and meadows, Gowanus Canal was built from Gowanus Creek and completed in 1869. The Gowanus Canal became a hub for Brooklyn's shipping activity to service the factories, warehouses, tanneries, coal yards, machine shops, chemical plants, flour mills, cement factories and manufactured gas refineries lining its shores. Industry thrived in the area, and with it, pollutants.

The area has had an acknowledged problem with industrial pollution for over a century with cleanup discussions going back decades. On March 4, 2010 the EPA announced that it had placed the Gowanus Canal on its Superfund National Priorities List.

Gowanus Canal and the surrounding neighborhood have a much greater impasse and many hurdles to becoming a viable residential enclave, much less a charming Venetian-like waterway. There is little charm in oil tanks or scrap metal yards and improving an area like this is a taller order than cleaning up the cast iron buildings of SoHo or the beautiful brick structures of DUMBO, Brooklyn.

But a bright future could be in store for those with a long vision and, like anyone waiting out the transformation of an industrial neighborhood, a cast iron stomach :)

Explorin' Part 2 - Dead Horse Bay

The name Dead Horse Bay is provocative enough, and the place easily lives up to its name.

A coworker told me about this beach in Brooklyn, along with a requisite piece of information - go during low tide. So, I examined the tide tables for Jamaica Bay, New York City, and timed my trip accordingly. I parked my vehicle at the ranger station at Floyd Bennett Field. A walk across the main thoroughfare and short hike through the beach forest trail opens up to the bay. Surprisingly, none of the rangers had made the hike and were eager to hear my report upon return.

The beach is strewn with a myriad of artifacts - primarily glass bottles, forming a blue-green carpet of glass. Make no mistake, however - Dead Horse Bay is essentially a beach of trash, albeit very interesting trash. There are dishes, toys, parts of sinks, rusted metal devices, and even mating horseshoe crabs - see my gallery of photos here. The history of this bizarre place is always the first question asked. From the New York Times:

Dead Horse Bay sits at the western edge of a marshland once dotted by more than two dozen horse-rendering plants, fish oil factories and garbage incinerators. From the 1850's until the 1930's, the carcasses of dead horses and other animals from New York City streets were used to manufacture glue, fertilizer and other products at the site. The chopped-up, boiled bones were later dumped into the water. The squalid bay, then accessible only by boat, was reviled for the putrid fumes that hung overhead.

Once marshland, the area became slowly filled with trash and the landfill capped. The cap burst in the 1950's, spewing articles from the early 20th century into the surrounding beach water.

After walking the entire beach, I was prepared to leave. However, the fact that I had seen no evidence of dead horses was nagging at me, so I decided to backtrack and question a woman who I had noticed earlier had been combing with the intent of a repeat visitor. Alas, good that I did - Angela pointed out that horse bones were, in fact, everywhere - you just had to know what to look for. Sure enough, once they were pointed out to me and my companion, we saw them everywhere. Angela had found what appeared to be a 32-sided game die and asked if I could take photos for her. You can see it here.

If you visit Dead Horse Bay, remember to wear good shoes/boots to protect you from all the shards of glass and other sharp objects. Oh, and happy explorin' :)

Explorin' Part 1

We learned to travel through the forest canopy ala Tarzan (sans vines) by climbing atop young saplings and swinging side to side, gaining enough movement to grab a neighboring tree and cross over. We crossed swamps, jumping from one tufted outcropping to another. We fell from trees and into swamps too.

We found snakes under hot rocks - we learned that they loved to bask in the heat of the summer sun. We found newts, tadpoles, turtles and salamanders. We marveled at nature's iridescence in the damsel fly. We believed in the dangers of a dragon fly sewing your eyes shut, as well as other myths, not knowing they were myths at all.

My summer days were filled with exploring, from sun up to sundown, until my mother's call brought me back from the wild. More correctly, I should say explorin', because that is precisely what we called it - the lack of a "g" conferring a certain sense of casual authority of the experienced adventurer. "Explorin'" was always the answer to the daily "Whataya want to do?"

