New York Daily Photo

Love to Lug

2012-01-31T13:18:00.000-05:00

Do not believe for a moment that New Yorkers do not envy many things about living in the suburbs or countryside. We extol the benefits and wonders of the city ad nauseum, however, the conveniences of suburban living are many, and and it is no wonder that outsiders wonder how and why we put up with city life. And if you want to live here, you had better want to walk and love to lug.

There is the lugging of laundry. Very few have washer/dryers in their apartments. In larger buildings, there are typically laundry rooms in a common area. In smaller buildings, laundry must be carried to the nearest laundromat - sometimes blocks away.

Owning a car is a luxury few can afford. Street parking is a nightmare, garage parking an extravagance - $400 per month and up. This means shopping for everything is typically done on foot and requires lugging things home. Public transportation is superb, however, the distances from subway and bus stops to final destination will always require walking, often significant. The subway system is virtually free of elevators; only the occasional escalator relieves the tedium of up and down staircases to reach the bowels of the train system.

Many smaller buildings, particularly townhouses and tenements, have no elevators, so walking several flights of stairs daily is the norm for millions of New Yorkers. Shopping in the city for those of us living in walkup apartments will add insult to injury - we will be required to walk the streets and walk up flights of stairs while lugging laundry or other necessities of life. However, all the required walking is a forced exercise for city inhabitants, and so what may seem burdensome and tiresome really has health benefits.

Large chain retailers also have their own difficulty of acquiring adequate space. The challenges and costs are huge, and these large retailers are late comers in the New York City retail landscape. Many of these huge stores occupy architecturally beautiful spaces, almost of necessity since these are the only types of buildings with enough open space to accommodate their needs - places like Home Depot, Trader Joe's, Kmart, Costco, and Best Buy. Some take creative approaches, like EMS, who acquired a number of contiguous spaces across adjoining buildings. Others, like Hollister or Apple, stage a coup by acquiring an entire building, permitting spectacular interior design.

For most hardcore New Yorkers, all these things are minor inconveniences for living in the world's greatest city for those who want to walk and love to lug :)

Related Posts: Unforgiving, Ye Who Enter Here, I Know

Not Really

2012-01-30T12:49:00.001-05:00

The one big thing you need to know about cement or concrete is that YOU GOT TO KEEP IT MOVING. My father knew this better than anyone; for most of his adult life, he worked for a construction company that specialized in concrete. All too often, a newbie driver with the company would break down on the road and not realize that his number one priority was to keep that cement drum moving. Invariably he would return a cement truck with a drum full of hardened concrete. This would require either a entire replacement of the drum or a very laborious removal process - chipping the material out with a jack hammer. I did this for a summer job - one of the most unpleasant tasks I have ever known.

I endured an extreme stoicism growing up, driven by my parents' hard times, lean circumstances, and real need, not by an effort to impress. My father had ZERO tolerance for complaining about any hardship, and I witnessed a few severe accidents with no expression of pain. He owned a rifle at 10 years old and was taken out of school at 12 to work full time as a wood cutter in subzero temperatures. There were accidents, misfortune, and real adversity to face. Later in life, many anecdotes would be exchanged - small tales of extreme bravado.

My family had a custom home built in the mid-1960s. For a family with such austere and impoverished roots, this was a tremendous source of pride. After completion, my father decided that a couple of concrete walkways around the house would be a nice touch and an opportunity to use his knowledge of concrete.

With all the preparations done, it was time to actually pour the concrete. He had been able to borrow a small portable mixer like that in today's photo. The mixer was chain-driven, and at one point one of his fingers got caught in the drive, tearing off his knuckle. However, the concrete was wet and needed to be kept moving, and an accident was not to deter him. He looked at me and only said four words: "Get me a rag," with no cry or any visible sign of discomfort, only frustration that his job was now made more difficult.

My father instilled in me a great respect for power tools, and to me, one of the most frightening is the table saw. A colleague who built a post and beam home in Maine told me that most of the members of the crew who built his home had a finger or part missing. A supplier of wood parts to whom I once recounted these tales concurred, telling me that sadly, these accidents are generally just a function of time. A very large number of those who work in heavy wood manufacturing industries inevitably have a serious accident resulting in the loss of a finger.

My father had a basement shopped equipped with a table saw. He was extraordinarily careful and methodical with its use, but time caught up with him. On one occasion, he cut the tip of one finger off. He came up from the basement stairs with his hand wrapped in a bloodied shirt and stood silently before my mother. Surmising the seriousness of the accident, she asked in shock and horror, "Are you alright?" To which he answered, with classic New England stoicism, "Not really..."

Related Posts: The Book With the Hole In It (Part 1 and Part 2), Pure Chocolate, Men of Steel, Never Cut a Board, Men Making Noise, Work

Meetings With Remarkable Women, Part 2

2012-01-27T12:06:00.003-05:00

Happy Birthday, Rigel! (see Part 1 here)

Meet Rigel Sarjoo, a biology major at NYU.

When I first met Rigel, she told me that she had always felt that she was born in the wrong time and wished she had lived through the sixties. When I asked if she had seen the film Woodstock, she answered, "Many times." I quickly learned that her knowledge of music from that period was virtually encyclopedic.

So, she was drawn, like I was, to Washington Square Park, with its roots in Bohemia and street music. She spent countless hours there, because she felt as I do - that although NYU has much to teach, there is another institution of higher learning: the sidewalk university of New York City.

But there are many accomplished, talented, and inquisitive young people, and to hear what I have so far written does not explain why she has captured the hearts of so many. Many who have not met Rigel wonder, why all the fanfare over a student?

I once attended a workshop with a very experienced performer from San Francisco. A lifetime on the streets taught him the keys to success, and to him, the number one most important thing that a performer must have is what he called the L-factor, i.e. the likability factor. He went on to explain - if an audience likes you, they are always on your side and want you to succeed, regardless of how you actually do. This is the secret to Rigel's popularity. She is, of course, genuine, intelligent, thoughtful, reliable, interesting, and passionate - none of these things are to be dismissed. But above all, she is fundamentally LIKABLE. She is a girl impossible to dislike.

Rigel is very humble - I learned she had graduated as valedictorian of her high school class. This took an online search to uncover, where I also learned of her many academic and musical achievements. When I told her of my findings, she dismissed graduating first in her class as just lots of work and luck. Is it more luck that within two months as an NYU freshman, she was promoted to sophomore?

Most find Rigel's attraction to older people puzzling and even disturbing. I never did. What's to understand? Rigel values the depth and breadth of knowledge and life experience of older people. She told me she is often asked why she had almost no friends her age. She explains that she has no interest in the types of things most of her roommates or peers occupy their free time with - clubs, bars, parties, and drugs. I agreed that ultimately these are vacuous pursuits. Typically, a criticism of these types of activities falls on deaf ears with young people, but not to a girl with perfect pitch (something else I learned about her musical talents).

Rigel always listened attentively to me to learn what my life experience had taught me after living in New York City for over four decades. I was encouraged to have deeper conversations with her on many topics. We played guitar together. She sometimes accompanied me on photo excursions for my website. I interviewed her for the upcoming film documentary on the musicians of Washington Square Park.

She shared my enthusiasm for life itself and my desire, much like Thoreau, to live life to its fullest and experience it with no holds barred. Our friendship deepened as she became privy to virtually everything I knew and everything I liked. She became a loyal reader of New York Daily Photo (as did her 11-year-old brother, Aaron), which flattered me greatly, since my writing is not only my biggest passion but also a distillation of virtually every thought, preference, feeling, idea, anecdote, and experience I have ever had. It is a place where I bare my soul for all to see - a window into my heart and mind.

In the summer of 2011, Rigel needed a summer job. I was concerned employing a friend but decided to hire her, initially to work on New York Daily Photo. She had never worked a real job before and was terrified to disappoint me, convinced that she would fail and be fired. On her first day, as I went over the work details, her mind froze. She told me that she understood nothing I had said - explanations of HTML coding, managing images, use of Photoshop, posting of stories, FTP for uploading files, etc. Admittedly I threw an absurd amount of information her way, but I had the suspicion that she would rise to the occasion.

She did. Within a few days, she was doing everything I had asked, and I began to add duties. In time, she was editing videos in Final Cut Pro and filming them as well. I now just throw her tasks, often researching website design, marketing ideas, and software. She continues to work for me part-time and edits my blog daily between classes.

Rigel has fully embraced the culture of New York City like no student I have ever met. She has befriended a number of musicians in Washington Square Park and now performs regularly with a local band as guitarist and vocalist. She also is involved in the NYU Women's Choir.

Today is a special day for Rigel, a rite of passage. It is her birthday. Technically, she is no longer a teenager, as she turns from 19 to 20. In the last 1 1/2 years, she has grown demonstrably, as we who know her best have seen this girl pass into adulthood before our eyes. But to those of us who stood by her side, as parent with child, she will always be Our Little Girl. Happy 20th Birthday, Rigel!

Related Posts: Myra's Isle, When Brian Met Sally, Just Like Old Times, Park Night

Meetings With Remarkable Women, Part 1

2012-01-26T12:45:00.003-05:00

Our Little Girl

I once asked a number of friends who is more irritating - a person who thinks he/she is always right and usually is, or a person who thinks he/she is always right and frequently is not? Answer: Find a new friend. Someone who is talented, smart, and NICE. Someone who puts on no airs whatsoever, like Dave, whom I wrote about on July 28, 2010. Or the subject of today's story.

On September 25, 2010, I met a girl in Washington Square Park. She, like many of us, was captivated by the music jams that dot the park on a Saturday night. She brandished a harmonica - a welcome but not-so-common instrument. I learned that she was an NYU student. This was unusual - although students utilize the park as their de facto campus and a few do occasionally observe the music and cultural happenings there, they rarely participate and interact with park habitues.
This is very understandable, as the mix of regulars is as broad a group as imaginable, with many dicey characters - excons and drug addicts are well-blended in any grouping.

Her unbridled enthusiasm knew no bounds, and in spite of the large age gap between us, we had many common interests. We became friends quickly and socialized regularly, typically meeting in the park. Our conversations never got old. We listened to and played music together. I introduced her to all the park regulars and friends whom I had made over the years. Soon, a number of us took her under our wing, warning her of the dangers and creeps, keeping a watchful eye out for what was essentially an innocent teenager who quickly and willingly became our little girl.

She took an immediate interest in this blog, which became an important connection between us. We discussed stories, both past and future, and she accompanied me on photo excursions. She became my biggest supporter, eventually to work on the website with me. Her memory of my stories is frightening - virtually photographic.

However, for most outsiders, her large fan base is very puzzling: Why would 65 adults turn up for a party for a college student? Why would an 18-19-year-old girl be a household name around Washington Square Park? What the hell is so special about a 19-year-old NYU student? And the biggest question EVERYONE asks: why would she practically shun her peers and befriend so many people more than three times her age? The answers are quite simple. In Part 2, you will learn the answers and meet this Remarkable Woman :)

Related Posts: Myra's Isle, When Brian Met Sally, Just Like Old Times, Park Night

It's Time to Start

2012-01-25T14:49:00.003-05:00

It was late night in Key West, and I was strolling along Duval Street, the main thoroughfare. Here, like in New York City, bars close at 4 AM. However, unlike New York City, selling alcohol and drinking is allowed on the streets. Kiosks dot Duval Street, where blended drinks can be had, made right on the spot. Late-night revelers spill into the streets from the bars, many of them infamous like Sloppy Joe's.

However, I do not drink, so my attention was drawn to other kiosks, particularly ones selling snorkeling day trips to the Great Florida Reef - the world's 3rd largest and only barrier reef in the continental United States. The reef extends 170 miles and is located a few miles offshore, just a short trip away from the chain of island keys themselves.

This wonderment is very alien to a New Yorker, and visiting the reef seemed like one of the best things to do in the Florida Keys - exploring the marine environment. Price competition was cutthroat for excursions to the reef - good news for the consumer. My companion and I chose and reserved space on a spanking clean catamaran for only $27. The fee included round trip fare to the reef, snorkeling equipment rental, instruction on the use of the equipment, and an unlimited open bar (alcohol only on the return trip).

And so we arrived to the dock the next day and boarded ship for what was one of the most memorable explorations of the natural world I have ever known. We were given our snorkeling and safety equipment, provided a lesson, arrived at our destination, and moored near the reef for several hours. We jumped into the clean, clear aquamarine ocean - a virtual aquarium brimming with sealife of every description.

On the return trip, the bar was open for alcoholic drinks, and I was not pleased with two of our travel companions - young guys, frat boy types. It was early afternoon, and they appeared to already be poised for the business of serious drinking. It is one of my personal irritants - people who feel that alcohol is a NECESSARY condition for fun and that parties, outings, and socializing without alcohol is boring, as are people who do not share their love.
It was only 4:30 PM, and the dialogue went something like this:

Boy 1: I'm going to the bar. Do you want anything?
Boy 2: What time is it?
Boy 1: 4:30.
Boy 2: Sure. It's time to start.

Time to start drinking, that is. Those are the words that ring in my head to this day, often when I see excessive drinking or bars. I see a guy on a catamaran making a smug, confident statement that the serious and necessary business of getting drunk was a job to be done without question and that apparently, 4:30 PM was the beginning of the work shift, when responsible workers know that It's Time To Start :)

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Foolish World of the Fiscally Frivolous

2012-01-24T12:13:00.001-05:00

There is nothing more irritating for some men than the occasion when they feel the need to buy their girlfriends flowers. This obligatory event may be a minuscule effort yet looms larger than anything conceivable. And then there is the terror of Valentine's Day, where a last-minute purchase in New York City is tantamount to lunacy.

Adding insult to injury is the perception of wastefulness - buying something whimsically that is decorative and perishable is antithetical to the nature of the practical man. Flowers are a waning asset, so why invest?

However, having established that everything should not always be reduced to the Very Practical and that whether wasteful or not, there is reason on occasion to the cry, Let's Have a Parade, the prudent man sees the merit of the flower, the message it will send, and the profound effect it will have on his better half.

Ironically, the very nature of a gift of flowers being fiscally frivolous is one of the keys to their appeal. Symbols of life and beauty, flowers make a woman feel special and beautiful, particularly when done spontaneously and not for any special occasion.

In New York City, flowers can feel out of character in a world of steel and concrete that is fast-paced and where utility often rules. After all, the streets of New York do not evoke images of the Monet's Gardens at Giverny, Boboli Gardens of Florence, or the gardens of Versailles. However, not to be outdone, New York City does have its own spectacular displays and like many good things here, they just have to be sought out. The Brooklyn Botanic Garden (see here and here) and the Conservatory Garden are worthwhile visits for anyone who favors nature's floral extravagance. There are numerous other smaller and lesser known gardens, such as St. Lukes, which, for those in the know, provide respite from the city.

There are also numerous flower shops throughout the city. University Floral Design, a Village landmark and neighborhood icon, is family owned and operated since 1928 with daily delivery of fresh Dutch flowers. It's not that long a walk or that big an effort to go through the doors of a flower shop like that at 51 University Place and enter a world guaranteed to soften even those who see it as the Foolish World of the Fiscally Frivolous :)

Related Posts: Joe Plourde, La Vie En Rose

A Remarkable Couple, Part 2

2012-01-23T13:49:00.001-05:00

Bitter Greens (see Part 1 here)

One of our party had fallen a little ill and had been moved into the bedroom. So, when it came time to read my tribute, the entire party moved into the bedroom. The warmth and intimacy had a huge impact on the party goers; we were now sharing the couple's inner sanctum - their own bedroom - and to use Hellen's words, the event became a love fest.

I was decidedly preaching to the choir. Regardless of Harvey's eccentricities or habits, this unusual man was surrounded by friends - people who understood him, accepted him, and loved him for who he was. Hellen, of course, was a no-brainer, as she could easily win the Miss Congeniality award. So here is what I wrote and read aloud to our group of friends on the 4th wedding anniversary of Hellen and Harvey on 11/11/11:

BITTER GREENS

This party is not only a celebration of Hellen and Harvey's 4-year anniversary. It is also a celebration of friendships and the value they are in our lives. What is a life if not shared?

When I first met Hellen after knowing Harvey for some time, I was perplexed how a woman so kind and gentle could tolerate what appeared to me to be the wild man of Borneo. In a very short time, I nicknamed her Saint Helen, which appeared to flatter her and please her greatly. Harvey even adopted the phrase and did on occasion use it among friends.

I explained to her my reason for the title - that any woman that could tolerate Harvey was certainly a saint. In fact, her ability to be with him clearly qualified as a step towards canonization. In the years I have known Hellen, I have never heard her curse, raise her voice, or see her angry. Remarkable and a model for those who aspire to sainthood.

Hellen is one of the most giving people I have met. Many times in the last 4 years, I have called their home distraught. She always asked if I wanted to come over and always added, "We're here for you." Hellen is loved by all who meet her.

Harvey, on the other hand, is an acquired taste. Years ago, I had an employee who was a recluse and very difficult, yet we shared many views and interests. We often engaged in deep conversations, sometimes leading to debates. On one instance, I used the phrase "acquired taste." She was militant in her opinion that such a thing did not exist, telling me that acquired taste to her was synonymous with shoving something down one's throat. She averred that she knew all her likes and dislikes from an early age. I found that absurd and extremely narrow. We argued, and I cited bitter greens as an example of what is an acquired taste for most people. I argued that something can be truly disliked and, in time, come to be appreciated and even loved. That tastes can EVOLVE AND CHANGE. Some of the best things in life come to be appreciated over time. She was not persuaded, and I finally let it drop.

But I hold steadfast to my belief and my life experience has given me ample evidence. Proof sits here beside me: Harvey Osgood. It is no secret that Harvey is not well liked by some, even shunned. Particularly by individuals who are like those who purport to dislike bitter greens but have not tasted them. But here is what I have learned.

Along with Hellen, Harvey is one of the greatest supporters and champions of friends and friends' interests and work that I have ever met. Harvey is very generous in spirit - anyone who would loan Avi Colon $1000 is either certifiably insane or the most generous person alive. And Harvey is brilliant. Beyond his academic achievements in the sciences and engineering, he has the most extraordinary facility to see, understand, interpret, and articulate the nuances of human psychology and interpersonal relationships that I have ever known. He invariably offers unique and provocative insights. I have often told him that he should have become a psychiatrist.

When I was first a vegetarian, I virtually lived on salads. I became bored with a diet of ordinary greens, so I experimented with every ingredient I could find, even bitter greens like chicory, radicchio, and endive. I grew to love them. To those bored with the ordinary and mediocre, I suggest they acquaint themselves with Harvey Osgood and sample a more exotic diet. Soon, you will learn to love him as I have, much as one learns to love bitter greens.

I have admired Hellen and Harvey's mantra regarding transparency and openness. Only they would be comfortable with the brutally honest words I have written. I would never write or read such a thing to anyone else on an anniversary, much less title this Bitter Greens. However, I know they understand such words come from a place of deeply rooted love and understanding.

But I preach to the choir - the close friends of Harvey and Hellen gathered here all know that what I speak of is true. Congratulations, Hellen and Harvey, on your 4th anniversary. Know that you are an extraordinary example to us all of what a couple joined together can be. You have shown us that an atheist and a Christian can love and lie peaceably together with mutual respect.

Related Posts: Related Posts: Ice Cream Sandwiches, Myra's Isle, War Against Disservice (Part 1 and Part 2), When Brian Met Sally

A Remarkable Couple, Part 1

2012-01-20T13:07:00.003-05:00

To say that Hellen and Harvey Osgood are an unconventional couple is an understatement. Here, we have an officer of the New York City Atheists (Harvey) married to a devout Christian (Hellen). Both are native New Yorkers - Harvey is Jewish, born in Brooklyn, and Hellen is Danish and Jamaican, born in Manhattan. Harvey has a master's degree in engineering and worked for decades for the MTA. Both gifted from childhood, Harvey attended the highly regarded Stuyvesant High School while Hellen was accepted to Bronx Science (she chose not to not attend). Hellen's educational background is multifaceted, at one time training as a nurse. She is currently a project manager at the MTA, where she met Harvey.

Although their achievements are many, I am not writing this to feature bullet points on a curriculum vitae. Hellen and Harvey are remarkable as human beings. There are many things that come to mind regarding the couple, but for anyone who has been married or in a committed relationship, one of the most incredible thing that stands out in the marriage between Hellen and Harvey is that they don't fight. Harvey told me that one of the first things Hellen asked him when they met was about his approach to conflict resolution. Anyone who has had relationship and/or marriage experience can easily understand why Harvey was so impressed with this first question.

Harvey has the mind of an engineer and is very analytical. Although trained in the hard sciences, he is also a master of understanding the dynamics of interpersonal relationships. He has formulated many unique philosophies and views, such as his concept of the necessary trinity of elements which good relationships are built on: love, trust, and mutual respect. His personal philosophies are typically deep and nuanced.

Hellen is one of the most generous people I have ever known. She is non-confrontational, yet intolerant of nonsense. They share a love of being together and meet each other's needs extremely well. Personal time and space apart is not something which they desire. At any given moment, Harvey can tell you precisely how many weeks and days they have been together, which he is frequently apt to do.

They recently celebrated their 4-year wedding anniversary. I pondered what I might give the well-heeled couple. I decided to write a toast, which I read aloud at their anniversary party. On Monday, I will publish the text of the offering here, along with a video of my reading. Then you will meet Hellen and Harvey and learn why I entitled my toast not Sweet Dreams, but Bitter Greens...

Related Posts: Ice Cream Sandwiches, Myra's Isle, War Against Disservice (Part 1 and Part 2), When Brian Met Sally

Good That's Olde Too

2012-01-19T16:44:00.002-05:00

At one time, modern high-rise buildings were marketed as "luxury." The apartments were sterile and devoid of character, with the most boring cookie-cutter layouts imaginable. They sported only the basic modcons, nothing luxurious at all. In New York City, luxury really just meant the absence of squalor. Not roach- or rat-infested, not a tenement, not a railroad flat, not dilapidated, not in a ghetto. In short, luxury was about what a place was NOT.

As I have written in numerous stories, in New York, like anywhere else, old or new is not necessarily better or worse. However, there are many wonderful features in old homes and apartment buildings, things now rarely seen. In New York City prewar apartments, higher ceilings, larger room sizes, and more generous floor plans all hearken back to a time when the human experience was valued above maximizing usable space. By today's standards, the common elements of prewar construction, if seen in modern construction, are now considered to be luxury.

