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a festival of lights
Watchers: Thanks to yahoo news some of us were alerted to the magnificent annual Geminids meteor shower. Who knew that once a year, the twilight sky is streaked with the orange, yellow and green remains of the extinct comet, Phaethon?
I stumbled upon this fact at 12am, Dec 14th, 10 minutes before the supposed peak for NYC viewing. That didn’t stop this superhero: I rushed outside in my pajamas, in clumsy snow boots, a puffy winter coat, winter hat and (what else?) my tri-corder (iphone). Sky gazing is a great way to reconnect yourself with a certain peace: to witness the vastness of the universe, its glories and mysteries.. it humbles you and reminds you that you are something outside the persona of your offices, families, friends… The fact that this meteor shower happens during the month of Chanukah, the Festival of Lights, and Christmas and the Winter Solstice, the Return of Light, makes this spectacle even more special. Take your little watchers outside for a real holiday gift next year: it’s only going to get stronger and more visible with every year. And if you have a cool iphone Star Maps application, you can aim your tri-corder into the sky and sing out the names of each star to your tyke like a soothing lullaby.
Beauty Parlor Images
Beauty parlors give you have a lot of time to observe, think, reflect and unintentionally eavesdrop. While your hair is washed you can count cracks in the ceiling and wonder when the rest of the paint will peel off. While under the dryer you have time to do normal activities like read or play with your phone. But when in the beautician’s chair your eyes are pretty much fixed upon the tools aligned under the mirror.
There you might catch a glance of her personal life: the purse sitting half open on the floor just beneath the alter of hair products, a picture of a smiling kid or two in graduation caps. Lunch that has been put on hold until she’s finished rolling your hair.
When you’re done looking at these, you find yourself reading all the labels of the hair products she has. Olive oil this, silicon that…. but I have to say I was taken by surprise by the orange and yellow canister with a picture of a runny nose gorilla, greenness dripping from his nose. Yes, it really is a product, and they call it “Gorilla Snot”. How they managed to really market this to people is a mystery to me. But there it was, moco de gorila.
Respect the Hustle
If Cuba ever sinks down the cheese path of commercialism, one souvenir to buy will be t-shirts that say, authoritatively, RESPECT THE HUSTLE. Even if an influx of resources suddenly cure the population from the hustle bug of survival, surely it should be commemorated and included in the museum of the revolution. Because if you can trick material objects into longevity like making a 1950 Cheverlot run in 2009 like it’s (sort of) new, if you can sell people fake steaks that are really fried mats or pizza with condom “cheese”, then your ability of hustling a fellow human being with simple words has gotta be good by default.
Hail the hustle in Cuba! Done with a straight face, intelligence and craft, you got to respect it. Recognize and ascertain whether you should accommodate the hustle. How much is it for you to loose this battle? Can you acquiesce without being cheated and everyone’s dignity maintained? If not say, “I respect the Hustle”, then walk away. If acquiescing you have a choice of either remaining a passive participant, or leaning close to the Hustler and whispering with a tilted head and squinted eye, “Asere. Don’t try to hustle me. I got you anyways.”
More to come on some specific hustles.
Heavenly coffee
The Church of Heavenly Rest, located at 2 East 90th St. (Fifth Ave.) in Manhattan has something wonderful going on besides spiritual love. I walked by there and did a double take. They run a cafe out of the church! It is darling. Talk about setting a scene for some good idling and pensive thought. You can order a cup of coffee, smell church incense, feel the curvature of the gothic arches with your eyes- all while contemplating the meaning of life and whether your cappuccino foam has taken the form of holy images. You might get distracted by the mansion next door, but that’s okay! Allow yourself to daydream…
the loneliest taxi stand…
When in a cab migrating north or south on the Henry Hudson during evening hours, if I’m not scanning the Hudson river sparkling with city lights, then my head is often turned towards that interesting territory adjacent to the highway where the city starts. One thing that always captures my attention but never the lens of my camera is the lonely taxi stand outside of Hustler. That’s a strip club, for those not in the know. Taxi stands are not a familiar sight, at least in the parts of the city I find myself in. Usually every where you step is a taxi stand, created by your very own self when you peak outside the sidewalk with a raised hand. Voila. Taxi stand. But right off the highway is a canopied (glass?) stand with a large sign, “Taxi” around the corner (but out of sight of) Hustler’s doors. I’ve never seen someone standing in it, and I’m always looking whenever I pass. And I just have to think that it is the loneliest taxi stand, without a person and more so if someone’s in there. There is no hiding your nocturnal activities if you’re standing in this glass box with a glaring sign,-Hey, I’ve just been enjoying some gyrating, pole happy tits, fantasy is over and now I need to go home… if you are trying to be discreet. And if you weren’t in Hustler and just need a cab, people will probably never believe it. I’m waiting for the day I see someone waiting in it, to imagine all the stories that accompanies standing in the taxi stand in front of Hustler on the West Side Highway. What probably bothers me is that it is a scene set for a character who hasn’t walked onto the pages yet.