Later, I read the wonderful tales of African adventure by Jean Pierre Hallet - Congo Kitabu and Animal Kitabu. Although my native habitat was not Africa and no real treasures were ever found, it mattered not in the least.

We made primitive toys and weapons. With crudely fashioned bows that rarely worked, we stalked the woods like Robin Hood. We made kites that would not fly from salvaged fabric and twigs. A string, stick and small hook was enough to spend a day fishing lost items from below the steps of a basement hatchway. We rolled down hills in reclaimed appliance boxes. There was no particular agenda or mission when explorin' - just the joy of looking. And we loved the woods best of all.

These days, although I have yet to travel to the Amazon or Congo, I find New York City serves as a fine place for any Jungle Lover with a hankerin' for explorin'. There are plenty of woods, beaches, alleys, rivers, lakes, bays, wildlife and backroads.

On Saturday, armed with that childhood spirit of explorin' and on the recommendation of a coworker, I set out to explore a most bizarre place, the result of a strange twist in New York City history. Tomorrow, I will show you what I found on the other side of those dunes in Part 2 of Explorin'...

Eyes on the Signs

As Jerry Seinfeld once pointed out in one of his comedy routines, the beauty of clothing is that adjustments and improvements can always be made. But in the case of nudity, no tweaks are possible. Essentially the naked person is saying, this is the best that I can do.

In the classic episode The Apology, the distinction is made between good naked and bad naked - they were not talking about morality, only aesthetics. And when you get a large group who come from the general population and not the world of modeling or body building, you are sure to get plenty of bad naked. I know there are those that defend all bodies as beautiful, but I think in this case, I side with Seinfeld over artistic idealists.

Appropriate or inappropriate, legal or illegal, good naked or bad naked, public nudity is sure to draw attention, which is just what demonstrators get when "clothing optional" is part of the equation. See more of my photos of this event here.

However, anyone inclined to this type of strategy to make a political point had better realize that what will be remembered is often only the nudity. Lively discussions will occur during and after such a protest, but mostly over the details of how naked any participants were and how various body parts were covered or decorated. In fact, after the members of this ride left Washington Square Park, I showed a number of friends some of the photos I had taken - there was surprise regarding the rider who had painted "Oil is dead" on his back. Apparently the message and numerous signs regarding oil did not make itself clear.

Many observers will likely believe that this ride is just an expression of personal freedom or wild reckless abandon. There is an element of that, of course, once an event like this is under way. It is doubtful a ride like this will be dominated by the shy or prudish. The event does become an exhibitionist theater on wheels. However, the World Naked Bike Ride is an international annual event "to celebrate cycling and the human body. The ride demonstrates the vulnerability of cyclists on the road and is a protest against oil dependency."

The demonstration went smoothly in the park - there was plenty of reveling in the park's fountain. The police were quite tolerant, even though many of the male participants were completely nude and technically breaking the law. One officer was making his compulsory rounds chanting an obligatory "Put your clothes back on." The event is best served if riders keep their eyes on the road and observers keep their eyes on the signs :)

Brighton Beach

New York is a city of contrasts. And contrasts within contrasts. Brighton Beach is a community sharing the Coney Island peninsula with Sea Gate, Coney Island and Manhattan Beach in Brooklyn. See the photo gallery of my recent visit here.

I took a long walk through the neighborhood and met a long-time local resident having a smoke in his front yard. He was quite friendly and informed me how neighborhood changes have been drastic in the last five years and how he anticipates more of the same. According to him, the biggest change and factor in escalation of real estate prices has been a rapid infiltration of Russian organized crime. Small bungalows are purchased, leveled and transformed into large private homes or apartment condominiums. He pointed out developments all around us, sprouting up amidst small homes. This resident was offered $1 million for his small home. Certainly the Russian influence is felt in the shopping areas - many signs are in Cyrillic alone. Many articles have been written on the problem which goes back decades - see a New York Times article here.