Love of the old abounds here, with good reason. There are many neighborhoods where one will find a historic uniformity: row houses in Park Slope, Brooklyn Heights, Carroll Gardens, Greenwich Village, et. al. The aesthetic charm in these areas where there are blocks of antique homes is what makes the areas so well-known and highly coveted. The architectural charm and bucolic nature of the tree lined streets makes these neighborhoods some of the finest living experiences in the five boroughs.

But new can be great too. A family member just completed a McMansion custom home. The home took 38 months to complete, and I was privy to seeing it go up step by step and in detail what went into its construction. The owner, like myself, is involved in manufacturing and was very particular about every element. The quality of construction, appliances, and materials I see in that house is unsurpassed, new or old.

And everything WORKS. The modern heating, plumbing, and electrical systems far exceed the typically primitive systems seen in old construction. Where is the quality in age-old single pane glass windows with poor insulation and leaks? My landlord recently replaced my French windows after decades. The new windows with low-e glass, etc. are air tight and a joy compared to the old construction. I have lived with steam heat in New York City for over 40 years and can say nothing good about it other than it supplies heat.

Recently, I passed a truck on 6th Avenue with a sign: Olde Good Things. The company has a number of retail locations and a warehouse. I don't know if the business name is an acknowledgement that there are olde bad things too.

In homes and furnishings, there is a romance with the old. But when someone says they love old houses, old places, and old furniture, good is implied. Good is what ultimately counts, and if you're predisposed to days gone by and lucky, you can find Good That's Olde Too :)

Related Posts: Old New York Part 2, Old New York Part 1

Watch Out For Moose, Part 2

2012-01-18T13:13:00.008-05:00

The Hazards of Oil

(see Part 1 here)

Hear this story as a podcast:

There is something about fried food that is so good, isn't there? But with health concerns being what they are, like many, I keep my consumption of fried foods to a minimum. However, one evening while vacationing in Maine and eating dinner at Kokadjo, I was feeling that life was truly good and decided to throw caution to the wind. I had not only pizza but also French fries, onion rings, and fried sea food. For those not accustomed to so much fried food at one meal, the impact can be severe. And so it was.

There are perils at night in a big city like New York, but one of them is not moose. In Maine, however, watch out for moose is the friendly admonition almost always heard as one departs from a group of friends in the evening or night. Moose are big (some males weighing as much as 1500 pounds), and they sometimes travel in groups, often along the roadside. They are very dangerous, with hundreds of accidents every year in Maine with the collision of vehicles and moose, some resulting in death.

I left Kokadjo, heading back to my inn, and after just a short time on the road, I began to experience severe intestinal rumblings. Mother Nature was not calling but screaming. So here I was, the better part of 18 miles from my destination, it was pitch black, moose were everywhere, and I was developing the most severe case of diarrhea the world has ever known.

This was now a WAR of mind over body. My fellow companions were repeatedly telling me to pull over and do my business roadside. But that would be lunacy - this bodily evacuation would be a monumental mess for sure, and the prospect of squatting in the dark in the woods of Maine, surrounded by moose, and with diarrhea and no paper or running water was just unfathomable to me. And so I pressed on in the dark, driving much too fast and trying to avoid hitting moose as large as my car and killing myself and my family. At one point, I had a near collision with an entire group of moose crossing the road.

We have all experienced something either boring or painful where time seems interminable. But please believe me when I tell you that NOTHING felt as long as the time needed to drive those many miles back to our inn.

When I finally arrived at Blair Hill Inn, I drove into the parking area with my car careening and tires screeching. I recall neither turning off the car lights nor closing the car door. I ran for the bathroom. When I say ran, I mean sprinting like a man in a horror film with the most unimaginable terror close behind him. Now, with my goal in sight, the urgency seemed all the greater while I battled the final throws of my intestinal nightmare. Up a flight of stairs, down hallways, and into my room. Doors were thrown open and left open behind me. Nothing mattered except that bathroom, where a toilet seat now was THE most joyous sight I had ever seen.

I made the seat with no more than a nanosecond to spare and had one of the most explosive of movements in my life. From that moment forward, I would always remember how to really spell relief.
So, when I am inclined to overeat fried food, it is so easy to reign in the appetite. I just think about the hazards of oil: too many fried foods at a place called Kokadjo, 18 miles of sheer intestinal torture driving through the woods of Maine in the blackest night, and what it means to me when told Watch Out for Moose :)

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Watch Out For Moose, Part 1

2012-01-17T11:58:00.002-05:00

The Joys of Oil

Recently, I paid a visit to introduce a friend to the wonderful fries at Pommes Frites in the East Village, which I wrote about on August 7, 2006. On this recent trip, I made a brief video of the process:

While there, I was reminded of my visit to Kokadjo in Maine. On April 7, 2010, I told of the waste of food in New York City restaurants and my experience of how food leftovers were handled at Kokadjo. However, there was a much bigger story about fried food that I left out and that tomorrow will be told in Part 2.

Warning: Part 2 will not be the most appetizing story ever told. For those with a delicate stomach, perhaps it is best to avoid, like fried food itself. For those who don't mind a rather indelicate tale of bodily functions, see you tomorrow :)

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The Damned

2012-01-16T14:44:00.001-05:00

There is an entire group of people in New York City who never eat at home, i.e., they eat out every meal, less perhaps a quick snack or light breakfast. This city, better than anywhere in the United States, easily enables such a lifestyle with its staggering array of choices in restaurants, both in number and type. And for a very large number of New Yorkers, particularly living in Manhattan, restaurants are literally steps from their home. Being able to walk within a neighborhood such as the Village, for example, with its plethora of eating establishments, is one of the great joys and perks of being a resident of New York. For many visitors, restaurants are the number one reason to be here.

However, these establishments have to be staffed, and we are talking about a lot of staffing. For most, there are a number of driving forces in being a waiter: a large number of establishments to choose from with lots of job openings, potentially higher pay than many unskilled jobs, ready cash, and in many establishments, little or no experience is required, particularly in places with high turnover due to poor business.

On the other hand, there are many fine restaurants where the standards are high, the wait staff is very professional, and the jobs are coveted. But the equation is not always a simple one: expensive does not always equal great service, inexpensive does not always equal poorer service, and often, for any number of reasons, one can find a neighborhood spot where there is a very experienced veteran of the restaurant business - someone with a great memory and is fast, attentive and astute. Eric at Olive Tree Cafe is one of these individuals.

One of my great frustrations is that one can often find great service in the least expensive of restaurants, such as diners, while being virtually ignored in a very expensive, highly-rated place. I imagine that the uneven nature of service, even where prices would dictate otherwise, is universal and offers an opportunity - the quest of most who dine out often - to find great food and service without spending a king's ransom.

Zio Toto in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, is what would be considered moderately priced in NYC. On my first visit recently, my companion and I were served by someone older who immediately conveyed authority and experience. Nothing was forgotten and everything was done right the first time. We immediately felt secure and confident that we were in good hands.

I have frequently had to get up and get napkins and cutlery from other tables or snag condiments from a waiter's station. Nothing is worse than having to do a waiter's job, particularly since it is typically frowned upon. The choice becomes do-it-yourself and get caught and be punished, or wait for every little thing - damned if you do and damned if you don't. Here, at Zio Toto, we could relax while the waiter did what waiters do and not worry that we may become the damned :)

Note: Zio Toto is located at 8407 3rd Ave (between 84th St & 85th St) in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. The cuisine is southern Italian with a large selection of brick oven pizza as well as pastas, antipasto, salads, paninis, and a wide range of meat and fish entrees.

Related Posts: Sundey, La Cote Basque, War Against Disservice Part 1, Take It, Poor Winnie Part 2, Poor Winnie Part 1

Lover's Lane

2012-01-13T13:09:00.002-05:00

East New York, Brooklyn, is one of the worst neighborhoods in the five boroughs of New York City. It is unlikely that you have ever visited or will ever visit. You won't find it in your not-for-tourists or secret New York guides. But, perhaps you are like me and don't trust what people tell you without corroboration. This is what garnered me respect with Mark Birnbaum (see here and here), when I asked him if he would be kind enough to show me documentation for his claims.

So when I tell you that you will not be visiting East New York, I would not be offended if you check cool guides and websites to New York City. If you locate much at all, you may find yourself looking at things like this quote from Forgotten-NY, a website which prides itself on the obscure and lesser-known:

But there are some parts of the city where I’ve trafficked very little. For example, this was my third time ever in Brownsville and its neighbor East New York on bike or foot.

If you peruse the AIA guide to New York City, you're only going to find about two pages. A church is listed, as well as a number of housing projects, a hospital, a health care center, and a mental hygiene center. Other sites include East Brooklyn Industrial Park and the remnants of the elevated train.

I toured the area recently with an old friend who, unbeknownst to me, grew up in East New York. He is Jewish, and East New York was the first home of his working-class family. Click the photo for a video tour of our excursion. My friend circulated, pointing his former residences. It was a trip down memory lane.

The wildest looking thoroughfare was Van Sinderen Avenue, which flanked the old elevated train line. My friend told me that this deserted, desolate, weed-ridden road was a lover's lane in his youth (see top photo).

East New York is not a great place to visit, and you probably wouldn't want to live there. However, having grown up there, like being from the South Bronx, is about the best street cred a New Yorker or former New Yorker is going to get. And for them, there are good memories - old haunts like a weed-ridden Lover's Lane :)

Related Post: Juxtaposition

Previous adventures with my friend Greg: None of Us Go, Signs Were All Around Us, You Always Find Something, Up in Smoke, Randazzo's, Wild Ride, Hunt's Point, Arthur Avenue, Greasy Spoon

Extreme Snoozing, Part 2

2012-01-12T16:34:00.005-05:00

(see Part 1 here)

Meet Evan, Last of the Beat Generation. He has been writing since he was a child and recently was the featured guest at a poetry reading at Barnes and Noble Books in the Village, which is where I took this photo. You can see Evan reading his work in my video.

From an early age, Evan's peers applauded his writing talents. By age 15, Evan was taking a serious interest in poetry, writing and reading voraciously at the New York Public Library at 42nd Street and Fifth Avenue.

Evan was born in Manhattan in 1949. His father was a well-known vaudevillian. His family wintered in the Lower East Side and summered in Coney Island - in bungalows and at the Crystal Hotel, of which he has very strong memories. It was this early experience that still draws him to the beaches of Brooklyn, which he finds to be such special places. He moved to Brighton Beach in 1979 and has lived there since. Evan not only loves walks on the boardwalk but is also a winter ocean swimmer and was involved with the now-defunct Iceberg Athletic Club.

Evan and his peers read their work at the recent event at Barnes and Noble. Being the featured guest, Evan read three times. Poetry is not the biggest draw, and although the reading was well-attended, it appeared that most of the audience were writers and knew each other. In the case of poetry, preaching to the choir comes highly recommended, lest we induce Extreme Snoozing :)

Related Posts: Street Poet, Bohemian Flavor of the Day, Bowery Poetry Club

Extreme Snoozing

2012-01-11T10:50:00.006-05:00

I have met a very small number of people in my life who are so relaxing to be around that their character is a soothing balm and to be with them is like basking in the warm sun. There is typically a tone of voice that is part of the overall soothing quality. Their character is so striking and disarmingly easy that one just wants to be in their presence. I can easily bring up the names and faces of the few in my lifetime who I have found to be this way, such as Su Jung, whom I wrote about in Friends (see Part 1 and Part 2). Do you know such people?

One of them is Evan, the last of the beat generation. Evan is a native New Yorker, born and bred in the streets of Manhattan and the beaches of Brooklyn. The real thing. He loves the ocean year round and still lives in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. I spent a lot of time with Evan in the late 1970s. My home in the city was an open forum, like many of the New York City sitcoms such as Friends or Seinfeld, where there is an endless stream of friends who travel in and out of apartments without a need for invitation. Homes where loneliness appears to be unknown.

On one occasion, I was with Evan and a number of others in my apartment in the Village that I shared with my girlfriend. At one point in the evening, a group decision was made to go out. Evan and I declined the invitation, preferring to sit in my home and chat, as we were inclined to do.

As the evening went on, I became more and more relaxed, as was usually the case with Evan. Our friends returned and, unbeknownst to us, we had both fallen sound asleep, sitting opposite one another in our chairs. It should have been embarrassing, indicative of boredom with one another. But in reality, it was just the application of the soothing balm that Evan wields, much like the hypnotist who easily casts a spell, one so strong as to be able to put someone to sleep.

But Evan is more than a sleeping companion. He is a colorful character and has been involved in a pursuit that, for some, has a similar effect as his signature balm. In Part 2, you will meet Evan and see what he and his peers are so passionate about, but what, for others, is just another way to induce Extreme Snoozing :)

Intelligent Design

2012-01-10T13:38:00.001-05:00

Creationists often use one of the three classic arguments for the existence of God: that of Intelligent Design, going back centuries. In the 13th century, Thomas Aquinas argued that natural things act to achieve the best result, and as they cannot do this without intelligence, an intelligent being must exist. William Paley in 1802 used the watchmaker analogy to argue that complexity and adaptation in nature demonstrated God's benevolent and perfect design for the good of humans.

When I look out onto a vista like the one in today's photos, I am reminded of the watchmaker analogy. New Yorkers may not be godlike, but certainly such things that lie before me must be evidence of an application of industriousness and ambitiousness, not to mention our own brand of intelligent design. And seriousness. Many say that it is important to have a sense of humor and the ability to laugh at oneself, even disparaging seriousness as a veil. We have quotes such as:

Seriousness is the only refuge of the shallow. Oscar Wilde

Seriousness is stupidity sent to college. P. J. O'Rourke

There is truth to the concept that levity, humor, and not taking oneself too seriously at times is important. However, as a New Yorker, I prefer:

It is not so important to be serious as it is to be serious about the important things. The monkey wears an expression of seriousness which would do credit to any college student, but the monkey is serious because he itches. Robert M. Hutchins

In France, although a sense of humor exists, it is very important that a person is considered sérieux in the right way about the right things. The exact meaning includes an element of sincerity. New York City is not an easy place. People come and go, passing through the revolving door in the house of shattered dreams. In reality, it is brutal here, and a life of levity is not going to get you through that door.

When someone champions a sense of humor above all else and makes a point that someone is too serious, I question what might be achieved with such a lassez-faire attitude. Good or great things cannot be left to happenstance. Look at that New York City skyscape and all the great things this city offers, not just its architecture but also the culture and people those structures house. To survive and flourish like this city has, at least in this case, someone was sérieux and there had to be some Intelligent Design :)

Related Posts: 'Tis a Sight to Behold, I Know, New York Rockies, Where Sleeping Giants Lie, No Sir, All of These Pleasures, World Domination, Contrast, Etched in Stone, Towers

I'll Take the Beret

2012-01-09T13:00:00.004-05:00

I was in Gizzi's when a friend whispered to me that a short distance away was a classic throwback image: a woman wearing a bright red beret, sitting in a cafe. A bit pressured to catch her on camera, I learned only minutes later that she was one of the musical performers, affording me the opportunity for a more composed shot, appropriately with a framed photo of James Dean behind her.

One of the iconic elements of the Beat generation's dress was the beret. New York City was deeply entwined with the Beats, for a time the home of the man who invented the phrase itself: Jack Kerouac. The origins of the the Beats can be traced to Columbia University with the meeting of Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Lucien Carr, Hal Chase, and others.

The beret is derived from the Greek pilos and is most associated with France, where it was first mass-produced in the 19th century. It has been popular with the nobility of Europe, the military, and artists, non-conformists, poets, hipsters, beatniks, bohemians, military activists (the Black Panthers and Che Guevara), and even New York City's vigilante group, the Guardian Angels.

I did buy a beret once, but it never seem to sit right, feeling rather awkward and needing to be perched askew to be worn properly. At various points in my life, I have indulged in the wearing of one hat or another. Typically these forays were tied into some new kick for very short periods of time, as I was always concerned about any coolness or identity being too wrapped up in the wearing of a particular hat. It's a lot of image to live up to, and my biggest fear was taking my hat off and revealing the real, unadorned me.

I always wondered what it would be like to wake up to someone who sports an outrageous, spiked Mohawk. Much like the Wicked Witch of the West, I imagine the coolness factor is severely damped by the harsh effects of water and shampoo. Berets were before my time, but as an obligatory uniform element of the rebel, between the convenience of the beret of the Beats over long hair of the sixties, I guess I'll take the beret :)

Note: The performer was Rosie Yadid of the duo Ghengisonogram. View their Youtube channel here.

Related Posts: Birds of a Feather Tied Together, Hair, The Women, Yippies, Twelve Tribes Arrive

Less of an Ass

2012-01-06T13:40:00.006-05:00

In New York City, kind words stand out, as do gentle souls, genteel manners, and thoughtfulness. Some people exude one or more such qualities, and for a New Yorker, these people are show stoppers. Often this is a cultural trait, whether owing to another region of the United States or perhaps another country. This was what made meeting someone like Su Jung from Korea, featured in my story Friends (see Part 1 and Part 2), or Jamie Adkins in Kind Words, totally disarming. The impact was large enough to inspire an entire story based largely around each of their extraordinary characters.

On New Year's Eve, I attended a large party given by close friends who have been involved in a number of other parties, including the one featured in Myra's Isle. As time passed and I ruminated on the midnight hour, I played with the idea of preparing a toast for our collective New Year's Eve group. It occurred to me that it might be fun to ask people what their New Year's resolutions might be, write them down, and read them aloud at midnight, perhaps even singling one out as my favorite. I squared away my idea with our party host and was given immediate approval.

I made the rounds, chatting and collecting resolutions from those who had made them. My list grew, and I looked at how to best present them and perhaps choose a "winner." Until I spoke to Mark Mahoney. His resolution was essentially four words, and after hearing them, I was so taken that I crumpled my list and decided that I would only present Mark's resolution. They were not the words I expected from a New Yorker, and I knew that they would be met with tremendous approval, which they were.

Mark Mahoney is one of those gentle souls, quiet and unassuming, always with a smile. He is a good guitarist; I video recorded his version of the classic blues song Key to the Highway. I love his casual, easy style. Mark's father is also a musician, a pianist who can be found Sunday evenings at the Limerick House on West 23rd Street.

A few minutes before midnight, I called together our revelers in preparation for a toast. Behind me on a large TV was Times Square with the teaming masses ready for the iconic ball drop. I began with a brief story about renowned science fiction writer Isaac Asimov, whom I had seen interviewed on television many years ago. He was asked what he would like his epitaph to read. I recall my mind racing to guess what a man of his stature as a writer might answer. I was quite stunned by his answer: that he would like to be remembered as a "really nice guy."

When I asked Mark Mahoney for his New Year's resolution, I was reminded of the Asimov interview and how Mark's response was essentially a variant on Asimov's, just a little more self-deprecating. I was a very happy messenger as I heard everyone heartily applaud Mark's resolution for 2012: to be a little "Less of an Ass" :)

Related Posts: Jungle Lovers, Devil Ups the Ante, New Year's Day

Europe?

2012-01-05T11:54:00.003-05:00

I have not been to many book signings, but one which I did attend was that of Terry Miller for Greenwich Village and How it Got That Way, published in 1990. I do love the Village, but like many New Yorkers, I do find that it can, at times, be a love-hate relationship. When I met Terry for the signing, I complained to him about things I disliked about the Village. He dismissed it immediately, saying, "Where are you going to go? Europe?" He was right. I had found no urban enclave in the United States that had the ambiance and charm of the West Village in New York City.

And so it is. For old-world charm, sophistication, artistry, and elegance, Americans often look to Europe. We style, decorate, design, distribute, manufacture, and name things, foods, and places using words and phrases that hearken back to countries such as France, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Denmark, and Britain. The influences of Spain also permeate our culture, not just in language, food, and transplanted citizens but also in motifs and naming.
The property at 11 Cornelia Street reflects this Spanish influence. Built in 1850, the facade was resurfaced in 1928. From Christopher Gray's Streetscapes:

Stoops started coming off brownstones in the 1890s, when a few adventurous souls took a sledgehammer to them and other aspects of the facades. According to “The Row House Reborn,” the architect Frederick Sterner was the first to remake an entire group of brownstones, beginning in 1908 on East 19th Street between Irving Place and Third Avenue.

Others followed his lead, and Greenwich Village, with its emerging bohemianism and stock of older, decaying houses, became a center of reimagined quaintness, typically with pastel stucco fronts, studio-type windows and tile roofs.

Vincent Pepe, an Italian-born real estate entrepreneur, began to be active in Greenwich Village real estate around 1900, and was soon the Village’s most enthusiastic promoter.

Another of these lively facades went up in 1928 on an old tenement at 11 Cornelia Street. The architect, James H. Galloway, ignored the upper floors but refaced the lower section with yellow stucco and tile decoration. The stucco facade is dotted with low relief molds of galleons, Venetian gondolas, parrots and other images.

Terry Miller was right. If you want to be immersed in the charm of the old world, look to the West Village. Otherwise, where are you going to go? Europe?

Discover the charm of the West Village: I Doubt It, Friends Part 2, Friends Part 1, Diamonds and Rust, Zena, Conflict, Itsy Bitsy, Our Lady of Pompei, Abingdon Square, Paris in New York, 121 Charles, 17 Grove Street, Grove Court, Cherry Lane Theater, Jane Jacobs

Ice Cream Sandwiches

2012-01-04T11:51:00.002-05:00

I clearly remember the day a classmate sat across from me in the lunchroom with only ice cream sandwiches and milk for lunch. How envious I was. Wow. Just ice cream sandwiches for lunch, washed down with a small milk.

A full lunch at the time was 30 cents. Apparently, there was no law that said someone had to buy lunch and could not buy a number of ice cream sandwiches instead. However, such a thought never even occurred to us, much less doing it. Please note the plural on sandwiches, because, I believe at the time, they were five cents each. Which likely means that he had five plus the milk.

He sat and ate slowly, deliberately, and proudly for all to see. He was cool and calm, committing what he knew for us was unthinkable, a crime to us. This small act of defiance was huge to me at the time. Who would defy their parents and purchase only dessert for lunch? The fear of parental crucifixion would prevent me or anyone I knew from doing such a thing. This transgression pales by today's standards, where we have guns in schools and sex runs rampant. I was in the last class to have a dress code. But it was the late 1960s, and when your parents gave you 30 cents for a proper lunch, that is what you had, not desserts.