Have any other lonely taxi stands, or thoughts on this one?
The Charm of Athens
Temple of Zeus, Athens Greece September 2005
I often hear of some Greeks advising potential tourists to the patrida to skip Athens in their itinerary. If the Greek islands are your destination with limited time, I can see that. BUT… here’s why Athens works, either to visit or to live in, despite some of the harshness found in any city, in its own form.
- The Acropolis. Could very well be personal taste, years of Euro-centric schooling- Nah! Shut up. The sight of the Acropolis at night, draped in moonlight with an eerie glow… is breathtaking and surreal. How many times have I shed a tear just catching sight of it, wherever I may be in the Athenian night? Visit during the hours of 12pm-3pm during the months of July and August and you’ll swear you’ve just hiked into the atmosphere of the sun.
- Coffee culture. Try a damn frappé, for goodness sake, and people watch behind black sunglasses. If you’re a man, have black hair with Adonis wavy locks– you’ll blend right in. If you’re uppity, go to Kolonaki for your cafe. But you will have a nice frappé atmosphere almost anywhere. If coffee is not your thing, try a frosty beer with some feta-cheese flavored Lay’s chips.
- The beach. It’s just a drive away. You don’t have to island hop or go broke. City dweller by week day, beach god or goddess during the weekend.
- Island excursions. Just a short plane ride away (or more true to the Greek experience) a ferry away. See above! The Charm of Athens – continue reading …
Airport Talk
Being in the airport with time to spare in a sea of strangers, your ears are more sensitive in picking up other people’s conversations, your imagination kicks into high gear. Some interesting conversations are heard in airports and planes. In the airport on route to Sicily the most memorable of the trip came from a clerk at a sandwich stand. A line was formed by hungry travelers wanting to wolf something down before being encased in a tube for hours with TV dinners that taste like ass. The clerk was missing about three fingers on one of her hands, and she was lecturing the cashier on how her baby’s daddy had just completed two of his five years of mandated time for stabbing someone. The cashier was in front of the register, but head turned away to partake in the conversation. No-one dared remind the girls that customers were waiting. You just don’t get snippy with someone missing fingers and having that type of conversation, job be damned.
Ode to… Frappé
Perfect timing now that Red Bull has been outed as having traces of cocaine. Are you next, precious Frappé?
I’ve mentioned them enough, so for those of you wondering, too lazy to click on the wikipedia links I occasionally provide, or don’t care enough but are still reading now… What are frappés? And how are they relevant to one’s urban odyssey?
Frappés are the idler’s rice and beans. They are frothy ice-coffees drunk by the entire population of Greece, contributing to fast talking, hyper arm gestures, and tachycardia. Made from crystals from the Mines of Moira by minions of Nescafe, they provide hours of liquid sustenance for people watching at cafés.
I’ve never met a Frappé drinker who’s taken their shake straight (without milk). I honestly think one would die of a heart attack from the potency of not being diluted. Don’t believe me? Drink your frappé down to just the mucky bottom, and fill your frappé glass up with water. It’ll taste just as strong. Order a decaf and you’ll either get a laugh (doesn’t exist), or they’ll lie and bring you a regular.
Frappés are the cool man’s drink. It shows you don’t have to worry ’bout notin. You can lounge in your café chair for hours behind sunglasses. Watch. Sip. Watch.
Ode to Frappé! To not sleeping for two days! To stomach cramps! To hyperactivity! Ode to you, Frappé.
What the F*ck Happened to Finger Painting?
Strolling around my home turf, I passed by the proliferation of what used to be a small private nursery school nestled in a humble brownstone on the Upper West Side, but is now an entire private elementary school educational system with sites in multiple brownstones and new condo lobbies. Mandell Nursery School was my brief stunt in private school, a source of snobbery my siblings would tell you I’ve carried ever since, even though my entire miseducation was spent in the public school system. (as a side note, someone from Mandell school deserves a place in Dante’s Inferno. I have a good memory).
So when C-mixto and I passed by one of their glass lobbies to see some of the arts and crafts tikes do now-a-days, imagine our disbelief when we saw the following exibit made by Kindergarteners, with the following text: What the F*ck Happened to Finger Painting? – continue reading …
A Loafer’s Manifesto
“I have a dream. It is called love, anarchy, freedom. It is called being idle.”
-Tom Hodgkinson
That’s how this gem of a book ends, and it is faithful to its departing words. Most Urbanites would benefit from skimming though “How to Be Idle”. It is a true idler’s manifesto. Before you judge, let’s put give some more thought to that name, idler, that might turn you off. This little book called for me with its perfect blend of creative font, artwork and cool peach color. I saw the man sitting at his table with his frappé, cigarette and crossed leg and had a visceral reaction of my ideal day (I don’t smoke, but I can pretend I do). Inside its relaxed cover is a rallying charge from the heart, complete with historical context on the degradation of the human spirit through wage labor and prudery. A Loafer’s Manifesto – continue reading …