Cottages, high rises, condos, luxury homes, gated communities, buildings in disrepair, organized crime, ethnic enclaves, alleys, lanes, weeds, flowers, the boardwalk and the Atlantic Ocean. That's Brighton Beach...

World Domination

There is an episode of the Twilight Zone, The Little People, where astronauts William Fletcher and Peter Craig are marooned on another planet. In exploring the planet, Craig discovers a Lilliputian city with miniature people. Soon, Craig becomes an obsessed lunatic and appoints himself as a god over these people, terrorizing them into submission. At one point, he even forces the populace to build a life-size statue of himself. In an ironic ending, Craig himself becomes a victim when two enormous spacemen visit the planet. One of them picks up the ant-sized Craig, accidentally crushing him to death.

We can easily understand Craig's dark side - what child (or child within the adult) is not fascinated observing people and cars from extreme heights? Can't you just hear them remarking to one another how tiny they are and how they look like toys? As if they could reach down and pick them up.

I recall my first visit to the Empire State Building, where, at the observation deck on the 86th floor, I was able to squeeze my head through the fencing and look straight down, seeing for the first time the toylike world I had only imagined or seen on TV.

There's a touch of megalomania in many of us and viewing the world from atop skyscrapers gives just the vantage point to fantasize our domination over the world below. And what better place to reign than New York City?

Many urban jungle lovers (see my story here and here) relish exploration of the city, following the beaten paths or cutting their own swaths. But from time to time, there comes a desire to see the forest from the treetops. New York City affords a myriad of opportunities to do this via observation decks, bridges, and high rise apartment and office buildings. Today's photo is a rooftop view looking straight down from the 26th floor of a luxury high rise apartment building in Greenwich Village.

I love the culture, arts, architecture and people of the city, but from time to time I want to see the little cars and people below. So, next time you get the chance, take a trip to the top of a New York City skyscraper and join Peter Craig and me in a game of World Domination :)

Train of Thought

New Yorkers can become obsessed in the minutiae of this city. Where and why else would you find a nine-page article on the typeface used in subway: "The (Mostly) True Story of Helvetica and the New York City Subway" (see story here)? The use of Helvetica is now the official typeface for the New York Subway system, but only recently. In 1966, the subway's design group, Unimark International, headed by Milanese graphic designer Massimo Vignelli, originally chose Standard (aka Akzidenz Grotesk) as the official typeface. Helvetica later crept into the system for technical reasons.

To any curious individual riding a New York City subway, it does not take much time at all before they will begin to wonder about the letter and number designations for the numerous lines. Are they all used? Which are, which are not and why?

As one might expect, many have gone into great depth of study over these questions. However, I was shocked to learn that every letter and number in use in the NYC subway system has its own individual Wikipedia page. A separate page discusses unused New York City subway service labels. Currently, 17 letters of the alphabet are being used and nine letters are not in use: H I K O P T U X Y.

How technical or nerdy do you want to be? By making a distinction that some of the unused letters do appear on the flipdots/rollsigns of the R32/R38 subway cars or the side signs of the R44/R46 cars (they may not be officially used, but could be displayed and may occasionally be by accident)?

Recently on a trip back from Brooklyn, in a fortuitous moment, I saw the F and G trains pass by (albeit in reverse alphabetical sequence). So I have begun to wonder, what is the longest string of trains one could see in alphabetical sequence without riding?

The West 4th Street station services the A, B, C, D, E, and F. One could, with a fair amount of stair sprinting, see and photograph all six trains in letter sequence. Or try to ride all the New York City trains in letter and/or number sequence. A noble mission for Sesame Street, perhaps, but my ride on this train of thought ends with the F and G :)

Lowriders and High Riders

When friends of mine once returned from the Southwest, I was astounded to first learn about Lowriders - vehicles outfitted, some with all manner of hydraulics, to be lowered as much as possible. There are High Riders too. But why would anyone go through all the work to do such things?