It would take adulthood to indulge in such an act without penalty. However, now I had a new hurdle - guilt. Prudence and good health precluded such an act, now to be seen as just foolish. Not to mention feeling rather ill from eating too much dessert.

Recently, I went to Knickerbockers with friends for an anniversary drink. They did not forewarn me that they would also indulge in an extraordinary dynamic duo, reminiscent of the high school episode. Knickerbockers offers truffle bleu cheese fries ($9.75) and Chocolate Soufflé for Two (made to order), both of which they ordered along with drinks.

They ate not with defiance or concern but with great joy, celebrating their anniversary. I sampled both and they were extraordinary, as they had represented. Pricey, but befitting a small indulgence. No sin, no punishment, no angst. Just like my classmate making a lunch of Ice Cream Sandwiches :)

Note: Knickerbocker Bar & Grill is a Village institution, established in 1977, located at 33 University Place at East 9th Street. They feature live jazz music on weekends. View their website here and their menu here.

Related Posts: La Cote Basque, Pure Chocolate, Doughnuts, Hot Dogs and Fries, Trucks and Things, Bon Appetit, Chocolate Bar, Jacques Torres, Pommes Frites, Nathan's

Hopping

2012-01-03T12:08:00.005-05:00

(Click the photo below to go to YouTube for my video tour of Neir's)

As a young boy growing up outside New York City, swamps and forests were the environs of choice for exploration. My best friend, Jaime, whom I know is reading these words, can attest to that, and our daily adventures brought us great joy and finds. There was nothing like a swamp for all manner of critters. Sometimes, following the lead of frogs who traversed ponds and swamps on lily pads, we would also travel across these waters, hopping onto tufted outgrowths. As might be expected, landing on such small targets and balancing for the next hop was often unsuccessful, and the drying of soaked sneakers and socks became the order of the late afternoon.

In New York City, one can span dry land by bar hopping. This recreation is pursued by many, and evidence of such is best seen around 4 AM, closing time for bars, as the streets of the city are flooded with inebriated late-night revelers desperate for a taxi. In the colder months, groups of shivering, scantily clad girls can be seen competing for taxis which, at that hour, are in severe undersupply. The neighborhood with the highest concentration of bars in New York City is the East Village - not a big surprise. So if you are looking to bar hop, that's the place to go.

In the world of cyberspace, hypertext linking has become the new vehicle for those inclined to move. But, be it bars, swamps, or cyberspace, in time, one does weary of hopping or linking, and coming to rest and exploring and enjoying what is at hand becomes appealing.

If you tire of bar hopping and are looking for the latest or coolest place (such as Death), then you may want to make the journey to Woodhaven, Queens, where you will find the antithesis of the East Village scene. Here, in a residential neighborhood at the corner of 78th Street and 88th Avenue, is Neir's Tavern, what some say is the oldest bar in New York City. This is very much a local place, established in 1829 as the Blue Pump Room.

The places exudes the charm and authenticity that many seek in a city where such places are rapidly disappearing. I ventured there one night to see the Lori Behrman band. The bar was where the Martin Scorsese film Goodfellas was filmed. There is live music four nights per week with no cover charge. They also claim the coldest tap beer in town, with a centuries-old beer system using packed ice to cool the beer coils to a temperature just above freezing. And fear not the pangs of wanderlust - there's free WiFi for those who can't resist Hopping :)

Related Posts: No Red Faces, The Ear Inn, Gotta Get Out, Shrine to Kitsch, Claims and Hooks

The Way You Like It

2012-01-02T11:53:00.004-05:00

When I was a child and was displeased in any way with food being served, perhaps requesting a change, my mother would invariably say, "This is not a restaurant," or "If you don't like it, go to a restaurant." So, more and more, I was looking forward to a time when I could explore such a place called a "restaurant" and, ostensibly, get things the way I wanted them. I saw early evidence of the wonders of restaurant service on one of my first family trips to Virginia, where aiming to please by waitstaff was the the highest priority and raison d'être, as it should be.

Unfortunately, I chose to settle in New York City, not Virginia, and I was to learn that this city was not the ideal place to fulfill my mother's promise. Here, a diner is often made to feel like a waiter is doing them a favor. Special requests are often greeted with an expression of annoyance. Frequently, you are told that something cannot be done when, in reality, it is the waiter that is unwilling to do it. Multiple requests mean multiple trips for the waiter, and soon one begins to learn that living with things the way they are is better than getting what you want at the expense of having a surly waiter, someone often disgruntled, frustrated, and resentful in having to work tables rather than their chosen profession.

Of course, someone with chutzpah pays none of this any mind, so perfectly illustrated in The Last Detail. In the film, Jack Nicholson and a buddy, both sailors, are entrusted with escorting a young sailor, Larry Meadows, to naval prison to serve eight years for a petty crime committed. Feeling badly for such a harsh sentence, Nicholson and companion try to show Meadows a good time on their last detail from Norfolk, Virginia, to the Portsmouth Naval Prison in New Hampshire. On the journey, there is a scene in a diner where Meadows is served a cheeseburger with the cheese not melted, as he had hoped. As many of us would, he is ready to accept his fate, but Nicholson notices the kid's displeasure, sends the burger back, and makes a statement that I will always remember: "See Meadows? It's just as easy to have it the way you want it." Easy for Nicholson, the perennial assertive bad boy.

Recently, while eating at the Olive Tree Cafe on MacDougal Street, I ordered my favorite drink, Passion Punch. This non-alcoholic beverage is made from a variety of juices and laced with pieces of fresh fruit and maraschino cherries. Perhaps not the acme of cuisine, but nonetheless I have a small fondness for these cherries, which are something of a prize as each one is found in this punch. As of late, however, there has been a decline in the number of cherries, with even as few as one solitary cherry on a recent visit.

On my last visit, however, I was served by Gerald, who has worked the place for eons. Gerald is astute and fast and gets it right the first time. There is nothing like a waiter who has much experience and is good. When he delivered my drink, it was awash in maraschino cherries. I complimented him, mentioning my recent misfortune in the dearth of cherries and the extraordinarily good fortune I now found clustered at the top of my drink. Eric responded that the bartender was busy and that he had made the drink himself. Aha. Good fortune and service explained. Much like Bill Schimmel, who was the Redeemer for the torture of accordion of my youth, Eric restored my faith that somewhere out there, when you're lucky, a restaurant is a place like my mother promised, and without traveling to Virginia, even in New York City, you can get things the way you like it :)

Related Posts: War Against Disservice, The Yellow Kind, I Guess, Kokadjo

My Ride With André

2011-12-30T12:41:00.003-05:00

I loved My Dinner With André. This award winning film is a two-hour conversation between two individuals in a restaurant in New York City. On the basis of the premise, it might appear that such a film would be boring, but quite the contrary. I found it very engaging and at times, even riveting.
Good conversation is often overlooked as an activity or reason to get together, even by those who greatly enjoy it and engage in the most impassioned interactions imaginable.

When I was in college, invariably someone would interrupt a very animated discussion with "So what are we doing?" meaning, of course, What are we doing tonight? Where are we going?, etc. He or she would get little response as the rest of us would be completely immersed in conversation. The question would come up again and again, sometimes others joining in the mix, round-robin style. There was a nagging quality to the desperate plea, the asker irritated that no one was listening to the question, everyone was wasting time, and no decision as to the night's plan was being made. Yet no one appeared to see the irony of the situation. Our impassioned conversation(s) were likely more interesting than anything we would find outside.

One evening, having had enough of this chronic scenario, I made a statement, something like "Hey, don't you guys get it? THIS is what we are doing." Everyone acknowledged the merit of my assertion, but to no avail. It was a welcome bit of comic relief, but regardless of how engaging and fulfilling our conversation might be, we still needed something "to do."

Recently, I returned by car from Woodside, Queens, to Manhattan. I decided, as I had in Wild Ride, to video record while driving the streets of New York City. On this trip, however, I was not alone but rather accompanied by several friends. Lively conversation ensued, and I recounted a number of stories from my life experience in New York City as we whipped down Atlantic Avenue. All can be seen and heard in the video below. My entourage appeared to enjoy the ride and the lively banter. It was like a sequel, My Ride With André :)

Posts referenced in the video: I'll Kill You, Sittin' On Top of the World

Amorino

2011-12-29T14:55:00.001-05:00

I have walked by Amorino numerous times. Its beautiful interior led me to believe that it would be very overpriced and more likely selling the decor rather than the product. I learned otherwise. I recently was with a friend, also a nearby resident, and neither of us had yet ventured in. So, both ice cream lovers, we went in on a whim. Given the decor, our first surprise was that the pricing was in line with others like Cones, not more - reasonable by current standards for a gourmet gelato. And the flavors looked awesome, so sampling was de rigeur. And the quality was, let us say, extraordinary.

The exclusivity of retailers to New York City has become virtually a thing of the past. Many shops here are just part of national chains. And, places such as Amorino that establish themselves in New York City often open shops nationwide. Icons closely associated with the city, such as Tiffany's, Bergdorf's, Saks, Louis Vuitton, Cartier, Bloomingdale's, Abercrombie & Fitch, Brooks Brothers, Henri Bendel, Macy's, et. al., can now be found in high-profile shopping malls. In Short Hills, New Jersey, the entire foregoing list of retailers can be found under one roof.

The lure of New York City is its unique character, merchants, and culture. Where is our future if the city's leading edge is dulled quickly by the dilution of locations everywhere else? I see this daily - both the rolling out nationwide of successful businesses started in New York City and, conversely, the migration of national retailers to the city - what the New York Times called the "malling of New York." Fortunately, the culture of people of various ethnicities and interests brought together in a salad bowl sustains the city's unique draw. And the enormous number and variety of residents and visitors still keeps some special businesses and food establishments afloat that could never survive elsewhere.

I was surprised and pleased to learn that Amorino, with 50 locations in Europe, has only one location in the United States - New York City at University Place in Manhattan, around the corner from my home. One of the most unique things about Amorino is that any number of different flavors can be combined at no additional charge, even in their smallest size. Another unique touch is that cones are fashioned into a flower using a spatula and flat slabs of the gelato. Amarino has gone the extra mile - everything is superb, from the store design and presentation to the product itself. The interior has a warm and organic feeling, with dark woods, stone floors, brickwork, and soothing lighting. Bas reliefs adorn the walls, and the place is replete with a fireplace.

This place is authentic all the way to its roots. Amorino was founded in Paris in 2002 by two Italian childhood friends, Cristiano Sereni and Paolo Benassi. The crowds in front of their shops are now much a part of Paris's summer scene. An artisanal product, the ice cream is made from organic and natural products with the highest quality ingredients possible and according to their own secret recipe. They also have a menu of pastry items and beverages. I suggest a visit. I'll be back to Amarino :)

A Sharp Focus

2011-12-28T13:03:00.001-05:00

I once was expressing my interest in traveling to Singapore to a friend, born in Taiwan and knowledgable regarding Asia. It seemed to be a beautiful destination - both tropical and pristine. However, said friend said that she would never go to any country that did not have an art museum (there is at least one art museum now). This reminded me of conversations in my early days in New York City - an echo of the sentiment against the well-manicured lawn and gentrification.

Puzzling, because I have always liked a beautiful lawn, as well as bonsai, topiary, and clean and tidy places. And conversations in my youth about gentrification also left me perplexed - I would always be pondering, what is wrong with an improved neighborhood?

Appreciation and patronization of very unique businesses that could only survive where rents were low began to give me a clue as to why people would vehemently object to gentrification. But it would be many decades and the loss of some of my favorite iconic businesses, such as Vesuvio's Bakery, before I would finally understand how the march of "progress" would typically mean the loss of not only the bad old things but also the good old things. Gentrification also means increased cost of housing, leaving neighborhoods all but unaffordable to virtually everyone except the super affluent. Soon, neighborhoods defined by ethnicity and their culture become defined by economics.

I began to see that clean and tidy in Manhattan usually came with sanitization, conformity, upscale tenants, and the closing of the small independent merchant in a niche market, unable to afford rising rents. So I have run to see the last of these best of breed. A number of the places I have written about in the last six years have already disappeared - Space Surplus Metals, Vesuvio, National Wholesale Liquidators, Ray's Pizza, etc. Others on my to-do list have closed before I had an opportunity to visit for photos and a story, such as Grand Machinery Exchange.

A handful of special, unique businesses still survive, many of which I have written: Joe's Dairy, Raffetto's, Schoen Trimming and Cord, Jim Murnak, Alidoro, il Laboratorio del Gelato, Cones, Faerman Cash Register, the Music Inn, and Matt Umanov Guitars.

I try to keep a keen eye out for those which I have not written about before it is too late, some renowned in their niche, such as Henry Westpfal & Company. Westpfal is located in the garment district at 115 West 25th Street. With a decor hearkening back to the 1950s, the place typifies the best of Olde New York where content is king. They have been in business since 1874 and have been managed by Cam Weinmann for the last 50 years. It is considered one of the best places (and few remaining) in New York City where virtually anything that has a blade can be sharpened - scissors, knives, straight-edge razors, and other tools. According to Cam Weinmann, "If you can't cut a tomato, you know your knife needs sharpening." At Henry Westpfal, for 137 years, the secret to small business success has been a sharp focus :)

Sundey

2011-12-27T13:03:00.001-05:00

I was a vegetarian for decades and quickly learned that for good vegetarian food, it is better to find ethnic cuisines that have large concentrations of vegetarian dishes than to eat at vegetarian or natural food restaurants. Historically, the establishments of these restaurants are driven more by what the food is NOT than by the desire to offer great cuisine. Of course, taste is a consideration, but not the primary raison d'etre.

On the other hand, ethnic cuisine is tried and true, the result of a long history of refinement, catering to the human palate. In New York City, virtually every cuisine can be found, even exotic ones such as Burmese, Malaysian, Ethiopian, Hungarian, Vietnamese, etc. Food is one of the greatest joys in this city, and the salad bowl of ethnicities makes it one of the best places on the planet to eat, whether vegetarian or not. Areas like Jackson Heights, Queens, are veritable smorgasbords of international foods.

Very early in my exploration of foods, I discovered, as most vegetarians have, that for tasty non-meat entrees, the best can be found in Asian, Indian, and Middle Eastern foods. So, although I am no longer a strict vegetarian, my food tastes were weaned early in life on these cuisines, which have become my favorites, particularly Indian and Middle Eastern. I am often found dining in places like First Oasis (in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn), Moustache, or the Olive Tree.

Over time, Manhattan has become much more of a center of commerce and quite expensive with the cost of living, with a few exceptions, such as Chinatown, which preclude the ethnic neighborhoods of the past. Many cuisines have become more difficult to find, such as Greek. So for authentic ethnic cuisines, it behooves one to travel to the outer boroughs, where there are many ethnic enclaves with merchants and restaurants catering to them.

When touring Bayside, Queens, recently, I was excited to learn about Avli, a restaurant specializing in Greek and Mediterranean foods. So my visit there necessitated a stop at 38-31 Bell Boulevard.
I was accompanied by a strict vegetarian who was pleased with the very extensive menu with so many vegetable options - things like hummus, stuffed grape leaves, tzatziki, spinach pie, lemon potatoes, various salads, side vegetables, cheese dishes, wraps, and combination platters.

The staff was friendly, buoyant, and helpful. It was a Sunday evening, things were good, and our waitress was Greek and appropriately named Sundey :)

One-Trick Pony

2011-12-26T20:14:00.003-05:00

Not everyone is blessed with the depth and breadth of the Renaissance man. Often, a person may only have a singular talent, skill, idea, or gimmick which is clever but, like the one-tricky pony of early America, is not enough to build a world around. A circus needs more than one act.
However, in New York City, with careful husbandry and aggressive marketing, one can cultivate even the most singular ideas and make a splash. In some cases, entire careers can be built around one trick, like the Naked Cowboy. Others, who are less ambitious, more interested in casual fun, or just want to enjoy the occasional limelight and ego boost can enjoy a degree of notoriety. Characters often frequent regular events or become neighborhood institutions - the proverbial big fish in the small pond. People like Spike or André, for example, are household names in the Village.

Recently, after my annual pilgrimage to Fifth Avenue to visit the holiday window displays, I caroused Rockefeller Center, with its skating rink and the Christmas tree. Before leaving, I encountered the Candy Man, completely outfitted in a wardrobe decorated in Nerds candies, including sunglasses. He, like many others I have spoken to (such as Mark Birnbaum), cite the pleasure and happiness they bring others as one of the primary reasons they make public appearances.

In a Christmas season with commercialism and gift-giving gone wild, what better gift to give others than a moment of joy, even if that of the One-Trick Pony :)

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Bergdorf Holiday Windows 2011

2011-12-23T13:48:00.002-05:00

The Bergdorf Goodman holiday window display is nothing short of SPECTACULAR. There is absolutely no contest in New York City. I have featured selections from their windows - for a complete gallery of this year's photos, see here. Window displays wrap around three sides of the building - Fifth Avenue, 57th and 58th Streets. The windows must be seen and are a worthwhile destination, even for those who must travel. It is a yearly ritual for me, and I am never disappointed. For those who would like to stroll with me, see the video below. Happy Holidays, and thanks to the staff of Bergdorf's!

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Room With A View

2011-12-22T13:02:00.001-05:00

I recently attended a community board meeting regarding a very hot-button issue for Village residents: the Parks Department's enforcement of new “expressive matter” rules, created to limit artist vendors in parks in 2010, applied to musicians and artists who take donations. The rules prohibit vending within 50 feet of a monument (includes the fountain) or 5 feet from a park bench, effectively making the park off-limits to performers. The impact of this is huge. Attorneys Norman Siegel (formerly of the ACLU) and Ron Kuby were on hand and poised for litigation.

The issue is of great personal interest to me as well as others, but I am not much for politics and political process. As a small business owner, I am accustomed to speedy decisions and implementation. We can turn on a dime if necessary and change course rapidly, addressing competition, changing markets and customer needs, streamlining business procedures, and a myriad of other functions. The prospect of decision by committee with long-time horizons for implementing change is anathema to the small business owner.

But political process is a necessary evil for a democracy with liberty as a cornerstone, and I respect that. However, I also do not relish an evening in a public forum, even on a relevant issue, listening to a large number of community residents making their cases one after another, essentially to be heard by those in agreement. Only if the collective voice becomes large enough, like the Vietnam War protests, and/or legal action or the threat thereof, will the powers that be take notice. Even the Parks Department representative left the meeting early, which I found quite sad.

A friend suggested that I speak since my entire business life has been supplying performers, many of whom work the parks of New York City. However, everyone in the room was in accord - I saw no change being effected by speaking to the choir, so I slipped out.

The meeting was in NYU's Kimmel Center, a newly built student center perfectly situated on the south side of Washington Square Park. I had never been in the student center even once - admittance typically requires a student ID, but not for a public hearing. So as I left the meeting room on the 8th floor, it occurred to me that I was now IN and not being chaperoned or policed. This was a rare privilege and opportunity to scout out spectacular vantage points for some photography.

The front of the Kimmel Center provides spaces for study, with windows directly overlooking Washington Square Park and facing north towards the fountain area, the arch, the Christmas tree centered below it, and Fifth Avenue running all the way up to the Empire State Building, appropriately lit in green and red, befitting the holiday season. Stairwells were accessible and are glassed, also providing views in a darkened environment.

I was happy to have left the meeting. I was thoroughly enjoying my exploration - lemonade made from the lemons of political process. As you can see by today's photos, if you are lucky, Kimmel is the place to go when you seek a Room With A View :)

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Santa's Corner

2011-12-21T14:12:00.003-05:00

It certainly is spectacular, isn't it?

On Sunday, after my excursion to the Garabedian House on Pelham Parkway North in the Bronx, I decided that I would again go all the way to Bayside* to see what has been said to be the finest example of Christmas illumination and ornamentation of any home in Queens and, to some, the finest in all of New York City. The house is located in Bayside/Whitestone at 166th Street and 23rd Avenue, an intersection sometimes referred to as Santa's Corner.

Although the display is certainly over-the-top, I found the lighting more elegant and tasteful than that of many well-known Christmas extravaganzas found in places such as Dyker Heights or the Garabedian House. The front of the Bayside home is broken up into three sections -Toyland, the nativity, and music land. The side of the house has animated cartoon figures.

The owners are extremely congenial, allowing visitors access to the entire property, including the porch, which sports various displays depicting wintry Christmas activities and figures. Santa himself was, of course, represented. The owners provide music, and as I perused and explored the displays, my meandering was accompanied by the Beach Boys classic, Little Saint Nick. See my complete photo gallery here.

On my return to my office on Monday, I suggested to my office manager, a Queens resident, that she may want to visit the spectacular home. Interestingly, even though she already resides in the borough, she immediately responded, "I'm not going all the way to Bayside."
There's something about Bayside, Queens, that elicits the phrase "all the way." Even a spectacular Christmas display is apparently inadequate to lure some to making the pilgrimage. Not even for Santa's Corner :)

*On November 27, 2009, I wrote All the Way, a story about a confrontation between a store manager and customer, who insisted she be let in before the shop's opening hours, defending her need for special consideration because she had come ALL THE WAY from Bayside, Queens.

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Don't We?

2011-12-20T12:02:00.004-05:00

After touring Dyker Heights at Christmas time, it is reasonable to feel that one has seen it all regarding holiday light displays, ornamentation, and animation. On Sunday, however, a friend and native New Yorker asked if I was familiar with "the house" in the Bronx. I was not, and she assured me that it was a must see. If this house was how she represented it, I imagined that an online search with only a vague description would return my query, and it did. That research led to an article describing the various top holiday house decorations in the five boroughs in New York City.

My first stop was the Garabedian house, at 1605 Pelham Parkway North in the Baychester neighborhood of the Bronx. I was not prepared for what could easily be called outrageous. If you view my video, you will hear a stunned man repeating words/phrases such as outrage and over the top. See my complete photo gallery here.
There were characters that made no sense as far as Christmas is concerned - celebrities, Disney, etc. The whole thing was an unexpected assault on the senses. In 2008, the New York Times did a story on the home. Here are some excerpts:

For those who worship instead at the altar of celebrity, the site displays glittering lifelike versions of their saints as well: Rita Hayworth, Brigitte Bardot, Nicole Kidman, Audrey Hepburn, Vivian Leigh, Joan Collins and Elizabeth Taylor, all exquisitely dressed in gowns fit for the runway, designer handbags on their arms.

The Garabedian house, on Pelham Parkway North in the Baychester neighborhood of the Bronx, is sort of a cross between Madame Tussaud’s and the Vatican, a chockablock vision of the figments of fantasies, many of them moving, all of them sparkling, either with lights or cubic zirconia or other stones — even the harness on a camel on the roof deck is strung with twinkling Swarovsky crystals.

The display, which goes up on Thanksgiving and stays until Jan. 6, inspires an overwhelming sense of wonder. One wonders, for example, why? The extent of the effort is apparent, the imagined Con Ed bill staggering. What would compel a family to devote so much time, money and energy to this particular form of Christmas camp?

The reporter for the Times was able to glean that there was a secret reason for the year-round effort, which has been part of the Garabedian family since 1974:

“Something special happened to the family on Christmas Eve in 1973,” explained Mr. Garabedian, a 44-year-old man with, it must be said, a cherubic air… The Garabedians started decorating the house the following year, and every year grew more ambitious. … This is our way of showing thanks to the Lord for what he did for us,” said Mr. Garabedian, who was 9 when he, his sisters and their parents witnessed this miracle.

However, when asked about specifics of the miracle, Gary Garabedian was vague and unwilling to divulge the family secret:

Could Mr. Garabedian perhaps be more specific about just what this miracle was? He shook his head: No. “The family wants to keep it special for ourselves,” he said.

Perhaps, then, he could be persuaded to illuminate the category of miracle? Was it a financial miracle? Did someone win the lottery or otherwise come into a windfall at a desperate time? “No,” said Mr. Garabedian.
A health miracle? Did someone throw down his crutches and start waltzing around the tree? Mr. Garabedian shook his head.
Perhaps, then, it was less like a magic trick and more like ... a vision? A visitation?

At this last question, a long pause. By then Mr. Garabedian’s sister Linda, a petite woman with flowing red hair, had joined him. “A vision?” she asked, then looked off into space for a moment. “You could say that.”
Mr. Garabedian, apparently the hard-line guardian of the secret, shook his head again. “You could be right, you could be wrong,” he said. All he would allow was that it was a religious miracle. “We’re a very religious family,” he said.

Here is what the Garabedians have to say about the display and its role in their lives in what appears to be the quintessential symbiotic relationship:

For the past 29 years, the Garabedian family—parents Nellie and Eugene and children Linda, Elise and Gary—has provided a family-friendly holiday activity right in their own front yard. Nearly 200 animated figurines dance to upbeat holiday music in a festive celebration of the holidays.
Almost every inch of the Garabedian's house is decorated with Disney characters and chicly-dressed dolls, many in floor-length gowns and most bejeweled and coiffed like Hollywood models.

It was Nellie who originally came up with the idea of giving back to the community by hosting the incredible display, their gift to neighbors for a blessing which none of the Garabedian clan will reveal. Since then, what began rather modestly has gradually expanded, taking on a life of its own.

The Christmas display is truly a family affair. Only one brother, Michael, has married. The remainder of the family lives at home, working for the family fashion design business when they’re not helping Gary with the dolls used in the Christmas spectacular. For decades now, it has been Gary’s job to dress, repair and store each doll each year. Unbeknownst to many, the display is labor-intensive, as the main stage of the ornate production has to be dismantled each night and re-mounted each evening, weather permitting.
"Look, they’re like our children. We’re married to the dolls," Gary joked. "We feel this makes the Bronx have something special to feel good about."

It's Christmas time in New York City. Not to be outdone, it is time for New Yorkers to pull out the big guns. Whether it's Fifth Avenue, Dyker Heights, Bayside, South Slope, or the Bronx, we got the spirit, Don't We? :)

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Not Chewing Gum

2011-12-19T12:43:00.002-05:00

Many of the things I pursued as an adult were things that, lacking money and adequate knowledge, foiled my efforts as a child - kite flying, juggling, photography, and eating enough marshmallows.

It was summer, sometime around 1960, and I found myself in a backlot in Bristol, CT, with a couple of friends. We had built a makeshift campsite. Everything we did was makeshift. We had dug out a shallow foxhole (I don't know why) and had fashioned an A-frame tent-like structure which we placed over our dugout. The tent was made from corrugated cardboard, the scrounger's building material of choice - ubiquitous and free.

All that remained was something to barbecue or toast. Our meager funds ruled out any food, including marshmallows. The few cents we could pull together only allowed us to purchase one pack of chewing gum. Very sad, but true. And that is how, on that summer day, you would have found me and my entourage toasting chewing gum (skewered on sticks) rather than marshmallows. Our feast of burnt and melted gum was inedible - one could easily say that the outing was a failure. Marshmallows would have to wait for another time, when I had money.

I do recall one occasion in Fire Island where I was first introduced to S'mores. Indulging in such things seemed very appropriate for summer at the beach.
Marshmallow, however, is everything that New York City is not - soft, fluffy, sweet, and benign. So, even as an adult, with money to buy a room full of marshmallows, it was never forefront in my mind. I don't recall ever being offered a marshmallow in New York City.

So when a friend told me that the Toasted Marshmallow Milkshake at Stand 4 was a must have, I was on my way and at the bar within minutes, placing an order for this milkshake which is taken quite seriously. It comes highly recommended and reviewed. It was featured on the Food Network's "Best Thing I Ever Ate." Like many of the artisanal food places in NYC, Stand 4 goes the extra mile. According to Gourmet Magazine, the ingredients list consists of 3 scoops of vanilla ice cream (they use Laboratorio del Gelato), 1 tablespoon of whole milk, 1 large dollop of Woodstock Water Buffalo Milk yogurt, 5 Kraft Jumbo Jet-Puffed marshmallows, and whipped cream.

The Toasted Marshmallow Shake arrived shortly, delivered by a finely feathered waitress. The shake was delicious. Now, here was the unrequited love of my youth, brought vividly to mind in a new, extraordinary concoction. It feels like the summer of 1960, only I have enough money and we are toasting marshmallows, not chewing gum :)

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Dyker Heights, 2011

2011-12-16T15:20:00.000-05:00

As this website has evolved, I have added more video. I have created a YouTube channel for New York Daily Photo where all the videos can be seen in one place. Looking into the future, I intend to create more videos and short documentary films of New York City.
Recently, I took another excursion to Dyker Heights, Brooklyn, with a friend. Although the displays are relatively the same from year to year, I enjoy the ritual, as I do the Christmas window displays on Fifth Avenue.
This year, I shot and compiled a short video of my tour of 84th Street between 11th and 12th Avenues - see below. This block is literally the show stopper, with bumper-to-bumper car traffic during the holiday season. Recommended to all who have not toured the area. Enjoy Dyker Heights 2011 !

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$57.50, Part 2

2011-12-15T11:49:00.002-05:00

Driving back into Manhattan at night, a friend and I decided to drop into a local cafe on 8th Street, just a half block from my parking garage. However, it was cold, the street was virtually empty, and parking was legal - it was after 10 PM and one no longer even had to pay for metered parking. So, why not park right in front and drop the car at the garage later?

I examined and reviewed the signs. The upper sign, Special Night Regulation, made no impression. Unlike the white backgrounds typically used for signs (in the two center signs--see Part 1 here), this one was like a graphic black hole - the sign used white type on a dark red and black background.

I ignored it because parking does not become more restrictive after becoming less restrictive. So I was looking at the white sign showing the end of metered parking. If you can park legally from 8AM to 10PM (using the Muni-Meter), and after 10PM for free, why would you suddenly be unable to park or stand one hour later, starting at 11PM? You see the logic? This is New York City parking 101.

So, at 11:29PM, as I exited Gizzi's Cafe, I was greeted with a traffic police officer just completing my parking ticket for $115. Perfect timing - he did not need to place the ticket under the windshield wiper, just hand it to me for the added personal touch. I was LIVID.

With disgust, I grabbed the ticket and threw it in my back seat. I told the officer how I was furious and that I have lived in the neighborhood for over 40 years and never heard of such a night regulation. He responded that if I lived there so long, I should know of the regulation. Point well made.

Best I reign it in and quit talking, so I left. However, I DO know the neighborhood and its parking regulations. I just do not street park much nowadays, and apparently, the night regulation is relatively new. I learned from a neighbor that this added regulation was acquired by the Village Alliance to minimize late-night carousing by visitors, who often park on the street and make a ruckus until late hours, disturbing residents.

Coincidentally, this neighbor has also worked for me. She is a long-time graphic artist and agreed that these night regulation signs virtually become invisible, owing to their graphic design. Many leave their cars after 11PM and are ticketed, expecting that parking is permitted after meter usage is no longer required.

When I got home, I was still fuming. It took a full two hours to calm down. You can buy a very nice Blu-Ray DVD player for $115. Money well spent is one thing, but nothing infuriates many a New Yorker like a parking ticket. These extremely high fines are mostly revenue enhancers for the city of New York, which now collects nearly a billion dollars annually from parking tickets.

I plotted and schemed of how I could beat this ticket, which I read front and back. I read online. I went back to examine the group of stacked signs. I did notice that on this pole, the Night Regulation sign is the only one that does not display "Department of Transportation."

As I calmed down and my thinking became more mature, I began to accept that I would likely have to pay the ticket and just see it as an expensive lesson learned. Then it occurred to me that I could do a story about the incident and get something for my $115. Better yet, I thought, I will write a two-part story and amortize my expense over two parts. A bit childish, and really a rather elaborate way to justify a mistake made. But it was the best lemonade I could squeeze from the lemon handed to me on December 10, 2011 at 11:29 PM, and each cup was going to cost a hefty $57.50 :)

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$57.50, Part 1

2011-12-14T12:27:00.005-05:00

I need to brag just a little so that you fully understand the impact of an episode which occurred on December 10, 2011.

I drove a taxi for about one and a half years and have owned a car in NYC for most of my life. I understand New York City parking regulations and signs. I have street parked for years. I interpret signs and help others understand them whenever possible. I even did a story on the logic of parking regulations and signage.

And, most importantly, I DON'T GET PARKING TICKETS (the only parking ticket I recall receiving was over 30 years ago). I rarely stand in No Standing or stop in No Stopping zones. I check parking signs religiously and read and reread them if necessary. With the exception of momentary loading or unloading (while double parking), I never leave my car illegally parked and unattended for more than a moment.

I park within 12 inches of the curb. I never park within 15 feet of a fire hydrant or in front of a driveway. And I garage my car, so my street parking within New York City is limited. I use the vehicle primarily for excursions to the outer boroughs or out of the city entirely.

I was LIVID on Saturday night. I was FUMING. I had thoughts of RETALIATION against the New York City Department of Transportation. Of course, I was being childish, indignant, and self-righteous - LIKE ANYONE WHO GETS CAUGHT. It took me a couple hours to calm down, and only because I started to formulate a plan and a way to make use of the experience for this website. I am a Lemonade Maker, and in Part 2, I will tell you why the cost of today's lemonade will most likely be $57.50…

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Keep It Fresh

2011-12-13T14:18:00.003-05:00

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the annual event SantaCon, the sight of groups of Santas, large and small, carousing the streets of New York City, is extremely perplexing.

After rereading a story I wrote on December 10, 2007 called Surly Santas, it is apparent that at that time, I, too, was not aware as to the reason why a group of Santas was walking the streets and being naughty. I certainly was perplexed until 2009, when I finally was told about SantaCon and did a story involving New York City's participation in the event.

Recently, on the way out of Manhattan via the Brooklyn Bridge on the day of SantaCon (December 10), I found that the streets were teeming with Santas. In the parks, on the sidewalks - everywhere you looked, it seemed there was a group of Santas to be found. I took a number of photos from my car.

Unfortunately, this event does start to feel like the same old thing, and although the event is officially a convention, effectively it does end up becoming a bar crawl for many, which generates late-night drunken revelry on the streets of New York City. The evidence of this is plain to see in neighborhoods like the Village, where inebriated Santas spill out of bars, wander the streets, and indulge in various acts of debauchery.

There is not much new to report in New York City, but I have learned that in San Francisco, where public nudity is legal, there was an effort this year to set the world record for the largest gathering of naked Santas, to be documented by Guinness (see video below). Even Santa is not immune to worrying about being seen as the same ol' same ol'. Whether he indulges in drunken revelry, a little lewdity, or nudity, he knows that you gotta Keep It Fresh :)

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ATM $10 Bills

2011-12-12T12:38:00.003-05:00

This was somewhat a replay of my experience in Harlem visiting the churches known for gospel singing. People, places, and things are not zoo specimens for the voyeur. I always feel conflicted when visiting areas where I am clearly the outsider. Worse with a camera. I am sure that even my sincerest efforts to be part of another's world for a short time is perceived as slumming. And to some extent, it is.

However, I was curious about Canarsie. For no reason, except that in all the years I have lived in New York City, I had never been there. I had one friend who had lived there for some time, and he painted a much less than glamorous picture. Slumming is not admirable either for the curious or photojournalist, but I went anyway to see what I could see. I thought I would combine the outing with a meal and found Armando's Pizzeria to be highly recommended. Some said it was the best in Brooklyn.

I was chasing the sun as one does this time of year, and by the time I got to Canarsie, it was already dark. Bad for photography and bad to really get a feel for a new place. And bad neighborhoods just look worse at night. Before heading north into the center of the neighborhood, I saw a turnoff for Canarsie Pier. I was right there, so no big investment of time to explore this little waterside park. I was blessed with one of the most spectacular moons I have ever seen. So much so that I was going to call this story Moonrise Over Canarsie (see Ansel Adams Moonrise Over Hernandez). I ran out of my car. The night was frigid, and my hurried snapshot does not do the moon justice.

From there, I headed north on one of Canarsie's main thoroughfares, Rockaway Parkway, where Armando's Pizza was located. Initially, the bungalows and smaller homes just spoke of a neighborhood that appeared to be modest but tidy. When I arrived to the main shopping area, the gritty reality of Canarsie made itself abundantly clear. Dollar stores and discount shops dotted the main avenue. I drove to Armando's, at 1413 Rockaway Avenue. This was not at all how I had envisioned the place. It was essentially a slices-to-go type of operation with a few seats. I was clearly the interloper.

In a flagging economy with 10% unemployment, visiting neighborhoods like Canarsie is not going to lift one's spirits. Slapped over their menu specials, as if it were more important, a sign in the greasy windows said it all: ATM $10 Bills…

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Easy As ABC

2011-12-09T12:12:00.002-05:00

New York City prides itself on offering the best, and when it comes to Christmas, it certainly will not be outdone. The Christmas season is one where New York literally shines. Look at the many iconic images known throughout the world:

Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. the Rockefeller Center Mall, and THE TREE - many consider it to be our national Christmas tree. Macy's, the Miracle on 34th Street, and their Santaland. Fifth Avenue and its neighboring flagship stores with their extraordinary store window displays: Bergdorf Goodman, Tiffany's, Cartier, Saks, B. Altman, Lord and Taylor, FAO Schwartz, Barney's, Bloomingdale's. Ice skating in Central Park, Bryant Park, and Rockefeller Center. The lights of Dyker Heights, Brooklyn. The Nutcracker with the New York City Ballet.

A remarkable list, since any single one of these would be bragging rights for any city or town. But in New York, we offer all, making this city an urban mecca for Christmas. Nearly all of these sights are on or near Fifth Avenue, an easy stroll from each other and one of the most pleasant walks one could make during the holiday season. I have done stories on all but one of the aforementioned major Christmas things to see and do.

For those seeking Santa himself, there are many options. There are the well-known venues such as Santaland at Macy's, but for those looking for the more special and lesser known, of course, New York also offers that too. Santas abound, but many herald the Santa at ABC Carpet and Home as one of the most authentic and snuggable in the land. The Victorian set is beautifully appointed, as one might expect from ABC - it's like a boutique Santa experience. For prudent parents and impatient children, one of the huge pluses is the much lesser number of people in line, if any at all. It comes highly recommended and is likely the ultimate Santa photo op in New York City, and it's Easy as ABC :)

Only Silver

2011-12-08T12:49:00.002-05:00

My best friend was very excited and asked if I had a small glass jar. When I asked why, he said that a number of conveyer systems had been thrown out behind the local supermarket and there were mercury switches in them. "So what?" I responded. He said that this was a rare window of opportunity to collect mercury. By breaking the glass vials in the switches, he was able to collect a substantial amount of mercury. He appeared to have been more interested in the adventure than the goods, and he gave me the entire jar. And so this is how, as a young boy, I came to own a jar of pure elemental mercury.

Playing with it always produced wonderment to observe the unique properties of a silvery metal which was liquid at room temperature. I would marvel at the effect the mercury would have while rubbing it on a coin. The jar was left behind when I left my family's home, and sadly, I believe it was discarded long ago.

Perhaps not so sad, since I later learned that playing with mercury is not the most prudent past time. Silver would be a much better candidate for elemental curiosity, and later as a young adult, I became intrigued with silver - here was a precious metal that was affordable and attainable, and although it was not as much fun as mercury, it was at least non-toxic. Unlike gold or platinum, a person of ordinary means could obtain large chunks of it. It is inexpensive enough that it can be used in pure form to fabricate items of jewelry and other commodities.

It has many unique properties and has served as a storehouse of value as currency, dating to 700 BC by the Lydians. Like gold, it has positive connotations, and applying a label of silver to anything, such as the word cream, implies great things. The reflective properties of silver also makes the word synonymous with glitter, glitz, sparkle, shine, and shimmer. So, what better word to use in the name of a skyscraper in New York City?

The day I discovered the buildings in today's photo, they were glimmering in the light of sunset with a look of metallic gleam, like the mercury of my youth and the silver of my adulthood. However, the photo was taken some time ago at quite some distance with no thought of their precise location or future use - until today, when I became enamored of their silvery sheen and wanted to identify them for use.

I often have taken photos of buildings where the subject must be identified at a later time. Fortunately, using online resources - mapping, street views, satellite views, image searches, etc., one can usually positively identify any building in New York City. However, this may require more or less time depending on how distinct its character is, the photo, other nearby structures, and a myriad of other factors.

Today's quest was easy. Here, the first impression that came to mind was silvery towers, and a search for "silver towers" in New York City. It immediately returned images of the buildings in question, conveniently and appropriately named Silver Towers.

I learned that these buildings were in planning for an extraordinarily long time. The property, developed by the appropriately named Larry Silverstein, took 25 years to bring to fruition. You can read more about them here. But what I really wonder about is if Larry ever played with mercury, or was it Only Silver :)

Related Posts: 'Tis a Sight to Behold, Buy Magnesium, Dot My I, New York Rockies, Where Sleeping Giants Lie, One Fifth Avenue

I Am a Liar

2011-12-07T12:45:00.002-05:00

I have written many times about my feelings regarding the good old days and how, often, fond memories of people, places, and things are really only that - fond memories. If one really examines the subjects of these memories and can be brutally honest, the reality was often not that great at all. And yet we hang on to and lionize scraps of the past, bemoan the loss of old retail shops, and express dislike for the new retailer in its place or perhaps a radical change in decor or operations of an old establishment. The realist, like Joe Plourde, looks life squarely in the face and judges strictly on merit and not on nostalgia. Read about Joe here.

On December 3, 2008, I wrote Greasy Spoon. However, I did not reveal that the subject of my poor diner experience was the Waverly Restaurant. I avoided mentioning the name of the diner for a number of reasons. One is that I avoid writing stories which essentially serve as negative reviews. There is nothing fundamentally wrong with helping the restaurant patron avoid the poorer dining establishments, but personally, I have decided to leave this type of reporting to the review sites, of which there are many good ones, such as Yelp.com.

The other reason I avoided slamming the Waverly is that I, too, am a sucker for nostalgizing, the very type of person whom I characterized in paragraph one. The Waverly, good or bad, was a Village icon and landmark. To see it was a great comfort, a balm in a city of harsh extremes. To know that the Waverly was open 24 hours likened it to the Chinatown restaurant of Woody Allen - a constant, something steadfast and reliable.

So recently, when I went by the Waverly and saw it boarded up, I was shocked and ALARMED. My first GUT REACTION WAS DISMAY. I bemoaned the loss. Regardless of how good or bad it was, who wants a homogenized New York City, populated only by chain stores? It's places like the Waverly that give New York its unique character.

Then I saw and learned that it was closed for renovation. I was SO RELIEVED. Because, as you can see, I LOVE THAT OLD CRAP, and WHEN IT REOPENS, I'LL BE THE FIRST IN LINE. Really, in all of my writings and diatribes about the old and new, I have been lying to you. Yes, that's correct, and I am willing to put it in writing. I am a LIAR.

Photo Notes: The bottom photo is an artist's rendering of the new Waverly Diner from the architectural firm of Jorge Fontan. The restaurant is being expanded into an adjoining commercial space and is undergoing its first renovation in the 30 years it has been open. The interiors will be fully renovated, keeping the original atmosphere while modernizing and enlarging the space.

Related Posts: Nice Man on Death Row, Levi's Film and Corn, Diner Be Aware of the Diner, Joe Jr's

Ask Tommy

2011-12-06T12:18:00.003-05:00

Were it not for this website, I certainly would not have interacted with the many homeless whom I have in my travels throughout New York City. And I would have concluded, as most have, that their state is a product of lifelong misdoings, drug use, or sheer laziness.

However, many homeless are quite ambitious, and many of the features I have done here illustrate that very clearly. Others, like Hakan Onor, whom I plan on doing a documentary on, have extraordinary stories and backgrounds, often which beg credibility.

Recently, on a short subway ride, a man entered our car and, like others, proceeded with a rehearsed solicitation, something that most regular commuters find particularly annoying. Not only do most feel such diatribes to be audibly disturbing, the spiels are also typically viewed with extreme skepticism, with claims and representations dismissed as just being part of another flavor of a New York City hustle or scam for money.

I gave the man a dollar and introduced myself, telling him of my blog. We only had a few seconds. I learned his name, Tommy, that he was from New Jersey, that he was not a drug user, but, like many in his plight, was mentally disabled. He told me that he was schizophrenic and bipolar and that he typically goes on and off medications. He explained that the side effects from his various medications become intolerable, resulting in his discontinuing their use.

Thus, his life becomes a roller coaster. This type of scenario can often be evidenced by the dramatically changing wardrobe and hygiene of many homeless, given that one is privy to seeing them on an ongoing basis. They are in and out of drug rehab or in and out of psychiatric treatment. I have seen the aforementioned Hakan looking extraordinarily nice in a sport jacket, well-groomed and sprightly, yet at other times barely able to function, pushing his belongings in a shopping cart, looking no better than Stephanie or Morgan on a bad day. Or, perhaps, they are all bad days, and the good days are just an illusion to the outsider. I forgot to Ask Tommy...