There are many profound mysteries yet to be solved, but on Sunday, my questions were rather mundane. Why were these particular men together? Were they all widowers? What were they chatting about - women, the sorry state of the world, how things used to be better, or how the mores of youth have declined? Why was there one rebel who wore shorts and sported khaki instead of pants and the requisite gray and white?

Other mysteries abound, particularly, why do so many old men wear their pants so high? Online forums give a myriad of intriguing and plausible reasons with no consensus. The best answer seems to be that the men shrink in old age but continue to wear the same size pants, necessitating that they hike them up to fit. Others cite osteoporosis and the decline of hips, increasing waistlines and diminishing buttocks. Of course, these men may rightly retort, why are so many wearing their pants absurdly low? Is there something more inherently fashionable about Lowriders than High Riders?

Amidst all the glam and glitter, the presence of many ordinary things can be easily overlooked in New York City, such as poverty and the aged. Examining the demographics of New York City in the census report reveals how atypical the city population is from the country at large in many respects. In race and ethnicity, 44% of New York City is white (75% in the USA), 27% black (12% US), 10% Asian (3.6% US) and 27% Hispanic (12% US).

Other statistics, however, show little variation from the United States population - particularly age. About 12% of both New York City (and the United States) is over 65 years of age. That's a lot of older people - about one million people.

Many New Yorkers, like myself, have never had a desire to live in Florida. One can never be sure of how the future will unfold and desires might change, but I also do not aspire to retiring in Miami Beach. Fortunately, if I want to see retired old men congregating near the ocean, I only need to make a trip to the Brighton Beach boardwalk. And if there comes a day when I want to wear my pants real low or I have to hike my pants up, I know I can do it right here :)

Yellow By Design

Yellow, along with red, is typically a color used to draw attention. The high visibility properties are utilized in warning signs, highway construction vehicles, school buses, and the New York City taxicab.

However, once outside the world of safety, caution and signage, bright yellow is not so often seen. Among automobiles, it is one of the least popular colors and is sure to draw attention.

While strolling on the boardwalk in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, the amazing assemblage of yellow in today's photo just jumped out - a diner with a bright yellow Polo shirt, a near perfect match with the solid bright yellow table covering, a yellow cloth in the bread basket, a bright yellow sign color, and a muted yellow apartment building in the rear.

The color yellow's use for taxis has a bit of a muddied history. It is frequently attributed to John Hertz - founder of Chicago's Yellow Cab Co. in 1915. Hertz reputedly chose yellow on the basis of a University of Chicago survey, which found the color highest in visibility. This may have been the case, however, yellow cabs were already in use in the United States and attributed to Albert Rockwell.

I was astonished to learn today that Albert Rockwell, founder and General Manager of the New Departure Manufacturing Co. of Bristol, Connecticut, was also a director and major stockholder of Yellow Taxicab Company, incorporated in 1912 by Bristol Engineering, a subsidiary of New Departure. I grew up in Bristol and had many relatives who worked for New Departure - a major employer in the town. Had I lived in the early 1900s, perhaps I too could have staked my claim for the choice of color of the New York City taxicab and become a contributor in the world of yellow by design :)

Related Colorful Postings: Coleur du Jour, That's Quite a Briefcase, Who See the Red?, A Colorful Life, Building Gone Wild, White By Design, Tale of Two Colors, A Colorful Life, Color Brigade, Eye Candy, White By Design 2.

Asbestos Sticks

I have seen this sign innumerable times, as have millions of New Yorkers, while traveling on the F Train from Brooklyn. I am usually lost in thought, transfixed by the vista of the skeletal structure superimposed over the Manhattan skyline.