Related Posts: Looking for an Angel, Usually. Maybe. Probably Not, Sleeping in Jeans, Homeless Art Scene.

Three-Toed Smoth

2011-12-05T17:34:00.004-05:00

The elephant looms large in the lives and minds of children. After all, children do naturally gravitate to the big, and what suits that better the world's largest living land animal? Here, at Union Square, we have Gran Elefandret by renowned artist Miquel Barceló.* I'm sure many a child and parent have been enjoying Barcelo's 26-foot sculpture.

Marlborough Gallery is pleased to announce that the monumental sculpture Gran Elefandret, 2008, by renowned artist Miquel Barceló will be on view at the Union Square Triangle beginning September 13, 2011 through the end of May 2012. It is with great pleasure
that the Gallery brings this monumental bronze sculpture to Union Square, a place that epitomizes New York’s unrivaled energy and serves as both a transportation and cultural bridge between uptown and downtown Manhattan. Barcelo’s immense Gran Elefandret, balances upright on its trunk, its four massive legs outspread searching for equilibrium. At twenty-six feet tall the sculpture brilliantly portrays an extraordinary, if not impossible physical and cultural feat; this contemporary monument believably captures with humor, scale and Spanish courage the essence of what a public monument can be today.

To further communicate the gravity-defying feat beyond the surprisingly slim trunk and large body, Barceló imparts the mass and weight of the creature through the downward sag of the heavily wrinkled skin, the off-kilter positioning of the huge legs, and the complete overturning of the floppy ears. The highly textured surface of the elephant recalls the artist’s tactile paintings, in which he creates rich topographic, sculpted surfaces on canvas.

I never had children, but I do love them. Not having them, many things are a novelty to me, like the spongelike absorption often found when children are exposed to new things. One of my most memorable examples of this behavior was subsequent to a class trip made to my business - see Little Burnt Out.

I once made an acquaintance of a very learned and educated couple whose children had a frightening knowledge of things that I, as a child, barely had a cursory knowledge of. I recall going through a book of dinosaurs with one of their children, who was able to identify every one by name. At the time, I had read an article on the three-toed sloth and was fascinated by many of the facts surrounding this remarkable animal, such as its odorless nature and the extraordinary length of time it actually requires to make a journey down a tree, truly befitting its name being used as a metaphor for the slow.

As the child attempted to elaborate on her knowledge of dinosaurs, I endeavored to communicate my newfound enthusiasm for the sloth. She appeared uninterested; I was not making an impression. Or so I thought.

Some weeks later, a friend was on the phone with the mother of the child. At one point, she told me that someone had something to tell me. When I took the phone, the young girl whom I had met was on the other end. I don't recall the conversation exactly, except that she was quite intent on telling me of her new found interest in the Three-Toed Smoth :)

*Miquel Barceló was born in Mallorca in 1957. After studying briefly at the Arts and Crafts School of Palma and the Fine Arts School of Barcelona, he became involved with the conceptualist group Taller Llunátic, which opposed the stagnation of both the socio-political climate of Spain during the late 1970’s and the “official” art scene. Originally focusing on painting, Barceló worked at first in a non- representational style, influenced by Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, and Cy Twombly. As his career progressed, he began to integrate figurative elements in his paintings, and started creating sculptures in both ceramics and bronze. The artist collaborates with the Fundación Vicente Ferrer and the Eyes of the World Foundation and participates in projects for Sahrawi refugee camps. He divides his time between Paris, Mallorca, and Mali.

Related Posts: Kids, Childhood's End, Bronx Zoo

Wild Ride

2011-12-02T14:51:00.001-05:00

Wednesday night, returning from Brooklyn, I was feeling a little wild, as is sometimes the case when I find myself driving in New York City and life is GOOD. Then the city just ELECTRIFIES me - I can feel its high voltage coursing through my body. Everything is RIGHT and I know I am in the world's most exciting city.

With no prior plan to do so, I suddenly just decided to pull out a camera and video record a leg of my journey with stream of consciousness narration as I drove. See the NYC skyline from the BQE. Cross the Manhattan Bridge with me and then cruise the streets of Lower Manhattan, NoHo and the Village. The footage is raw, jumpy and a little out of focus at times. It's not reality TV - it's the REAL DEAL while on a Wild Ride >>>

Posts referenced in the video: 212 and 2:12, New York Rockies, Sittin' On Top of the World, No Sir, Pull Ahead, Childhood's End, Public Theater, Astor Place Cube

Frontier

2011-12-01T12:42:00.004-05:00

It pays to be informed, otherwise you might, like I did in the 1960s, believe you "discovered" a little known, non-touristy area like Times Square (see story here) or that more recently, think you discovered a lesser known structure in Coney Island.

On a recent excursion to Coney Island, my exploration took me a little off the beaten path. Many good things can happen when one Goes West. As I did so, past all the well known attractions and landmarks - the New York Aquarium, the Wonder Wheel, Luna Park, Nathan's, the Cyclone, the area started to feel much like the frontier with abandoned lots and structures. It was at 21st Street and the Boardwalk that I happened upon a building which became more intriguing the more closely I examined it, thinking that I had made another secret "discovery." Only today did I happen upon the photos I had taken and decided to investigate the structure, and I was soon to learn that 2102 Boardwalk was about as obscure as the Times Square of my youth.

My search at the New York Times website brought up a Christopher Gray article. I knew now that the building was very significant, to be featured for Gray's Streetscapes. I also was comforted that I was in good hands and would get accurate historical information from Gray. The building is described by the Times as "festooned with elaborate, colorful terra cotta nautical motifs, including Neptune rising from the sea draped in seaweed, European ships and intricate crustaceans and other sea creatures." Here are some excerpts from the article:

BUILT in 1924, the Childs Restaurant building at West 21st Street and the Boardwalk was one of the last gasps of elegance for Coney Island...In 1924 Childs, the quick-lunch chain known for its simple meals, built an imposing steel-framed restaurant building. Childs was founded in 1889 on Cortlandt Street in Manhattan by the brothers Samuel and William Childs, who sought to serve the rushing ferry crowds in downtown New York. By the mid-1920's they were grossing $25 million a year from more than 100 branches, half of them in the New York area.

William oversaw the operational end and Samuel handled the real estate side. Presumably it was Samuel who oversaw the restaurant chain's trademark design in the 1910's -- storefront establishments that were white-tiled, efficient and clean, responsive to what The New York Times called the American ''lust for sanitation.''

For their Coney Island building, however, the brothers brought in an elite architectural firm, Ethan Allen Dennison and Fredric C. Hirons, who had both studied at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris. The architects embraced the Coney Island aesthetic with creative gusto. Against a soft gray stucco field they set a wild profusion of terra cotta ornament in varied colors, with a rooftop pergola apparently meant as a dining area.

The Childs brothers' earlier buildings had been objects of derision by architectural writers, and the sudden burst of ambitious design was unusual. Just after the new Coney Island Childs, the restaurant hired William Van Alen to design an Art Deco jewel-box restaurant, much altered but still recognizable at 604 Fifth Avenue, near 48th Street. It is now a T.G.I. Friday's.

The Childs chain sold the Coney Island branch in 1947, and Enrico Ricci, Robert V. Ricci's father, bought the structure in the 1950's. Since then the Ricci family has oper ated the Tell Chocolate Company from the building. It has kept up the stucco walls, removed graffiti, kept the building watertight and cared for the terra cotta. But with its windows sealed for factory use, the building has a forlorn air. Noticeable chunks of ornament have been removed, but large sections remain.

The building was landmarked in 2003 and has been leased for various uses. From 2008-2010, the space was incarnated as Lola Staar's Dreamland Roller Rink. For an in-depth article regarding this extraordinary structure, see here. In New York City, one can still Go West and find a little Frontier...

Related Posts: Partial Remission, Parachute Jump

Des Moines

2011-11-30T12:21:00.003-05:00

It is no secret that New Yorkers top the list when it comes to arrogance and xenophobia. Perhaps one of the best visual representations is View of the World from 9th Avenue - if you are unfamiliar with it, see the photo and my story here. Even within New York City itself, you will find individuals who rarely go outside their neighborhood. For Village residents, there is a cliche: I never go north of 14th Street.

In today's photo, you can see an example of this thinking in an ad by local storage giant Manhattan Mini-Storage. In a crowded marketplace, the company has been successful in creating provocative ads that actually get talked about. Here are some samples:

"Remember, if you leave the city, you'll have to live in America."

"Oh, yeah, you'll fit right in in Connecticut."

"Your closet's so shallow, it makes Paris look deep." [re: Paris Hilton] "

"In my father's house, there are many rooms." - John 14:2. Clearly, Jesus was not a New Yorker.

And from today's photo: "Nobody becomes famous in Des Moines." Slamming another city will certainly get attention, although the effect is most likely on the other city's residents than on New Yorkers, who already believe that there is no other place worth living in, certainly not Des Moines, Iowa.

I found a response to the ad and comments on a blog called Des Moines is NOT Boring with a story title: Really New York!? As one would expect, the readers of the blog were not pleased with the ad. The writer of the story states, "Apparently, closest [sic] space is at a premium in New York, yet the relation to becoming famous and Des Moines is still pretty unclear." I agree with the writer that the precise thinking behind the statement is somewhat hazy, but I surmise that the implication is that there is plenty of storage space outside New York City, but it would do one no good to live there. Des Moines was a good target since many see the Midwest as a place of pleasant, mild-mannered people but quintessentially BORING.

It is ironic that a blog and name would be predicated on a statement that Des Moines is not boring. Self-proclamations are typically indicative that the opposite is true. People who profess to be easygoing rarely are. And people who have to make preemptive defensive statements usually are what they claim to not be. When is the last time you saw a billboard stating that New York is NOT Boring or that Paris is NOT ugly?

I do respect the quality of life that must exist in small cities. I have often fantasized about moving to a place like Boulder, Colorado, San Francisco, or Portland, Maine. But once you live in New York City, it's hard to scale back. Most of us are here not just for the lure of opportunity but are also trapped by the Sirens of Convenience. It matters not whether anyone becomes famous in New York City or in Des Moines :)

Related Posts: Uptown, Goin' to Jersey

Leave it to the Critics

2011-11-29T13:45:00.002-05:00

One of my first art "discussions" was regarding a piece of work I saw on the streets in SoHo in the early 1970s. I recall it was a flat surface with an array of bolts - essentially looking like a bed of nails.

Having done carpentry work, I felt that I did know something about bolts and that someone driving them into a board at different heights did not constitute art.

However, an artist friend at the time, in a futile attempt to educate my boorish manner, informed me that what made it art was conceptual, not reducing it to its material elements. Like the defense once made by Marcel Duchamps, whom I did not know at the time - it was art because he said so. I was, nonetheless, not impressed - to me, bolts were just bolts.

This type of installation art is controversial, even amongst those who are schooled and knowledgeable about fine arts. To put it bluntly, coming from someone who was originally a science guy, my question is whether there is any objective criteria for art and, if so, where does artisanship end and art begin?

Recently, I have noticed a number of lamp posts around Astor Place/ Cooper Union bedecked with colorful plastic cable ties. This, like the bed of nails, also challenges my beliefs of what constitutes art, since cable ties are another area of great familiarity to me - we use them regularly in my business.

During my first exposures, it appeared to be whimsical, but after taking a number of photos, it occurred to me that there might be more to it. Sure enough, this is part of an art installation called Flaming Cactus. The Animus Arts Collective utilized 32,000 fluorescent colored wire ties around approximately 15 lamp and sign posts in Cooper Square. The project was done with cooperation from the Department of Transportation. It is permitted to remain in place until June of 2012.

One person commented:

The same art just went up on Spring St and in the Urban Plaza by Trump on Spring. It actually looks very nice in solid colors on the Trump lamp poles.

However, another said:

To me it's cheap looking. It's simplistic and inane, exactly the sum of its parts--zip ties on a light pole. It would look gaudy in a suburban shopping plaza. If bits of brightly colored cheap plastic brightens up your day then more power to you.

Bolts, plastic cable ties, art, or craft - I leave it to the critics...

Related Posts: I'm Really Good at Paper Mache, Surfaces and Surfing, Finger Painting, Acquired Taste, Real? Fake? Why?

World of Waiting

2011-11-28T11:37:00.003-05:00

It may be hard to understand why anyone 12 years old would covet a book on calculus, but I did. I loved books and reading in general, but I also loved mathematics and was intrigued by the meaning of the long S of integral calculus. My eighth grade teacher explained succinctly that it meant sum. Not particularly satisfied, I desired the book to have for my own, however, I was told by my parents that if I wanted it, I would have to earn the money and buy it myself. It was $2.95 and published by Barnes and Noble. I saved my money and in time, came to purchase that book. I still have it.

And so it is that I can never hate Barnes and Noble. And after all, they are a legacy business, founded in 1873, not an empire built on the latest fashion or frivolous merchandise. It is fashionable to hate Barnes and Noble, which is understandable. I do imagine that they have put many small independent book retailers out of business. However, I am doubtful that destroying small booksellers is corporate policy at Barnes and Noble but rather the unfortunate natural fallout when such a large retailer moves into an area.

But in New York City, as elsewhere, the consumer has become very spoiled. Although many bemoan the fate of the small independent retailer and demonize the retail giants/chains, we all want huge selection, late hours, 7-day operations, low prices, liberal return policies, and a plethora of convenient locations. Who but the giants can offer such a thing? Comedian Todd Barry does material on the ironies of the attitudes of New Yorkers towards the corporate behemoths. You can read it here.

My interest in books went beyond that first tome on calculus. I have always been comforted by books, magazines, and the stores selling them. So when I began discovering Hudson News shops in the airports and bus and train terminals around New York City (and eventually outside the city), I always found their neon signs a welcome beacon to reading materials.

I was shocked and fascinated to learn that Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones, known for a life of excess, was an avid reader. His personal library has been featured in a book of libraries. He once remarked how surprised he was that Americans read so little. He discussed the reality of touring and how much waiting and down time there was between concerts and how he filled much of his time with reading.

There's a lot of waiting and down time in New York. In a city where most travel by public transportation, many fill their travel time with reading. Perhaps if I am lucky, someday I may meet Keith in Barnes and Noble or Hudson News as we fill our time in a World of Waiting.

Related Posts: Who Can Believe It?, We Read at Night, Book Wars, The Strand

Business as Usual

2011-11-25T13:27:00.002-05:00

Do you trust me? Yes? Good.

I'm going to tell you about a restaurant where you will not be disappointed. This is a place that locals love. There are restaurants that are very good and there are restaurants that are very expensive. But as diners know, unfortunately, expensive does not always equal good. Restaurants tend to be overpriced in New York City, and plenty of places offer the convenience of eating out only with high prices and just average food.

North Square restaurant is located in the Washington Square Hotel at 103 Waverly Place in the Village. They run a TIGHT ship. Everything is professionally done. And lest we overlook the most important - the food is outstanding. The restaurant, like the hotel, is owned by the Paul family. The kitchen is headed by executive chef Yoel Cruz. You can find the restaurant's website here.

When my family announced that they were coming to New York City for Thanksgiving, I began perusing lists online of restaurants offering holiday specials. I was pleased to find that North Square was among those open and offering a prix fixe dinner. Only steps from my home, why go elsewhere? However, Thanksgiving was only two days away and, as I feared, it was fully booked. I returned on Wednesday in person in the off chance that there was a cancellation. Through some small miracle, a table for 4 was available.

The 3-course Thanksgiving extravaganza was $55 per person, including a choice of appetizer, entrée, dessert, and coffee/tea - not bad in the scheme of things for this city, and a real value for the extraordinary selection of nine appetizers, ten entrées, and eleven desserts. Everything went without a hitch, smooth as silk. Our waiter, Nick, provided sterling service. The dining room was elegant and perfectly lit. We were not rushed at all, as is often the case on holidays in restaurants where patrons are often treated as cattle to be moved.

After our meal, and before returning to Connecticut, my family and I took a quick stroll in Washington Square Park, which is footsteps away from the restaurant. It was a very pleasant afternoon where temperatures had reached 60 degrees. The park was more populated than is typical for a Thanksgiving Day. As you can see from the bottom photo, holidays make no difference for some, where it's Business as Usual...

Related Post: Pick Two

Looking for an Angel

2011-11-24T13:24:00.004-05:00

There's no secret why anyone is at Port Authority Bus Terminal. As far as transportation, this is the home of the last option. Other than the Chinatown bus, the cheapest option. A nexus for people who have no other option, no other options at the time, or are between better options.

Today is Thanksgiving, a day to give thanks. And if you are fortunate enough not to have to travel by bus, you have something to be thankful for. Most New Yorkers have, at one time, arrived by bus at Port Authority and know that there are much better places to be welcomed to New York City.

In fact, I rarely put it this bluntly, but Port Authority is depressing as hell and, regardless of renovations, always has been. It is also a magnet for hucksters, hustlers, thieves, and the homeless. There are not too many smiles, and unlike a place such as Grand Central, you are never going to hear people say that they love Port Authority. This is the place that is truly inhospitable. There are no cushions here, nothing to soften against a city that can indeed feel harsh at times. If you want to experience the true grit of New York, head for Port Authority.

I am not sure about many things, but I am sure that I was the only person who traveled to Port Authority last night, solely to carouse, peruse, and look for an angel based on the story a friend told me of an extraordinarily heart warming incident. She was traveling yesterday to New Jersey to see family with her elderly mother.

Upon arrival at the terminal, she was approached by a homeless woman who offered to help. But this was not just a ruse or a quick task for money. This was HELP. She escorted them through the entire process, door to door. Carrying their bags, navigating through the crowds and corridors, purchasing tickets, and seeing them off. My friend was so moved that she told the homeless woman that she was an angel and, in the ensuing rush before boarding the bus, was able to extricate and give her $13 from her bag.

So, last night at 10:15 PM, I went to Port Authority to find that angel. If you are reading these words and look forward to a miraculous outcome, i.e., that I found that angel and spoke to her and photographed her, then read no further. Because I did not find her.

There were lines and crowds, as to be expected. No one was in a good mood. All had only one desire - to leave the terminal and get to their destinations for Thanksgiving. I did find one homeless woman eating in a corner. I told her of my mission and asked if she was perhaps that angel or knew of a homeless woman who might fit the description. She did not. I got the feeling that she thought I was insane. Perhaps she is right. Who travels willingly to Port Authority on the night before Thanksgiving, looking for an angel?

Thanksgiving Posts: Thanksgiving 2009, Thanksgiving 2008, Horn of Plenty, Inflation

Waiting at Death's Door

2011-11-23T15:21:00.003-05:00

Taking photos in public is a tricky matter, particularly in New York City with such an extraordinary number of extraordinary subjects, both human and inanimate. However, many individuals, including photographers, are unclear as to the exact nature of the laws or their rights regarding photography in public. Basically, any person or thing in public view may be photographed and the images published without giving consent, as long as they are for editorial purposes, i.e., they do not appear in an advertisement. There are mitigating circumstances, however, where a person has a reasonable expectation of privacy, such as shooting someone in a bathroom in a home who is visible from a public space.

Recently, while exploring the East Village at night, I came across an intriguing attractive storefront clad in wood. It was the classic, deliberately mysterious front with no windows and nothing to indicate what the place was. On closer examination, there was a small sign and matching nameplate set in the sidewalk that quietly proclaimed "Death & Co."

A lone couple waited outside to get in. I spoke to them - they were from out of the country and were told that they absolutely HAD to visit this place. I learned that it was a cocktail lounge - tres chic, trendy, and hard to get into. They were apparently told that they had to wait. I quickly slipped inside to get a look. It was an extremely striking interior but, ironically, had many free tables. I have no idea if the tables were reserved, however, it seemed reminiscent of the type of establishment that manufactures a sense of exclusivity and desirability by forcing prospective patrons to wait in line. This is a ploy long used by New York City nightclubs - places such as Studio 54 and the Mud Club were notorious for their policies of exclusion. Hordes would wait outside, each person hoping to be a lucky one chosen for admission.

Soon, a young reservationist appeared with a clipboard. I was told that I could not take photos of the exterior. A slight altercation ensued. I informed her that I had a right to do so and that if she liked, we could call the police and review my rights to do so.

She went inside and returned with the owner. He was quite polite and asked the reasons for my photography. I explained this website and gave him a card for New York Daily Photo. He apologized for his reservationist and agreed, of course, that I had the right to photograph a door on the streets of New York City. He gave me his card - a mysterious, understated thing with Death & Co on the face and Frankie Rodriguez with contact information on the reverse. He offered me the opportunity for a photo shoot of the interior at a future time before business hours.

I promised to return. I asked the owner the reason for their notoriety. He answered that their drinks were very exotic, with unusual ingredients researched by the bartenders. Many reviewers online found Death & Co well worth the ordeal to get in. A number of others had similar issues as I did with the reservationist. Hey, but what do you expect Waiting at Death's Door? :)

Note about their name. From their website:
In 1919, the Volstead Act brought a swift end to nightlife and the refined craft of the American bartender was outlawed. It was thought that to drink alcohol was to live a life shadowed by death. It was thought by some that these were death and company.

Related Posts: In a Different Light, The Dark Side, The Core Club

Hakafot

2011-11-22T14:16:00.002-05:00

My contact with Jewish people was quite limited growing up in New England. Moving to New York City changed the equation dramatically. Here, it felt like the city was dominated by Jewish people. Their culture was everywhere - in the food, in the slang with a heavy use of Yiddish, in the professions. I grew to love the tight, familial nature of Jewish people. Nearly all of my best friends have been Jewish.

One thing I quickly noticed was how Jews seemed to be having more fun. Their faith seemed to be virtually defined by celebration, and unlike the Catholic faith (which is how I grew up), many of the Jewish holidays were times to party. I often remarked how envious I was - the Jewish calendar had a minor holiday every few days and allowed for so many work days off.

Near my home is an NYU Chabad center. On October 20th, I noticed an inordinate number of students overflowing into the street. I had wanted to do a story on this center and the Chabad movement, so I inquired of one of the members if he thought photography would be allowed inside the center. He escorted me in and asked the Rabbi for me. I was told it would be possible, but any other time. Tonight was a big celebration.

It was suggested that if I wanted to see and photograph a big celebration, I should head to East 6th Street, where Simchat Torah would be taking place. The holiday celebration culminates in the Rejoicing with the Torah and the dancing of hakafot (for more information, see here). For New York City in the East Village, this literally means Dancing in the Street for hours into the night.

When I arrived, people were spilling out from the Community Synagogue Max D. Raiskin Ctr. at 325 East 6th Street. There were hundreds dancing, circling, and singing. I was asked to join in by one man. When I informed him that I was not Jewish, he told me it was no matter - everyone was welcome. There was a tremendous feeling of community. I was an interloper, secretly wishing that I had grown up with festival activities such as hakafot :)

Related Posts: Chutzpah, Woody Was Right, Shalom, Bagels

For No Good Reason

2011-11-21T17:32:00.002-05:00

Service in New York City retail is a VERY uneven experience. Many single-location privately owned operations which are legendary have an attitude regarding customer service bordering on the arrogant. I have seen salesman curse customers for no good reason. And yet I have seen the same salesman as sweet as sugar. The reason? It often depends on how you approach the sales staff - your attitude, knowledge, and other factors. Retail sales can admittedly be very trying, however, a customer should not have to walk on eggshells or ingratiate or prostrate himself to assure good service. It should not be that way, but welcome to New York.

The large, high-profile retailers or chains are much less inclined to risk reputation than a mom-and-pop operation working with a captive audience in a specialty. When a store attains iconic status in New York City, arrogance may often become a component of service. The differences become strictly a case of management style.

If you read reviews of places like Warehouse Wines & Spirits at 735 Broadway, you will find a virtually inexplicably broad spectrum of reviews and customer experience, from one to five stars. Not unusual for a place like this, known for its very competitive pricing, often the lowest in town.
What brought me to Warehouse recently was a very specific mission. A friend was desirous of exploring wine, however, their previous experience with headaches made them apprehensive. The subject of red wine headaches is debated. Many naturally occurring substances have been blamed - sulfites, tannins, histamines, and prostaglandins. Rather than wade through the literature, I decided that finding a wine salesperson with real customer experience regarding wine and headaches would be a simpler, more effective solution.

As I entered Warehouse Wines, I approached and asked the first salesperson visible who might be the resident wine expert. He responded, "that would probably be me." I told him of my mission, asking of his experience, if any, with wine headaches (sometimes referred to as red wine headaches, owing to the feeling that red wine is more problematic than whites). He made immediate suggestions and accompanied us to an area with a number of wine which, from his personal experience, were successful with his customers who previously had wine headaches. Although added sulfites have been implicated by some and dismissed by others, we chose an organic white.

I was impressed by his knowledge and asked about his wine background. He introduced himself as Dennis Johnson and told me that he had worked 22 years as cellarmaster at the Windows of the World restaurant.*

I was elated at my shopping experience at Warehouse Wine with Dennis. It is ironic that in New York City, I have become so inured to the unpredictable nature of customer service that I often feel that great service comes for No Good Reason :)

*Windows on the World was a restaurant on the top floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

Related Posts: Trimmings for Sale, Instincts, We Don't Do Windows, No Students After 1, Pick Two

Shop Class

2011-11-18T13:17:00.003-05:00

I was given the choice of making the pump lamp or a flying horse. I asked about making other things but was told those were the choices. I really didn't want to make a pump lamp that much, but it was better than a flying horse wall plaque. I understand the need for discipline, training, and honing skills. This was shop class in 8th grade, where no independent thinking or creative expression is allowed. But it's a shame, because I liked making things and would have gotten more involved in class. Eventually I would become a manufacturer.
So, yesterday, I was very pleased to get the following email invitation for The Calling, a theater of fire and song:

You are being called to a relatively secret place for a meeting of believers - a ritual for the arising. Out in gritty Gowanus in Brooklyn is an industrial complex down by the canal where much of the sculpted art you see in swanky galleries actually gets created. It's a vast place, owned by ex-squatters and descended from the renegade forges and welding spaces of the LES of the 90s, and it opens it's doors to Flambeaux Fire, Kai Altair and to you this coming Thursday. You will see it become a WONDERLAND.
A landscape of flames, machines, and beautiful women as spiritual guides, set to the live music of Kai Altair, written & directed by Flambeaux and Kai.

The email invite went on to say:

Flambeaux presents The Calling, a Fire-and-Song Ritual with siren Kai Altair.
A Journey into Seduction, Spirit and Transformation with ritual shows by Lady C, Serafina, Fayzah Fire, Ali Luminescent, Flambeaux, Tribal Bellydance by Angelys and Serena. Featuring the sculpture art of Adrian Landon and Doumbek byt Natalia Perlaza.

What really intrigued me, was the location and venue, The Gowanus Ballroom. Gowanus is a very industrial neighborhood, and it certainly is not the type of place where one would expect to find ballrooms, chandeliers, and formal attire. The invitation also specified Serett Metalworks, so perhaps it would be a ballroom of a different sort. And it was.

The space was difficult to find, as might be expected. There was no ballroom or 55 9th Street. I saw two women on the street and asked if they knew of this place - they did and directed me. The space was down, around, and behind.

I never read the email closely enough or thought about it, so I was surprised to find that the ballroom was actually an industrial space along the Gowanus Canal. I was greeted with an open factory space and an open cauldron of fire burning outdoors beneath a sign for Serett Metalworks. I knew we had arrived at the right place when I found Gowanus Ballroom written on a chalkboard.

Inside was every manner of metalworking machinery along with a variety of metal sculptures, as promised in the email. There was an enormous loft space which afforded viewing from above and a wooden structure reminiscent of the Tower of Toys.

Chris Flambeaux was busy milling about, making preparations for the show he had written. Performers and attendees began to filter in, dominated by the edgy artistic with the requisite piercings, metal, fanciful dress, dreaded hair, and skin art.

The show started in a ritualistic, nearly occult manner, setting the tone for the entire night's performances. Some of the acts I had seen at the QAS. This show, however, had a much more industrial flavor - fork lift trucks were used to deliver acts and even performed on them. One act featured villainous characters aboard a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, driven around the space. See my photo gallery here.

Space being so precious a commodity in New York, this in not the type of event one would expect in the city. For years I had heard of these types of happenings - somewhat impromptu and unadvertised. I was always desirous to be in the loop and attend. There was drama, fire, seductive sirens, metal, and machinery. These guys should open a real ballroom or run a Shop Class :)

Related Post: Not Of Them

The Magic Hour

2011-11-17T13:15:00.001-05:00

I grew up in New England, and even for residents, fall foliage was loved by all. The beauty in sparsely populated states, such as Vermont with large stands of deciduous trees, is such that many travel to and tour the area during "leaf peeping" season. When the conditions were right, my family would sometimes take a country drive. If the leaves and light were right, we were sometimes treated to jaw-dropping scenery.

A popular cliche amongst photographers is that "it's all about the light." It is overused, but it is quite true. If you are around artists or photographers enough, you may also hear the phrases "magic hour" or "golden hour" - the period before sunrise and after sunset when the light is reddish. This light during autumn can lead to exceptionally beautiful vistas.

Prior to the inception of this website and my photographic interest here, I paid little attention to the properties of ambient light - intensity, color, and changing quality over the time of day or cloud cover.
Many of one's intuitions about photography are wrong. A bright, sunny day is the worst time for shooting, particularly midday. Cloudy days give much better color. And the most coveted times for most landscape photographers is during the magic hour.

Some, like photographer Ken Rockwell, will make claims of a rather extreme nature regarding the magic hour: "Glorious light only happens for 60 seconds or less any particular day, if it happens at all. If it happens at all, it usually happens sometime in a window 15 minutes before or after sunrise or sunset." One must, of course, allow that not every photographer wants this particular golden light for every photo.

Capturing this morning light requires being up at a very early hour, which I typically am. Two mornings ago, I was up before dawn and witnessed the extraordinary light of the magic hour illuminating the vestiges of autumn foliage. Everything was aglow in oranges and pinks, begging for a photo. Today, two hours later in the morning, you can see the dramatic difference (lower photo).
Many New York City residents will never see this phenomenon, particularly in the morning - they are not at the right place at the right time to happen upon a natural setting during the magic hour...

Related Posts: In a Different Light, Wood, Glass, Brass and Trees, Light and Lights, Mother Nature, Risk Not Living, Manhattanhenge

The Loneliest Number

2011-11-16T12:19:00.005-05:00

Is one still the loneliest number? New Yorkers should know best - I was shocked to learn that 50.6 % (27% nationally) of Manhattan households are occupied by a single individual. Of the 3,141 counties in the United States, New York County (Manhattan) is the leader in single-individual households. The marriage statistics also deviate from the norm: in Manhattan, 25.6% of households are married, whereas the national average is 49.7%.

But, given the tenuous nature of relationships and the transient nature of the city, perhaps it should not have come as a surprise. And, the evidence is at my fingertips - on reflection, the vast majority of my friends and acquaintances are in single households.

The first thought upon hearing such a statistic is that of LONELINESS. However, a number of books, articles, and research are doing much to dispel the idea that living alone means lonely. I have excerpted below parts of a 2008 New York Magazine article. I recommend the article - the comments alone provide a broad insight into the thinking and experience of many New Yorkers who live alone.

Alone Together

Manhattan is the capital of people living by themselves. But are New Yorkers lonelier? Far from it, say a new breed of loneliness researchers, who argue that urban alienation is largely a myth.

“In our data,” adds Lisa Berkman, the Harvard epidemiologist who discovered the importance of social networks to heart patients, “friends substitute perfectly well for family.” This finding is important. It may be true that marriage prolongs life. But so, in Berkman’s view, does friendship—and considering how important friendship is to New Yorkers (home of Friends, after all), where so many of us live on our own, this finding is blissfully reassuring. In fact, Berkman has consistently found that living alone poses no health risk, whether she’s looking at 20,000 gas and electricity workers in France or a random sample of almost 7,000 men and women in Alameda, California, so long as her subjects have intimate ties of some kind as well as a variety of weaker ones. Those who are married but don’t have any civic ties or close friends or relatives, for instance, face greater health risks than those who live alone but have lots of friends and regularly volunteer at the local soup kitchen. “Any one connection doesn’t really protect you,” she says. “You need relationships that provide love and intimacy and you need relationships that help you feel like you’re participating in society in some way.”

New York State is tied for the fifth-lowest divorce rate in the nation. New York City’s suicide rate says something even more profound: New York State’s suicide rate is currently the third lowest in the nation.

Many have made the same allegations about the Internet's alienating effects, but this has also been challenged. Some see the Internet as analogous to a large city like New York with positive social impact:

The idea that you’re isolated when you’re online is, to me, just wrong,” says Keith Hampton, a sociologist at the University of Pennsylvania who did an extensive ethnography of “Netville,” a new, 100 percent wired community in suburban Toronto. “It’s an inherently social medium. What starts online moves offline, and what starts offline goes online.” Which explains why the people with whom you e-mail most frequently are your closest friends and romantic partners. “Online and offline life are inherently connected,” he says. “They’re not separate worlds.”

New York, like the Internet, also offers a rich network of acquaintances, or what sociologists like to call “weak ties.” There are sociologists who will argue that weak ties are the bane of modern life. We are drowning in a sea of them, they’ll say—networking with colleagues rather than socializing with friends, corresponding online with lots of people we know only moderately well rather than catching up with our nearest and dearest on the phone.

There is even evidence that weak ties simply make us feel better. According to Loneliness, the advice your mother gives you when you’re depressed—Get out of the damn house, would you?—turns out to be right. For most people, being in the simple presence of a friendly person helps us reregulate our behavior if we’re feeling depressed in our isolation. We are naturally wired not just to connect with them but to imitate them—which might be a good idea, if our impulses at that moment are self-destructive.

Hampton says he views the Internet as the ultimate city, the last stop on the continuum of human connectedness. I’d argue that New York and the Internet are about the same .... what the Internet and New York have in common is that each environment facilitates interaction between individuals like no other, and both would be positively useless—would literally lose their raison d’être—if solitary individuals didn’t furiously interact in each. They show us, in trillions of invisible ways every day, that people are essentially nothing without one another. We may sometimes want to throttle our fellow travelers on the F train. We may on occasion curse our neighbors for playing music so loud it splits the floor. But living cheek-by-jowl is the necessary price we pay for our well-being. And anyway, who wants to ride the subway alone?

Connectedness takes on many forms, both old and new, and in many places, whether online or in New York City. We can no longer make assumptions based strictly on number. One may no longer be the Loneliest Number :)

Photo Note: I happened upon this trumpet player one rainy morning, playing alone in Washington Square Park, shielded from the rain under the arch. See him play in the video above.

Related Posts: Guardian Angels, Lonely in a Crowded Room, Because It's Not, The Last Taboo

Nice Camel Sweater

2011-11-15T12:52:00.004-05:00

When you grow up under a very tight reign, acts of rebellion are small and narrowly focused. For me, it manifested in the rejection of all things light brown. On my yearly preschool clothes shopping trips, I would invariably be steered towards clothing that would be in the light brown family - beige, tan, camel, etc.*

I suspect that the palette was being pushed at me because it spoke calmness, safety, moderation, or neutrality. But I didn't want to be calm or neutral. I didn't want to be in a blue-color factory town. I didn't want to be in the suburbs. I wanted to be in the big city. Bright neon lights and bold colors.

So in time, I grew to hate the family of light brown - it symbolized parental authority and all things boring. As if they were not only neutral enough, the color names were invariably prefaced with the very unnecessary "nice." So "recommendations" always took the form of "why don't you get that in a "nice camel" color."

I hated sweaters, too. I felt confined, uncomfortable, and restricted in them, just as I did in my hometown. However, a sweater is a sensible article of clothing and, like the beige family of colors, is another element in the wardrobe of the moderate. So, the sweater became another irritant in my life, something forever being sold to me by family and clothing salesmen. Put all the elements together, and the worst offense imaginable was a family member promoting something like a "nice, camel sweater." You know what not to buy me as a gift.

Recently, while eating dinner with a friend at the Olive Tree Cafe, I spotted a group of women awash in the color of my youth - every variant of beige, tan, cream, light brown, and camel was represented, even in their hair.

My dining companion that night is an NYU student and team member working on this blog. Inexperienced in the ways and means of the city, she respects the wisdom I have gleaned and trusts my insights based on nearly a half century of observation and study of the peoples of New York. So she listened intently as I began to dissect and analyze this group of women for her and explain how it was obvious that these women were clearly from the suburbs.

Not only were they wearing every shade of light brown known to humankind, their entire demeanor cried out-of-towners - they were so gentle and benign-looking, with no edge anywhere to be found. I pointed out how one woman wore her bag slung around her neck while eating - the classic fearful tourist. I explained how one of the key elements in identifying visitors is that everything they wear, from footwear to headwear, is about COMFORT, often at the expense of style. And look - one was even sporting a nice, camel-colored sweater.

Before we left, I wanted to corroborate my theory. In as polite a way as possible, I would tell them that I was a curious New York blogger and ask them where they were from. I would then return to my dining companion with evidence of my superior skills in observation.

They were quite approachable and friendly, as visitors often are. I introduced myself and gave them my card. "Why are you here?" I asked. "To celebrate a birthday," they answered. "Where are you from? "We're native New Yorkers. Upper West Side, Manhattan." I knew it. What gave it away was that Nice Camel Sweater. :)

*Note: To make matters worse, I love blue, however, when I was in high school, jeans were not allowed.

A Little Complainin'

2011-11-14T13:13:00.001-05:00

I've been told that I am a complainer. Convenient, since there is no better place for a complainer than New York City. Here, complaining can be indulged in at any depth or breadth imaginable. One can cut a broad swath or can specialize. For example, a daily commuter traveling on a particularly troubled subway line could confine his or her complaints to just the interminable atrocities committed there on nearly a daily basis.

Today I discovered an interesting blog - I Hate New York City (.com). There, I found 265 comments over 150 pages, spanning the range of love/hate sentiments of New York City. Within those comments, I found the vitriol and outrage which many have over the city. It is a virtual shrine to complaints. The range of topics was well-covered: noise, dirt, rats, smells, trash, rudeness, crowds, costs, concrete, lack of nature, dangers, crime, hot summers, oppressiveness, and pollution.

I might add that even though many of us bemoan the lack of nature, there is still opportunity to complain about plant growth, even when considering plants generally seen as an element of old world charm, such as wisteria and ivy.

In neighborhoods such as Greenwich Village, with a preponderance of row houses, one can find many brownstones with ivy growing up the face or rear of the buildings. Its growth is, however, quite rapid, and for those who dwell in or manage the building, it is more an irritant than a source of charm. Not only do they grow very rapidly, requiring frequent pruning, but these climbers also are destructive to the masonry where they maintain an aggressive foothold.

In one apartment where I lived in the 1970s, my windows would slowly become obscured with ivy growing on the exterior of the building. Periodically, this required hanging out the window on a 4th floor and tearing the offending growth away. The task always felt like an annoyance which was someone else's job, but in New York, to wait for those responsible to tend to a chore is often to wait in perpetuity. I, like many, take things into my own hands. And why not? It just gives me more to complain about - ivy or wisteria creepin' 'round my window is just perfect for when I don't want to leave home but still want to do a little complainin' :)

Trimmings for Sale

2011-11-11T12:31:00.003-05:00

I was appropriately reprimanded. Marty Silver asked why was I working with a supplier in Georgia when he was the largest tassel manufacturer in the world and was located within walking distance? I had no answer except that I had not done my homework properly. Schoen Trimming and Cord manufactures tassels and cords right in Manhattan at 151 West 25th Street.

There is no phone tree, messaging systems, extensions, or phone tag at Schoen. On my first call, I was told I needed to speak to the owner, Marty Silver, who immediately picked up the phone. A proud New Yorker and native Brooklynite, he proceeded to tell me about the company and his recent job with Victoria's Secret, who opted for a local source over China. The order of nearly $100,000 was for over 20,000 pieces and was completed in just a few weeks. I described my own project needs, and he suggested I just drop by. He said that he was open at 7AM, so when was I coming in? Tomorrow morning, I answered.

It was clear from the brief phone conversation that Schoen was a no-nonsense operation run by a man who gets things done. No meetings, no memos, no marketing plans, no grandiose schemes, no Twitter feeds. A rarity these days, and a perpetual frustration for me in business to ferret out these kinds of operations. Schoen services a niche market, and they address the needs of their customers with the essential ingredients: good quality, service, delivery, and pricing. This is why they have been in business for 72 years.

When I arrived, Marty was tied up briefly, working with his accountant. He appeared somewhat irritated that this aspect of his business was taking him away from overseeing his production work and meeting with me. We went over my project quickly, and he said he would get back to me.
I was surprised when, only hours later, he called my office to tell me that he had completed some prototypes for me - when did I want to pick them up and discuss them? Tomorrow morning, I answered. I visited Schoen again, went over my samples, and toured the factory. Marty was quite accommodating regarding my request to take photos. Nothing to hide. I like that. And so it was that in less than 24 hours, Marty Silver did what the factory in Georgia has yet to do in two months.

I have encountered business owners like Marty in the last 37 years. This breed of men and women are the ones that have been the captains of industry and have stewarded our city to become the world leader that it is in so many arenas. Some are left and, here and there, the spirit lives on. New York City is as hard-edged as it comes, and if you are going to survive 72 years in business, you're going to need exceptional tenacity, resourcefulness, drive, and the ability to stay focused on the bottom line.

Schoen typifies the classic old world New York City-style manufacturer or commercial/industrial supplier. They are lean machines, bare bones, and stripped of artifice and excess at every level. The only decorative elements you will find are Trimmings for Sale :)

Related Posts: It's Perfect, Brawling Over Brands, Because I'm the Best

Instincts

2011-11-10T12:24:00.001-05:00

I was a little uneasy writing this story. As a small business owner, I have a very strong feeling as to the key reason for entrepreneurial success. However, I have been reading pages and pages without seeing any validation. I did not find studying the key reasons businesses succeed or fail very useful - if you can think of any reason(s) at all, you will almost certainly find it somewhere in any one of numerous lists of key factors in failure or success. None will come as a surprise - right location, management, adequate capital, cost control, knowledge, luck, persistence, vision, customer service, growth plan, marketing, key vision, etc. With such an enormous number of factors, managing their interplay becomes an impossible task for any human being. How will anyone learn all of the key ingredients and the balancing act necessary to succeed?

Then I finally found exactly the single word I was looking for in an article on David Geffen in a Stanford School of Business newsletter:

David Geffen Says Good Instincts Play Better for Him Than Good Plans

A self-made billionaire, Geffen told Graduate School of Business students that he relies instead on his instincts, his keen eye for talent, honesty, and a knack for surrounding himself with smart people.
"I wish I could give you a better answer. I didn't have a clue about managing business. I never went to business school. I was just bumbling through a lot of my life," said Geffen. "I was like the guy behind the curtain in The Wizard of Oz."

The operative word I was looking for was INSTINCTS. Successful business owners have business instincts - an innate sense of what people want or need and how to address those needs. Of course, as a business grows, many of those key factors in the litany of ingredients of success do come into play, but the best strategy is finding talented individuals and delegating.

In my experience meeting business entrepreneurs, they just seem to be different. You can sense it and see evidence of it even at a very early age. This instinct seems to be the most common thread among success stories. Most of the great successes I have met have little or no business schooling. Many have been high school graduates or college dropouts.

Of course, luck is a factor, but opportunity abounds. The entrepreneur not only recognizes opportunity but also seizes that opportunity and capitalizes on it as well. An estimated 80% of restaurants fail in New York City within five years. If learning the key factors of success was the secret, we would not see such an enormous fatality rate.

Every day in New York City, I see restaurants bulging with customers in lines spilling into the streets. A few doors away, I will often see another neighboring restaurant, even with with identical cuisine, virtually empty. In post game analysis, it is easy to pontificate, analyze, speculate, and theorize as to why some fail and others succeed. Reams have been written. However, reading the Tipping Point or Freakonomics is not going to help the business owner identify the myriad of factors to success and properly deploy and manage them. All of those factors are part of the equation. But to me, the most important is Instincts…

Photo Note: This is the further incarnation of the food cart I wrote about on August 3, 2007. The cart is now the Tribeca Taco Truck. The truck is owned by Percy, but on this occasion, his daughter Alycia (seen in the photo) informed me that he was purchasing a second, larger truck - one will remain stationed at the original location (Broadway between Prince and Spring Streets) while the other roams. Tenacity is also a key ingredient to success, and Percy has stuck with his endeavor for some years. He now has long lunch lines every day. Get there early and tell him I sent you. Percy and crew are wonderful and will treat you like family.