There is much more story behind this sign, however, than one might expect. Kentile Floors was founded in 1898 by Arthur Kennedy, with factories in Queens and Long Island before they built this plant on 2nd Avenue and 9th Street along the Gowanus Canal in Brooklyn. At one time, the 8-story sign was illuminated in neon. From the Municipal Arts Society of New York website:

In the post war period, Kentile’s business boomed as Americans expanded into newly-constructed suburban homes. Ads from the 1950s in national magazines such as Popular Science and Life marketed Kentile flooring to the American suburban housewife and encouraged them to save money by installing their own flooring. In these ads, typical housewives, like “Mrs. Richard Lansing” and “Mrs. William A. Loock, Jr.,” demonstrate how they easily installed Kentile flooring with the help of only the instruction booklet.

The Kentile factory in Gowanus employed over 400 people at its peak in the 1960s. However, many of the company’s floor tiles included asbestos, and this led to the company’s eventual demise. Kentile originally celebrated its vinyl asbestos tiles, bragging that they “won’t scuff” and were “greaseproof” and “a dream to clean.” Growing research on the carcinogenic dangers of asbestos resulted in Kentile phasing out the use of the material by 1986, but this did not stop asbestos lawsuits from financially ruining the company. Kentile filed for bankruptcy in 1992 and ceased all business operations a few years later. Today, the Kentile building is occupied by several different manufacturing businesses, and the sign remains a beloved part of Brooklyn’s industrial heritage.

New York City's industrial past has not been immune to the type of problems that have plagued many companies in the United States. Asbestos has not been kind to many a company's finances or its workers' health. New York is often seen as a place where big money and slick lawyers can get someone or a corporate entity out of anything. But whether it is fibers in lungs or lawsuits from the injured, asbestos sticks...

Related Post: Unkindest Etch of All

Old Can Be Good Too

I used to have a client who would call regularly and ask excitedly, "What's new? What's hot?" It was irritating - what's wrong with the same old thing if it is good? I certainly produce new products, but as a manufacturer, just maintaining the quality of a product line is a full time job. Often I am dealing with the one last supplier in the United States of a part or raw material - when they are gone, my hand will be forced to buy an import, often of inferior quality. Admittedly, with the rate of technological change, it is questionable whether one even wants a product which will last.

Imagine guiding friends or family through New York City and nothing is familiar. Every retailer or restaurant is new, soon to be replaced by something newer. When asked about one of these merchants, you have to respond that you are not actually sure who they are and you have never been inside. But no worry, because they will be replaced soon by something newer.

I am not a luddite at all - I love new technology and am certainly not averse to the new and improved. However, by and large, humans are creatures of habit, and the man or woman is rare who does not at least find some comfort from time to time in the old and reliable.

Certainly not every merchant of high quality and integrity is a legacy business. Many of the businesses I have sought out and featured in my writings are newer - places like Cones or the Doughnut Plant come to mind. I have also found a handful of older mainstays, part of New York City's disappearing act. We are in a climate where many legendary brands have degraded over time and are selling on name alone. New or old is never a guarantee of quality, in New York City or elsewhere.

Everything said, I can not promise that a visit to the Broome Street Bar will be everything you want - much of your experience depends on your expectations. But, when you are lucky enough to find a legacy business that still has a decent reputation and pleasant ambiance, it is comforting to know that sometimes, old can be good too :)

About the bar: Bob & Kenn's Broome Street Bar has been a SoHo fixture since 1972, when opened by brothers Bob and Kenn Reisdorff. The bar/restaurant is located in the heart of SoHo at the corner of Broome Street and West Broadway in a historic 1825 building. See more photos here.

The space has a checkered past - a house of prostitution in the 1940s, and a previous owner who murdered a customer having an affair with his girlfriend and, in turn, was murdered by the victim's brother. Read about the bar's history here.

The Feeling Passes

"Whenever I feel like exercise, I lie down until the feeling passes." ~ Robert M. Hutchins

I feel similarly about moving out of the city. I have entertained the notion as often as the couch potato thinks of all the benefits of exercise but somehow hopes to achieve results without exercise. I hope to have the benefits of a home in the country or suburbs (a big unattached home, yard, parking, basement, lots of storage, washer, dryer...), but without giving up any of the things the city has to offer.