Related Posts: Not Enough Dough, Brawling Over Brands, Trucks and Things, You're Not in Kansas, Pearl Paint, End of an Era, Canal Rubber, Space Surplus Metals

Not Enough Dough

2011-11-09T14:06:00.001-05:00

On March 27, 2009, I wrote of the legendary original Ray's Pizza at 27 Prince Street. Located around the corner from my office, I have frequented Ray's for over 20 years. I loved their pizza - classic with a few gourmet touches. Yesterday, when I recommended them to a customer for lunch, one of my employees informed me that would not be possible since Ray's had closed. When I asked to confirm that it was THE Ray's on Prince, she said yes, that it was the Ray's, and this was quite a big thing with plenty of local buzz.

I jogged out to see for myself with camera in hand, and sure enough, Ray's was not only closed, but there was absolutely no vestige whatsoever of its prior existence. Neither a smear of sauce nor a faded sign. After 52 years in business, it was another episode in New York City of the End of an Era. The closing involved a legal dispute. From the New York Times:

The closing, long story short, follows a legal dispute among heirs with various interests in the building at 27 Prince, which includes apartments and the two sides of Ray’s: the pizzeria and an Italian restaurant, each with its separate entrance, but sharing a kitchen and the corporation name, Ray’s of Prince Street. When the Ray in Ray’s, one of the owners of the building, died in 2008, a row arose over whether the restaurant’s lease was valid and whether it should pay rent. A lawsuit was filed in 2009 and settled this year.

I was sad to have missed their last day on Sunday and to not have met Helen Mistretta, the manager. According to the Times article, she did look for alternate space but cited extraordinary rents and cost of renovation as an impasse to moving to a new location. Instead, equipment will be sold at auction and mementos placed in storage. I will miss their pesto pizza - a rarity in town. The closing due to financial matters is a classic saga with the loss of iconic businesses that has been repeated around New York City many times. That's how the crust crumbles, when there's plenty of flour but not enough dough :)

Photo Note: Upper photo taken March 20, 2009; lower photo taken November 8, 2011.

Related Posts: Quest for Pizza, Best Pizza in New York, Cookies in the Afternoon, Zero Minutes, It's the Humidity, Walk Like Di Fara, No Problema, DiFara, Roots of Pizza, Two Boots

Usually. Maybe. Probably Not.

2011-11-08T14:08:00.002-05:00

I once called an ambulance for a college-aged girl who was severely drunk, eyes rolling about and vomiting so badly that I thought she might die. When EMS arrived, I apologized for possibly making an unnecessary call, but they assured me that I had done the right thing and that someone can die from alcohol poisoning.

On another occasion, a number of us called an ambulance for Danny Mustard, who was so drunk that he appeared to not be breathing. Danny has since cleaned up and gone on to a musical career after his astonishing cover of Creep by Radiohead aired on the Opie and Anthony show, now with 4 million views on YouTube.

Since the inception of this website, I have befriended a number of homeless individuals, many whom I see on a regular basis such as Stephanie or Morgan. The problem with homelessness is that even with outreach programs, most homeless prefer a life on the streets to that in shelters for a number of reasons. Many are puzzled, as I have been, as to why a homeless person would choose a life on the streets over a shelter. Here is why:

Lack of beds. Most shelters have a shortage of available beds.

They are dangerous. There have been many reported murders, assaults and rapes.

Drugs. Drugs are not allowed, so drug users will avoid them.

Theft. There is thievery in shelters, so some homeless stop using shelters to protect the few possessions they have.

Lack of privacy.

Lack of control. Shelters impose many rules - check in times, meal times, sleep times, curfews. Some homeless work, sometimes with schedules making it impossible to abide by a shelter's hours.

Mental Illness. Some people are denied entry to shelters due to mental illness.

No pets allowed.

Fear of contracting parasites including lice, scabies or bedbugs.

Lack of accommodations for the disabled.

Separation of families. Children can not usually stay in homeless shelters. Men and women cannot be in the same shelter.

If you fall down in New York City, will someone help you get up? Usually. If you need help in New York City, will someone come to your aid? Maybe. If you are homeless and need a safe place to stay, will you find one? Probably not.

Related Posts: Sleeping in Jeans, Caught in the Rain, Any Questions?, Down on His Luck, Dead to the World

Guardian Angels

2011-11-07T13:48:00.004-05:00

I recently took a subway with a group of friends. As we descended the stairs to the platform, a train was conveniently awaiting. However, as typically is the case, in order to get the train before leaving, there is a stampede for the first car - the one closest from the stairway to the platforms. So, the first car becomes inordinately crowded.

We jammed in, a la Tokyo (but without the pushers). What may come as a surprise is that we met no resistance, even while pressing our bodies against others. In fact, looking around, I would say there was more smiling than frowning. I felt that there was a sense that like it or not, we're all in this together. Who would begrudge others the very same thing they want and have for themselves and have to look at the have-nots through windows as the train pulls away?

I have written a number of stories espousing my dislike and avoidance of crowds in New York City. Yet now, crammed like sardines, I, like the others, actually enjoyed the experience - our shared misery was fun. In times of need, common hardship or common celebration, a crowd of people is just the thing. It is said that one can be lonely in a crowded room, but I find that in times of loneliness, to step out into the world that is New York City can be restorative.

At one time I used to frequent the beaches at Robert Moses State Park on Fire Island and also Jones Beach. In both cases, I would always trek away from the most crowded areas to those more sparsely populated. On one occasion, I found myself chatting briefly with someone who had parked himself and his friends only steps from the concession buildings in the most crowded area imaginable. I offered my knowledge of the island and my strategy, thinking that perhaps he was not aware how much less crowded the beach gets just a short walk away. He informed me that he and his friends preferred being there.

This was revelatory and very startling to me. Growing up in New England, my family suffered any pains to avoid crowds, traffic, and cites, always priding themselves on finding those places that were quiet. But now my worldview was being challenged again by this beach denizen. Much as I grew to love the city, I now saw that there were those who preferred not just culture and amenities but crowds themselves.

There can be a feeling of security amoung a group of people. I often find the same feeling in midtown Manhattan amid buildings, where immersed in the concrete jungle, I am comforted, not overwhelmed, by the structures. Many hate crowds, and some even panic at the prospect of being in New York City with all its horrors, some real and most imagined. I, on the other hand, have been a New Yorker for much too long - I feel safe and secure with the melange of buildings towering over and huddled around me, buffeting the world like my Guardian Angels :)

Related Posts: Steaming Masses of New York, Huddled Masses, Too Too New York, I Know, I've Got a Feeling, Caught in the Riptide, Do It in the Road, The Subway.

Taking The Stairs

2011-11-04T12:45:00.004-04:00

Although humility is a much desired character trait, particularly when found in the rich, famous, or powerful, it is unfortunately not a necessary condition to greatness. One cannot ascertain a person's level of accomplishment based on his/her humility or lack thereof. There are braggarts who are indeed what they say they are and ones whose words are no more than puffery.

Conversely, there are humble persons of ordinary means and ones who have achieved much and carry it not as a badge but remain shrouded, such as my late friend, Dave, who, until he was on his deathbed, kept his achievements secret from us all.

In four decades of living in New York City, and with the privilege of meeting tens of thousands in the course of my business, I have seen all the variants of humility and accomplishment. Of course we all love those who are humble - who amongst us wants the achievements and greatness of others rubbed in our face?

One of the greatest perks of my business are the occasions when I meet the world's luminaries, both those known to the public at large and the many who are relatively unknown to the public but are legends within their community.

But there is even a greater privilege - being graced with meeting those who are humble, accomplished, and NICE, regardless of worldly achievement. It is people like Jamie Adkins, whose unadulterated niceness and gentle manner is so DISARMING that meeting him leaves an indelible impression and a smile on my mind. I am left feeling lighter and am reassured that people are good and my work is worth doing.

Recently I was paid a visit by Bill Irwin and David Shiner. I have known Bill since the 1980s. An actor (stage, film, TV), clown, and writer, his accomplishments are many - too many to list besides the highlights here. He has won a Tony Award, an Obie Award, New York Drama Critics Circle Special Citation, Drama Desk Award, an Outer Critics Circle Award, a CFCA Award, and a New Victory Arts Award. He was named a Guggenheim Fellow and received a National Endowment for the Arts Choreographer's Fellowship. He is most well known for being the first performance artist to receive a MacArthur Fellowship*, often called the Genius Award.

Bill created a number of highly regarded stage shows that incorporated elements of clowning - The Regard of Flight (1982), Largely New York (1989), Fool Moon (1993), The Harlequin Studies (2003), and Mr. Fox: A Rumination (2004).

Before leaving my showroom, I asked Bill and David if they were willing to do a little schtick for our company, which he readily agreed to. For those who would like to meet Bill, I would not bother looking for him strutting in the streets of New York or on TV doing interviews. This is not a man inclined to chest-thumping bravado, limousines, or red carpets. You may find him on Broadway, Taking The Stairs :)

Fountains

2011-11-03T12:58:00.002-04:00

Depending on who's counting, the Palace of Versailles has more than 1,400 fountains. Due to the enormous amount of water required to fuel them, they are turned on infrequently. Even at the time of Louis XIV, the water supply was inadequate to run all of the fountains at once. There was even talk of diverting the River Eure to supply water to the fountains.

Sunday afternoons from April through October, there is the Grandes Eaux, a musical fountain show in the gardens to the accompaniment of recorded music. Although I have been to Versailles twice, I was not fortunate enough to experience the spectacle. Paris has 350 fountains; to a visitor from the United States, they seem to be at every turn and virtually are.

New York City has a much less lavish feel to it, as observed by one of my Swedish clients, which I wrote about in Very Practical. Fountains will never be a priority here, although it certainly was for George Vellonakis, architect for the redesign of Washington Square Park. Upon reconstruction, the central fountain was moved to be centered with the Washington Square Arch as viewed coming down Fifth Avenue. George was virtually crucified for this, the cost of which was often misrepresented since the fountain needed to be dug up for plumbing work anyway, with the additional cost of moving being incidental.

But to me, the entire fiasco and controversy is just indicative of the fixation of Americans on the bottom line, even if at the cost of aesthetics or the occasional jubilant indulgence.
As I wrote in Let's Have a Parade, in the light of hardship, it often is hard to justify celebration. After all, there is always a better place to spend money.

We do not have a large number of fountains in New York City, but there are a handful. Conservatory Garden, the fountain and the gilded statue of Prometheus in the sunken plaza of Rockefeller, the fountain cascade at Rockefeller Center, the fountain at Columbus Circle, the Pulitzer Fountain at 59th and Fifth Avenue, Angel of the Waters Fountain at Bethesda Terrace in Central Park, the Unisphere in Flushing Meadows Corona Park in Queens, Temperance Fountain, Tompkins Square Park, James Fountain at Union Square Park, City Hall Park Fountain, and Washington Square Park.

Here, at Father Demo Square at the intersection of Carmine Street, Bleecker Street, and Sixth Avenue, is a tiny park with a beautiful charcoal gray stone fountain as centerpiece. The park completed a renovation in 2007 and is an ideal resting spot located in one of the most intensely trafficked areas of New York City, surrounded by a plethora of restaurants and shops. It's ideal for people watching, a rest after dinner, or a place to eat a snack. Or, for those inclined to indulge, enjoy one of New York City's very few fountains :)

Simple, But Effective

2011-11-02T10:20:00.004-04:00

I imagine you had to be there to appreciate the humor. The same man who swore that there was no reason not to move to Santa Barbara (see Not Going Anywhere here) was known for his pithy aphorisms. Some years ago, he offered one of my favorites.

When fanfare, drama, and over-the-top displays are all around, how do you distinguish yourself? If you have traveled to Dyker Heights, Brooklyn, during the Christmas holiday season, you know what I am talking about (see stories here and here; see photo galleries here and here). With fierce pride, ego, and in the one-upmanship style often found among New York City residents, the Christmas displays in Dyker Heights have reached outrageous proportions. You're certainly not going to stand out or even be noticed unless you take a radically different approach. And not everyone has the financial means or the motivation to stage a Disneyesque extravaganza on their front lawn.

One holiday season, I was on one of my first visits touring the neighborhood with friends. One of our group was that very same man who made the threat regarding moving to Santa Barbara. As we cruised the area, we would periodically see a nice, elegant, but very modest display.

As we passed these types of very simple displays, often perhaps just a string of lights in a single color hung elegantly in a tree, our friend would roll down his window in order to show respect, observe seriously as one might admire a fine work of art, and then state very approvingly with the utmost gravitas, "Simple, but effective." This became the night's refrain as, from time to time, any one of us spotting an appropriate candidate would call out, "Simple, but effective." We loved it, and in the context of the evening as we became numbed by the extravagant displays, the phrase became hilarious and a mantra we would use for years to come whenever simple elegance reigned.

On Monday night at the Village Halloween Parade, I began to weary of the costumes and overwhelming experience of it all - the crowds, traffic, police, media, competing photographers, and noise. I even began to tire of the brilliant creativity and wonderful pageantry. A fellow photographer actually came over to me, said that I looked too serious, and suggested that I enjoy it. After all, it was a parade. Lest I be seen as a burnt out curmudgeon, I will tell you that all of my friends, most of whom are long-time residents of the Village, have not gone to the parade in many eons - it's just too much work if you have done it already. In my case, only my ability to get a press pass and enter the parade gives me incentive to go.

I was not particularly focused - the sheer volume of paraders makes it impossible to see even a small number of the best costumes. Invariably, I am disappointed to see the most interesting participants following the parade night when looking at other photos.

However, in all the mayhem, I spotted one woman who shone through it all with her simple costume. Perhaps you might want to say that this woman's makeup strains the definition of "simple". In a vacuum, you may be right, but at the annual Village Halloween Parade, it could easily be considered simple. So, my hat off to her for such a stunning costume amid the night's festivities, achieved in a manner that we may say is Simple, But Effective :)

Photo Note: This photo was to be included as the featured photo on yesterday's parade posting, yet ironically, it was overlooked, buried on my computer desktop. When I was busy this morning closing all the parade photos, there it was, having been lost in the fanfare and flurry. This story immediately came to mind as I reflected on how one must be attentive or beauty can be missed, particularly when it is simple, but effective.

Halloween Parade 2011

2011-11-01T12:32:00.000-04:00

My fifth year at the annual Village Halloween Parade. A spectacular event. See my previous postings for photos and information about the parade: Halloween Parade 2010, Halloween Parade 2009, Halloween Parade 2008 Part 1 and Part 2, Village Halloween Parade 2007 #1 and #2, Village Parade 2007 Preview, Village Halloween Parade 2006 , Halloween Parade 2006 Preview

La Côte Basque

2011-10-31T13:00:00.001-04:00

What an unsophisticated, strong-headed, argumentative, ignorant fool I was - in my 20s, a radical vegetarian, and seriously trying to make a case that carob confections were every bit as good as chocolate. I was arguing with chocaholics - what lunacy. Today, I rarely even hear much about carob, and I have not had it in eons. Far fewer are willing to compromise their taste buds, and chocolate has lost much of its evil connotation, with dark chocolate even being seen as healthy.

My sister was a chocaholic and in the 1980s, she frequented the city with her husband. They both loved visiting here and savored the opportunity to indulge in the foods and restaurants of New York City. On one sojourn, I had booked them a room at the Plaza Hotel and made reservations for them at La Côte Basque. I had not included myself in the restaurant outing for a number of reasons, primarily because I was too cheap, particularly to pay for a vegetable dinner in one of New York City's finest restaurants.

However, as the hour of reckoning arrived, standing in my sister's hotel room, the conversation turned to their persuading me to accompany them. I had no wardrobe at the time other than elements of the uniform of the 1960s, so I rejected the offer based on my inability to make the dress code. My brother-in-law, however, always traveled armed with additional clothing and was virtually the same size as I was.

I objected first on the basis of owning no sport jacket. He had an extra. I had no dress pants. He had extra. As we went through all the necessary articles of the well dressed man, I was offered a perfectly suited piece. Finally, in frustration, I pointed out that I could not go to a French restaurant with sneakers, but alas, he had extra dress shoes also.

OK - what about changing a reservation from two to three? And what about a vegetarian meal? A quick call to the restaurant confirmed that one could be added and that my dietary restrictions was zero issue. The French take food seriously, and restaurateurs seem themselves in business to serve the patron, not make things convenient for themselves - a common irritation among many. I was assured that my waiter would easily accommodate any dietary needs.

And so it was that I came to have one of the finest dining experiences in my memory. As we sat down, we were immediately asked if anyone would be having the chocolate souffle for dessert. We were being asked upon our seating, since the creation of the dessert was a long process and would take the entire duration of the meal to prepare. My sister obliged, of course. I remember that the entire experience was extraordinary - being young, such fine dining in New York City was an event I would always remember, the details of which I would recount for my entire life.

When the crusty confection arrived, it was delivered and presented by a team. One carried the dessert while another the chocolate sauce. As one waiter broke the crust and ladled the sauce onto the dessert, I recall my sister overwhelmed, just repeating "Oh my God" over and over.

I imagine that it was likely around that time that I stopped making the argument that carob was as good as chocolate. And thank God that I had never said such a thing within earshot of a pastry chef at La Côte Basque :)

*La Côte Basque was in operation for over 45 years, closing in 2004. A temple to classic French haute cuisine, the restaurant saw guests such as Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and Frank Sinatra. The restaurant opened in the late 1950s by Henri Soulé. Chef Jean-Jacques Rachou became owner in 1979. He said he spent more than $2,200 a week on flowers and more than $3,000 on linen.

Photo Note: This is Marie Belle at 484 Broome Street in SoHo. The shop, cacao bar, and tea salon is a shrine to all things chocolate and is a very highly regarded gem of the neighborhood. Unless you prefer carob :)

Related Posts: Pure Chocolate, Sirens of Convenience, Bon Appetit, Economy Candy, Chocolate Bar, Jacques Torres

Pretty Rad, Part 3

2011-10-28T14:18:00.011-04:00

Liliane Through Broken Glass

My occupation often affords me the opportunity for a bit of fun. I occasionally meet individuals using my product who have been to my showroom, know me by name, yet have never met me in person. Through a series of questions, I let them discover our connection for what I hope will be a very surprising first encounter. This was the case with Gaby Lampkey, whom I wrote about on September 8, 2010 in On The Road.

Recently, I met Liliane le Prévost, hooping in Washington Square Park. I asked about her equipment and where she got it, letting her discover that I was the owner of the manufacturing company who made her hoop. She basically went wild, even stopping passersby to let them know of my celebrity. A big fish in a very small pond, perhaps, but certainly not worthy of public announcements. However, my philosophy is to take your 15 minutes of fame when you can get it.

I learned that Liliane was born in Bayeux, Normandy - extraordinarily cool to me for two reasons. One, I rarely meet first generation French living in New York City, and two, I am of French ancestry myself. So, overall, this was a remarkable connection in more ways than one. Liliane's father is a trained chef living in Europe and, although not having trained at a formal school, has worked with some of the world's greatest chefs and is part of a well-known family in the region, famous for its milk and cheese. I also learned that her mother is a professor.

A conversation ensued regarding this website and my photo excursions. Lilie seemed very animated by the prospect of exploring the city, so I promised I would include her in a future urban safari. We went on two such trips, and this excursion was our third voyage out at sea in the wilds of New York.

She was unfamiliar with the piers in Red Hook. The area is quite scenically dramatic and I was up to another visit, so this seemed a good area to introduce someone as well. My intention was not to spend time shopping indoors, but Liliane was unfamiliar with Fairway and in a fortuitous twist, I was very pleased at my decision to explore this most amazing food emporium. So much so, that our experiences there became the subject of the first two parts of this three part story - you can read about Fairway and Charles Knapp.

But it was time to go back to our main feature, so after our exploration of Fairway, we ventured out to the Beard Street piers of Red Hook. Behind Fairway, there are abandoned trolley cars. Using flashlights, the interiors looked like a made to order film set - rusted, delapidated with chipped paint, broken glass, and strewn with trash. Lilie convinced me to crawl through a missing window. Inside, the place was amazing. Ever the impromptu entertainer, Lilie struck a number of poses in the trolley. She is quite photogenic, with a mane of hair that, once unfurled, is a show stopper. See more photos here.

In a previous email to a friend, Liliane referred to me as pretty rad which, from a 22 year old, I took as a compliment of the highest order. To be able to make any impact on someone her age is not easy. I hope this excursion to Red Hook met her expectations, because I am not sure I am able to keep this level of entertainment up forever. For now though, I hope I remain Pretty Rad :)

Pretty Rad, Part 2

2011-10-27T12:31:00.002-04:00

A Slice of Charles Knapp

In Part 1 of Fairway to Heaven, I found myself unexpectedly immersed in a food emporium, the likes of which I had never seen. I traveled there with a friend who you will meet in Part 3 of this adventure in Red Hook, Brooklyn. However, the plot thickened, or perhaps I should say curdled.

I have written a number of stories with the theme Abandon All Preconceived Notions Ye Who Enter Here. However, looking back, it is fair to say that all of the people I have featured could easily fit under this umbrella. In New York City, more than any place I can imagine, you cannot define or judge a person by color, creed, occupation, lack of occupation, appearance, hygiene, education, or any other outward signs - even those things which a reasonable person may use to reasonably judge someone unfamiliar. This city is a salad bowl of ethnicities, types, and kinds. It's a magnet for luminaries, geniuses, eccentrics, misfits, artists, and every other imaginable variant on the human condition. But the overlying theme is the number of remarkable individuals hidden behind an unassuming or unprepossessing exterior.

As we explored the aisles of Fairway, we approached the cheese department. I love cheese but do not keep it in the house, lest I lose control and consume too much. My eye was drawn to two wheels of cheese stacked on a wooden barrel. My interest was immediately spotted by a man behind the counter who told me of the special nature of this authentic Parmigiano Reggiano.

No sooner did I show interest in a cheese that I was offered a taste. Soon it became a cheese tasting extravaganza with no holds barred. My first and favorite for the night was Amarelo - a strong but extraordinary tasting cheese from Portugal, made with both sheep and goat milk. As conversation ensued, it became abundantly clear that this was not just an ordinary salesperson but also someone who had a passion for cheese and a depth of knowledge. I also knew that this man, who introduced himself as Charles Knapp, would be the subject of a story for this website. Charles gave me a postcard with the details of a wine and cheese tasting that he conducts periodically at botto di vino in Red Hook, Brooklyn (see details here).

As I was leaving, I asked for his full name and contact information. He informed me that he also had a cheese blog which I perused this morning, along with a number of other blogs he authors.*
Charles has had a fascinating life and is far from what one might expect from a counter salesman in Fairway. Born as a Catholic, Charles studied atheism and shamanism in college, then became an SGI Buddhist. His father was in the Air Force, so Charles moved a lot as a child. Here are some ruminations from his website:

Food Trip
Born in San Antonio, Texas. Raised in Europe. Love food Mexican Food only in Texas and California. Ate a lot. Parents had to hold me back. Was a husky kid always.Making lunch for school. Traveling to Holland. France, Italy,Spain. Ate diff foods olives,olive oils, meats, bread, wine, beer, and spirits. Always liked sweets. Candy gum cake. chocolate. Hot oatmeal. Strawberry picking, Elmers food and steak house. SOSC Cafeteria. Mom was a great cook. In Europe brotchen bread bratwurst. In spain, Bread and olives, cheese, wine and olive oils. Not only the food, culture and history for the region. It continues. I want to take Ben carlos. Own Business in Catering. Gouda in Holland. manchego in Spain. Quantro for dessert. Flowers and food. We have been on the go for the first 15 years of my life. learned German in first grade. Spain Rain on the plane to Majorca. The italians where so wonderful. Very giving about everything. They wanted top show off their food and history and culture all the time. Naples was wonderful Roma did we see the churches. After awhile it became dull. Humor and sarcasm were always around. Munich oktoberfest. garmische partenkirchen. The Sound of Music was our family we danced, learned a lot and ate a lot and drank a lot throughout chiildhood. Potsdam. Checkpoint Charlie. Our history together. resentments. Golden Child. Ms Griffith. 3rd grade Wizard of Oz. Tam class president. I supported her a lot. I was the class clown and the mischievous one.1975 we cam home to Oregon. Strange time. Came out of the cocoon of military life. Life is some cocoons. go in and out.

And there you have a Slice of Charles Knapp :)

Note: If you want to be even more astounded with Charles's transparency and the candid exposure of his rich life, follow the links for his various blogs - 21, manspace, spiritworld2011, and snazzysales2011.

Pretty Rad, Part 1

2011-10-26T13:13:00.006-04:00

Fairway to Heaven

Don't you love a bargain, a deal? A two for one sale? How about three for one? Please come with me on an adventure in three parts and see why New York City is everything you were told it would be, and more.

I do have a tendency to get very excited and animated by things that may perhaps be seen as ordinary, boring, or just "interesting." And it is true that once unleashed, my unbridled enthusiasm often embellishes - things such as chewing gum on the sidewalk, etched windows on the subway. or a place where one may find nothing. But, nonetheless, I cannot conceive of another place where one can find the plethora of absolutely amazing people, places, and things that can be discovered and explored in one evening in one locale. Let me explain.

Needful of photos and story material, I was prompted last Saturday to corral a friend to explore Red Hook, Brooklyn. I chose Red Hook to visit a highly rated neighborhood bar, Sunny's. But, as typifies any train of thought travel in New York City to the open-minded, I was quickly derailed, and Sunny's became a postscript to the novella of the night. I often go on photography jaunts alone, but when possible, I do prefer company in these urban safaris. I have often explored the corners of the city with fellow photographer Bill Shatto.

On this trip, however, I recruited a friend who is a college student and who brings spontaneity, impulsiveness, and a fresh curiosity to the table. You will meet her in part three of this story and learn why this story is entitled Pretty Rad. However, I had no idea that this night would become the next cool adventure, befitting her expectations from a couple of previous outings.

I had visited Red Hook a number of times and was aware of the two big retail attractions of the area: Ikea and Fairway. Fairway is a market very well known to New Yorkers for its extraordinary prices and selection. It is an institution on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.
Given the scenic wonders of Red Hook and that I already knew Fairway, shopping here was never of interest to me. Hence, I had never set foot inside this particular Fairway. My companion had not been in a Fairway before, so I decided to briefly tour her around the store before our main feature of the night.

I made a big mistake in assuming that this Fairway was just another store and that an excursion here would be a quick perfunctory run through. When I say big mistake, I mean BIG. Have you ever seen limes stacked 20 across and 16 high? Or an aisle of yogurt? An olive oil department? An entire section of vanilla beans?

I have visited suburban Pathmarks and the like, but I have never seen such a mammoth selection of products within one food category as this market in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Those nearby who can shop here regularly are truly blessed with good fortune, and their path there must truly feel like a Fairway to Heaven :)

Related Post: Gotham City

Last to See the Future

2011-10-25T12:34:00.001-04:00

The future is here at last. I hope. I was excited to see the demo bike station of the New York City Bikeshare program to be launched in the summer of 2012. I never thought I would see a bikeshare program in New York City. We hear of these things in places such as Portland, Oregon, considered to be a model city when it comes to progressive ideas and quality of life. Here in New York, these things are like faraway fantasies of tropical islands in the cold of winter. Never going to happen.

But it is. I am impressed that Alta Bicycle Share was able to work out the details and orchestrate such a large program like this in New York. Programs which may be simple elsewhere can find monumental hurdles or impasses here. The beauracratic nightmare, along with issues of handling payments, security, theft, safety, vandalism, collecting and redistributing bikes using rebalancers, location of kiosks, etc. have to be worked out in a city already packed to capacity with pedestrians and competing vehicles.

Alta Bicycle Share designs, deploys, and manages bicycle share programs and systems worldwide. They have launched systems in Washington, DC/Arlington, Virginia, Boston, and Melbourne, Australia. The NYC program will roll out with 10,000 bicycles available at 600 stations in Manhattan and parts of Brooklyn. I spoke with a representative for some time and took a test ride on one of the bikes. The details seem to be very well thought out - I asked many questions and raised many concerns.

One of my biggest concerns for any plan that requires things left in public spaces is theft. Theft has been an issue that has severely limited the widespread use of bicycles in New York City. Bicyclists resort to heavy chains and lock systems along with the use of old bikes that are least desirable for stealing and resale.

I was told that the bikes used in the program are designed to use unique parts and have tracking devices. A stolen bike would be obvious on the streets, not to mention that a 40-pound clunker is not going to be particularly desirable in the resale market of stolen goods.

Bike Share in NYC will be funded by private sponsorship and user fees, not taxpayer dollars. Memberships are expected to run about $100 per year, and bikes will be available 24/7 (day passes will also be available). Membership will give unlimited use, but rides are limited to 30-45 minutes (for longer trips, a bike can be dropped off at any station and exchanged for another). See more here.

There are still problems to work out, not the least of which is $50 million in sponsorship funding. The program does look like it is moving forward. In many arenas, the latest and greatest can be found in New York City. However, in areas that involve large systems to be implemented, it often feels like we are Last to See the Future…

Related Posts: One Screw, Street Cred, Orange You Glad, Urban Bike Polo, Art Bikes, Penny Farthing

No Cannibals

2011-10-24T12:33:00.002-04:00

In 1989, Daniel Rakowitz shocked New York City when he murdered and chopped up his ex-girlfriend Monika Beerle, made a soup out of her body, and served it to the homeless in Tompkins Square Park. Rakowitz, the "Butcher of Tompkins Square," was found not guilty by reason of insanity and moved to a state hospital for the criminally insane.

It is hard for anyone to imagine, even to those of us who lived in New York City, that not so long ago in the 1970s, the East Village was one of the most frightening areas to live in or visit. Extraordinary, because it was just a stroll away from the center Village and some of the most desirable and expensive real estate in New York City.

Even through the 1980s, when much of the city had improved considerably, Tompkins Square Park remained a high-crime area, had encampments of homeless people, and was still a center for illegal drug dealing and heroin use. Rents were extraordinarily low - many drug addicts were able to afford apartments there, with lifestyles funded by selling drugs or through burglary and muggings. Virtually everyone I know who lived in the East Village in the 1970s was robbed or assaulted. It was truly a lawless land. Even to walk to St. Marks place at night could be worrisome. Alphabet City was no man's land. Things escalated, and on August 6–August 7, 1988, the Tompkins Square Park Riot occurred. Since 2004, the annual Police Riot Concert commemorates this event.

Last week was the first time in my entire life that I walked through Tompkins Square Park at night, something that four decades ago would have been unthinkable to me. In the 2000s, a woman friend I knew regularly attended bars and clubs in Alphabet City. She trekked the area at extremely late hours. I was astonished that a single woman would venture out alone there; when I questioned her, she could not understand my concern that she did such a thing routinely.

However, even in 2011, Tompkins still has an edge. I find the nondescript, high fences to be very disturbing visually, a reminder that this place's character is far from the parks of Paris, where a fence a few inches high with a small sign to stay off the grass is adequate to keep trespassers off. Here, even after renovation, I find the atmosphere much like that of a well-manicured prison yard with a feeling that restraint is necessary, lest there be an outbreak or an invasion of some kind. No doubt that many of these impressions are now largely a product of my mind from witnessing decades of decay, horror, and crime there.

So, on a recent chilly Saturday night, I walked through Tompkins Square Park from one end to another. It was only 8PM, but already the park was deserted with only a few stragglers here and there. The atmosphere was spooky and eerie to me. I was quite uneasy in that small jungle at night, but at least I saw no cannibals.

Related Posts: Transgendered Jesus, Mike Fontana, Irony Candy, Fluff, Leftover Crack, Bohemian Flavor of the Day, Piercing al Fresco, Gem Spa

Off-White by Design

2011-10-21T12:33:00.001-04:00

At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I must tell you that I really don't like being in my apartment much. I say ungrateful because although I have worked hard like many, I have also been lucky. And to live in an 1837 landmark townhouse on Washington Square is one of the rare privileges afforded very few in New York City.

Notice that I said apartment rather than home. The reason is simple: my place does not feel much like a home, for which I take full responsibility. It has not been decorated at all. Even the Shaker style, for all its spartan utilitarianism, at least has a style, grace, and aesthetic. I'm embarrassed to say and hate to admit, perhaps my place has devolved into a bachelor pad with a hint of hope.

Recently I was strolling home from my office via Mercer Street. An exquisitely appointed retail interior caught the eye of a friend, who immediately recognized the furnishings as the Shabby Chic style of Rachel Ashwell, a woman whom she much admired and many of whose books she had acquired. She wandered inside. I waited outside at first but soon decided to explore the store myself. The shop had an extraordinary feel. Truly inviting and homey, a place you want to just linger in. And we did. See my photo gallery here.

I was pleased to learn that Rachel Ashwell herself would be present for a book signing in just a few days, so I discussed with the staff my desire to return for the signing, meet Rachel, take photos, and do a story. The staff was extremely amenable, befitting my entire experience there. I was given a green light, and so, with cameras in tow, I returned last night for the small happening. It amazes me how so many such fetes with notables are going on concurrently in New York City.

I know nothing of the Shabby Chic style, but it is immediately apparent that although there is a casual nature to the decor, nothing is really left to whim. The messy, mushy, wrinkled, and time-worn comfort is deliberate - every element is given thoughtful consideration, even down to the white pencils, offered free. The lighting in the SoHo shop is soft with a yellow cast. Intrigued about the details of the decor, particularly the colors, I asked about the paint, and, as I expected, the precise shade was known and written down for me as per my request - Winbourne White by Farrow and Ball.

The turnout was not too large or too small. Free appetizers and wine were made available. Everything seemed just right. I waited in line and met Rachel briefly, telling her of this website. She was charming and cordial. I told her of my intentions and left my card.

We often like our things crisp and clean with hard edges, particularly in a world ruled by the precision of modern technology. We like bright and bold colors and harsh contrasts. In my lifetime, painting a place white meant a pure white. On November 17, 2009, I wrote White by Design. But that's white, not off-white. My apartment is now painted Atrium white - a stark, bluish white. I never understood the desire for off-white. Why be so muted? I understand now. The world can be a harsh place at times. Who wants to come home more of that? I have seen the light, and it's a little yellower. I want to come home to a place that evokes the comfort of a time gone by. A place that is soft and Off-White by Design :)

About Rachel Ashwell: Rachel Ashwell, was born Rachel Greenfield on October 30, 1959, in Cambridge, England and raised in London. Rachel is an author and interior designer who created the Shabby Chic style, opening her first store in 1989 in Santa Monica, California. Her mother restored antique dolls and teddy bears, and her father was a secondhand rare books dealer. While in her teens, Rachel began selling antiques at London outdoor markets, later pursuing a career as in England as a wardrobe and prop stylist for TV commercials and photo shoots. She currently resides in Los Angeles, California.

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Last Resort

2011-10-20T11:47:00.004-04:00

Growing up at the time and place that I did, there was not much to do as a teenager and very little that was approved by adults. No Starbucks for us. One of the few activities that was considered "good, clean fun" was bowling. Of course, to bring a girlfriend meant no privacy, which is what made it good and clean, but not much fun.

Alternatively, a lover's lane or parking with a girl meant having a driver's license and vehicle, which was not a small achievement. Avoiding police interrogation was another concern in this endeavor. So it was bowling, and as often as I may have gone (I owned my own bowling shoes), bowling always felt like a LAST RESORT. I grew to hate bowling.

But everything gets reinvented, marketed, and repackaged. Virtually nothing is uncool - the uncool becomes cool as people exhaust existing cool. Bowling became very cool in the 1980s, but it goes back much further, with various spikes in interest, even to the earliest days of New York City's founding, when lawn bowling was done in lower Manhattan.
From the New York City Department of Parks website:

Bowling Green is New York City’s oldest park. According to tradition, this spot served as the council ground for Native American tribes and was the site of the legendary sale of Manhattan to Peter Minuit in 1626. The Dutch called the area "the Plain" and used it for several purposes. It was the beginning of Heere Staat (High Street, now Broadway)—a trade route which extended north through Manhattan and the Bronx. It was also the site of a parade ground, meeting place, and cattle market. In 1686 the site became public property and was first designated as a park in 1733, when it was offered for rent at the cost of one peppercorn per year. Lessees John Chambers, Peter Bayard, and Peter Jay were responsible for improving the site with grass, trees, and a wood fence "for the Beauty & Ornament of the Said Street as well as for the Recreation & delight of the Inhabitants of this City." A gilded lead statue of King George III was erected here in 1770, and the iron fence (now a New York City landmark) was installed in 1771. On July 9, 1776, after the first public reading in New York State of the Declaration of Independence, this monument was toppled by angry citizens, dragged up Broadway, sent to Connecticut, melted down, and recast as ammunition.

By the late 18th century, Bowling Green marked the center of New York’s most fashionable residential area, surrounded by rows of Federal-style townhouses. In the first decade of the 20th century, Bowling Green was disrupted by the construction of the IRT subway. The park was rebuilt as part of citywide improvements made in preparation for visitors to the 1939 World’s Fair. Renovations to Bowling Green included removing the fountain basin, relocating the interior walkways, installing new benches, and providing new plantings.
A 1976-77 capital renovation restored Bowling Green to its 18th-century appearance. Publisher and philanthropist George Delacorte donated the park’s central fountain.

Since December 1989 the statue of Charging Bull (1987-89) has been on display at the north end of the park. Its sculptor, Arturo DiModica, says the three-and-a-half-ton bronze figure represents "the strength, power and hope of the American people for the future." It has also been linked to the prosperity enjoyed by Wall Street in the past decade.

The park and surrounding area is beautiful and certainly deserves a visit. Although located far from midtown at the southernmost tip of Manhattan, and once a place for bowling, it is far from a Last Resort :)

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Esai is Taken

2011-10-19T13:15:00.004-04:00

Frequently I have been in a public space, perhaps a place such as Washington Square Park, when someone has pulled me aside and whispered something like "Do you realize who that guy is?" Of course, everyone has different standards as to what constitutes greatness and importance, so my initial reaction is to take these introductions with a grain of salt and do my research later. However, with current technology, later can be now if one has a portable device with Internet access.

On September 5th at 9:20 PM, Joe Rios (producer of the film documentary in which I was host - see here) approached me quite excited and whispered to me that this was ESAI MORALES, a lifelong idol of his. Apparently, this was a name I should have known but sadly did not. I did the prudent thing and took a handful of photos along with some video, just "in case" this person turned out to be worthy of a story.
I moved aside and pulled out my iPad to get a brief overview.

As I began to type his name in the Wikipedia search bar, his full name was completed quickly, so I knew that this person was likely a heavyweight. A few seconds scanning his Wikipedia entry, and I was embarrassed that I had never heard of him. There was a broad range of films and TV series, nearly 100 in total, many of which were quite familiar to me. Morales is perhaps best known for his role in the 1987 film La Bamba.

Reading his bio more closely, I could understand why my friend Joe Rios would have idolized Morales and found him to be an inspiration. Like Joe, Esai was Puerto Rican and grew in New York City from a working-class family (Esai grew up in Brooklyn, Joe had a very rough upbringing in the Bronx). Morales is the classic success story that every urban youth needs to hear.

I can't imagine another place where a man or woman who has achieved so much, essentially a celebrity, would sit on a park bench with a local and just sing his heart out. I was introduced to Esai and spoke to him briefly. A piece of the video footage I took that evening may be used in the film documentary that Joe is producing. Although it was crude and hand held, it documents the extraordinary nature of the park and this city, where anything can happen and often does.

Born in 1962, Morales began his acting career by attending the School of Performing Arts in Manhattan. I also learned that Morales is a vegetarian and political activist. Whatever he is doing, it appears to serve him well. He looks to be in great condition and is quite handsome and charming. For any women who might be interested, I am sorry to say, Esai is taken :)

Related Posts: Mzuri Sings, Myra's Isle, Walid Soroor

King of Accordion

2011-10-18T12:25:00.003-04:00

Barry does not ask for much. He only wants to be known as the King of Accordion. But the media attention he has received spins him the way it wants, so to the media, he is the King of whatever works best to suit their needs, including the front man to a recent Occupy Wall Street march. A little spin or artistic license often makes a story more enjoyable to read - I have been guilty of that myself. My writing has evolved from the fact-reporting style of the news journalist to one that is highly personal, weaving in connections from my life experience that are triggered by the place, person, or thing which I write about.

Nonetheless, I do like to feel that I have neither misunderstood nor miscommunicated the feelings and thoughts of an individual subject. It is for this reason that on personal profiles, I often email a biographical inquiry and use excerpts so that you can read the subject's own words, not my translation. I have also frequently recorded long meetings/interviews. I make these available as well.

Barry Hamadyk, currently a Brooklyn resident, hails from New Jersey. Barry has played accordion since he was 5, and it is this love that he endeavors to communicate by attracting people with his regal garb. He can be found in the parks of New York City and is a habitue of Washington Square Park, sitting on a bench for passersby while recordings of accordion music play continuously. His preferred repertoire are waltzes and rhumbas. At one time he played organ for roller skating rinks.

Barry found that as his wardrobe became more outlandish (along with his Nordic look), the more attention he got. Once a crown was added, response went through the royal roof. This organic transformation has evolved over the last 5 years. Although, at a surface level, one may see Barry as someone akin to our friend Mark Birnbaum (with a shared passion for music), the motivations for the flamboyant dress are actually quite different, as are the men and their backgrounds.

Being referred to as the King of New York rather than the King of Accordion is not Barry's only dismay with a news article recently written. It also was reported that "he gets a lot of money, too, without much effort." However, Barry neither really solicits money nor collects it.

I spoke with Barry for quite some time and found him extremely forthcoming and congenial. If you meet Barry in the parks of New York, say Hi and remember, he is the King of Accordion :)

Related Posts: The Conductor

Sorry About That

2011-10-17T17:33:00.002-04:00

On September 21, 2011, I wrote Not Under the Gowanus about a church which had nagged me as an enigma for years. Or so I thought. Our Lady Of Czestochowa / St Casimir, located at 183 25th Street in Brooklyn, can be seen from the Gowanus Expressway.
However, on a recent excursion through Brooklyn, I realized that a much more imposing structure closer to a highway is what I had seen so many times on this stretch of highway and that this was the image that was stored in the recesses of my mind: the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary – St. Stephen Church, located at Summit Street and Hicks Street, fronting the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway before the Gowanus Expressway.

The parish was established in 1882, the first Italian parish established in Brooklyn. I have yet to tour this church, having been "distracted" by Our Lady Of Czestochowa. Only in New York - larger than life, historic, architecturally significant. A place that, elsewhere, would be an unforgettable icon. But here, in New York City, where the extraordinary can become ordinary, I confused one beautiful church with another. Sorry about that :)

I'll Kill You

2011-10-14T11:41:00.002-04:00

Children soon learn the power of words, even if they do not know the full meaning. Take the ever popular "I'll Kill You." Adults often dispense with the words and just perform the act. Particularly when angry. And nothing enrages a New Yorker more than a breech of certain types of urban etiquette, particularly street parking etiquette. And yes, there is such a thing.

Many non-residents of New York City imagine this metropolis to be a lawless land with no rules. Not at all. If you doubt my words, try taking a parking spot deemed to be someone else's. There is a protocol here, but I can't tell you exactly what it is.
I street parked for years, and one of the best techniques, rather than cruising, is to stake out part of a block and WAIT. Cruising for a spot in a crowded neighborhood is very tricky. First, as you cruise, you will be encountering others who have staked out territory. And you will also have to be exactly where someone is leaving - empty spots are snagged immediately. In today's photo, I had only stepped into my car when someone pulled up and double parked ahead of me in anticipation of my leaving. Waiting for what, in this city, is like a nugget of gold to the panner: the parking spot.

Of course, the waiting and staking out territory strategy has its problems, too. It is a generally accepted practice to stake out a portion of a block, lay claim to it and wait. If someone pulls out, it's yours and yours only. However, there are many instances where someone unaware of you or of the protocol will just pull into a spot within your turf. A confrontation will typically ensue, with the offending party backing off, apologizing, and leaving.

A piggish thief may snag the spot and refuse to back off. However, if the thief has not executed his parking quickly and properly, such as pulling in front first, he is subject to the offended party pulling up quickly and blocking the thief from completing his parking, resulting in a stand off. This precise scenario was the subject of a Seinfeld episode, The Parking Space.

But there is a simpler solution for a victim in this predicament. Many years ago, I read an article in the Village Voice about exactly this scenario. Someone snatched a parking spot before a man who had been staking out the block could get to it. He pulled up to the thief, rolled down his window, pulled out a gun and shot and murdered him.* An enraged adult needs not to waste any time with "I'll Kill You."

*This is not an isolated incident. There have been numerous assaults and other fatalities involving fights over parking spaces.

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