My quest for utopia has known no bounds. Fantasy haunts my travels - I have entertained living in every beautiful travel destination - the hilltop villages of France and Italy, the coast of Maine, the mountain towns of Colorado, the towns of New Mexico and Arizona, the isles of the Caribbean, Key West, Cape Cod, Martha's Vineyard, Nantucket, Vermont, the Connecticut countryside, Eugene, Oregon, and nearly everywhere in California.

Closer to home, I have toyed with areas like Manhattan Beach, the hills of Staten Island, and other enclaves in the outer boroughs of New York City. Of course many of these areas have had a much stronger allure than others.

I have discovered a new fantasy home - Forest Hills Gardens. This Queens neighborhood, founded in 1909, consists of about 800 homes, townhouses, and apartment buildings, mostly in Tudor, Brick Tudor or Georgian style. I recently made my first voyage there. See my photo gallery here.

Forest Hills Gardens is one of America's oldest planned communities and the leading example of the Garden City movement, an urban planning concept founded in 1898 in the UK by Sir Ebenezer Howard, popular at the time in England and Germany. Garden cities were intended to be planned, self-contained communities surrounded by greenbelts, containing carefully balanced areas of residences, industry, and agriculture. How could I have missed this actual experiment in utopian urban design, sitting right in my own backyard?

The neighborhood's parklike setting was commissioned by the Russell Sage Foundation and designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr., son of noted landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted, who designed Central Park.

The community's central square abuts the Forest Hills railroad station. A theme of towers, half-timbered Tudors, brickwork, red-tile roofs, large chimneys and off-white stucco walls is found throughout the 142-acre neighborhood. Exterior changes must be approved by a property owners' association.

I was very impressed with this extraordinary place. No worry that it is a late discovery - it is also one of the most exclusive and expensive areas in New York City.

I have been very fortunate to live in Greenwich Village for most of my adult life. This is also an extraordinary neighborhood with many historic buildings and a bucolic charm. And I have learned the remedy for the obsessed, unrelenting fantasy mover. Whenever I feel like moving, I lie down until the feeling passes :)

All of These Pleasures

In the film The Producers, which is set in New York City, Leo Bloom (Gene Wilder), an innocent accountant, is lured by Max Bialystock (Zero Mostel) into a fraudulent money making scheme. In one scene, Max tempts Leo atop the Empire State Building, enumerating all the wonderful things money can buy in New York City which is laid out before them, whispering over his shoulder, "All of these pleasures can be yours."

And for most, one of these pleasures will be a decent home.

Conversations in New York City are dominated by apartments and jobs. The cost of an apartment, rental or purchase, is the most difficult financial hurdle to living in this city, particularly for new transplants.

You will hear and read that prices are up or on occasion down slightly. Then up. Average prices, median prices. This year over last. This quarter over same quarter last year, etc. etc.

Let me simplify. No matter what you read or hear, prices are still high. Very high. Even if prices plunged, they would still be very high. In spite of the economic malaise, apartments in New York City are fetching big numbers. Prices of Manhattan apartments have risen in 2010 over the same period in 2009 - the average one bedroom is now $1.3 million dollars, typically with a maintenance of over $1000 per month.

For that money, you get one privilege and only one - to live in New York City in a habitable place. However, views like those in the photos are far from typical and for that you will pay a premium. Prices in high rises typically increase as move up to higher floors with better views.

The vista in the photo is looking north from the rooftop of the Brevoort East at University Place and 9th Street in the Village. Friends who live in the building (and have virtually an identical view on a lower floor) gave me roof access recently. Atop the roof looking out at the spectacular view in the brisk clear night time air, I could feel Max Bialystock at my shoulder whispering: If you have the money, all of these pleasures can be yours :)