Currently browsing 'New York City'
Checking in or Taking Out?
You tell me if this sign looks like the entrance to an Emergency Room (which it is) or an old 50’s Diner?
Once upon a Tree… Returns?
In October I blogged about the sadness of this tree pit near 59th Street-
how final its destiny looked all bricked up. But it looks like there might be some re-consideration? Here’s what the site looks like now…
Let’s see what ending this urban tree pit gets.
The Eternal Robin Byrd
Have a basic cable TV question for you (those who are up at ungodly hours of the night or early morning). How on earth is Robin Byrd still on the air? The question doesn’t question the Queen’s throne of hosting the Sesame Street equivalent of sexual health for many of us growing up in the 80’s who were able to sneak a peak. C is for… Clitoris, of course! Do you know where your clitoris is? Here let me show you… And so on, goes her show, offering the same type of diversity as the innocent PBS counterpart. There is something for all tastes there: gender preferences, body images and fetishes. But my Lord, breast implants have come along way since the jugs you see on the show- two stiff orbs with as much space between them as the north and south poles. Brazilians (as in the haircut down south) have become the staple of today’s porn, but at Robin’s you’re sure to see a bush. Yet her shows continue to be aired, with a phone number to call into to boot (the original 970 number?). And the commercials (advertising hotlines and escort services) are the same ones from back then too. So I guess my question is, is this a cult classic? Is it supposed to appeal to that generation who grew up with it and still find those hairstyles and lack of airbrush and make-up titillating? I guess I could google it, but afraid 0f what else I’ll dredge up and’ll hijack my computer. She really means to teach you something, not just get you off. Ever see the musical orgy endings? How isn’t it Sesame Street? I’ll take a cookie, you little monster. With a tall glass of milk. She shows love to each and every one of her guests.
Welcome to the Jungle
Kudos to the Uptown Collective, Washington Heights/Inwood’s coolest blog, for finding this story.
Gun’s and Roses fans… WaHI folks, a little bit of history…
http://uptowncollective.com/2011/02/17/welcome-to-the-jungle-wash-heights-style/
Riding in the Dark
How many of you remember riding the trains in the 80’s (and I’m sure the 70’s) when most of the time the subway cars went dark as they caroused the tunnels? We’ve come a long way since then, but this morning passengers were reminded of those gritty subway days on a morning rush hour A train. Now, it’s probably not that good of an idea to get excited about the lights going out when you’re in a tin can with strangers, traveling through holes fairies (or other magical engineering beings) drilled underground oh-so-long ago. But given that this subway car was not too packed, I think it was exciting. We were forced to abandon our books and magazines (the gadget-people were still looking at the screens, I’m sure) and remember where we were. A view of the tunnels is so much more clear when the lights are off. It makes the ride more of an adventure. There was no epileptic flickering of the lights (the lights back then never really completely went out without first flickering), just cold darkness for about 3 stops. Then the lights came on and everyone dug their noses back into their private bubbles. Still, it was like being a kid again, staring out into the tracks in the dark, hearing the roar of the tracks because the car doors keep opening and closing with the heavy swaying of the train… when life seemed more tangible and less digital.
Barrio Dreams
A recommended book for those with an interest in topics on gentrification in NYC, NuyoRican Heritage and the politics of neighborhoods. Not a light read (very academic), but it provides some really interesting insight in some of the history of “El Barrio”- it’s relationship to Harlem, the Economic Empowerment Zone and El Museo del Barrio (had no idea it was originally a museum for Puerto Rican heritage that slowly erased its Nuyoricanness to market itself a more sanitized and profitable “Pan-Latin Museum” That’s a harsh summary and there’s more to it, but that’s the short you can take out from reading the book). Neighborhood improvement projects aren’t as simple as they sound. Neither is immigration.
When Salsa Kicks your Butt
It was inevitable. Nova has her first salsa related injury after blogs joking about the dangers of the dance form. But this one didn’t involve a salsa character partner. It was a pearl that did me in. For those not in the know, a pearl is the last half of a diamond, a shine that ends in basically two quick squats. To be fair, it wasn’t the source of the injury, but it did make it worse. Stretching was the match to the straw and gasoline. Out of salsa commission for a few weeks, I’m turning to sports techniques to prevent loosing my Jedi readiness of being an 0n-2 follower:
- Mental visualization. They say it helps athletes to visualize over and over a certain play, jump, free throw… So why not turn patterns and shines? So far, I find this useless. Putting on music and staring into the ceiling trying to conjure mental images of dancing with a partner doesn’t work as a follower for me! And truthfully, I’m afraid that such deep concentration will will myself into some parallel salsa dimension that I won’t be able to get back from.
- Dancing in place. Sort of. Related to above, but with a slight attempt to mimic the footwork. Inherently dangerous of retriggering the injury. And you might scare your spouse that you’re having a stroke, shuffling like that.
- Indoctrination through videos. I do this anyway, and it does work. Watch turn pattern videos over and over, rewinding to specific moves. Memorize. Memorize. Memorize. Experiment on unsuspecting leaders when the time is right. Risk? Same as mental visualization-willing yourself into another salsa dimension with no way back.
- Mediate to the music and become one with the count. We’re back to the risks of #1. But I actually think this is the key to obtaining the holy grail of on-2 and becoming an almighty Scissor. I think I’ll focus on the music and the count, and try to figure out how I can break its barrier and master it. How to make my feet dance around the count of the flute and not just the clave.
So that’s how Nova will see things. She’s on a mental salsa retreat, a recluse in the hills and caves of Inwood. Who knows, I might return a better dancer! If it’s been awhile since you’ve heard from me, someone look for me in another dimension. Bring your dance shoes. You might want to stay.
Street Cookie in Inwood
Another critter popped up from another dimension. Was sitting right under the exhaust of a parked car, autumn leaves falling through its open arms.
Urban Leg Warmers
During this horrendous winter, thought to share a little urban tip on one way to stay warm while you’re underground. The C train. The C train’s heating system seems to work on these little radiators hidden behind a steel fence with holes that run directly under your legs. It’s one roasty-toasty way to travel and worth all those local stops if you’re frozen. And it’s not simply warm. It’s heat you can feel seeping up, that’ll probably get you hot if you stay there too long. It’s bliss for the Antarctic weather of 2011.
Stolen Images
Apologies if this was already covered by Seinfeld on Nueva-Centric living. Among the abundant subway characters that pack into our steel cars twenty-four hours a day lurks a silent being that can be viewed in two different ways, depending on your mood: When you’re not in an exactly “collective love New York state of mind”, these people are like little stalking Gollums slithering through the tunnels on a mission to possess something. It aint a ring. In better moods, they serve as a flattering mirror; you might immediately fix your hair when you lock eyes with them, smile, or even give a bashful blink. I’m not talking about Shutterbugs, the people who steal an image of you with a camera’s lens, then scuttle away like a Peeping Tom. Hard to justify that type of image mugging. I’m talking about the person in the seat diagonally across from you with penetrating eyes that switch every five seconds or so from a soul-gripping lock on your face and the small pad and pencil cuddled atop their knapsack. When a sketch artist, art student, artist–whatever it is you want to call these subway characters–chooses you out of the rest of the sardine gang commuting alongside you, it’s sort of flattering. Unless of course they chose you because you just look so darn strange, but hey you’ll never know the truth. But the act also evokes a level of intimacy that was never asked for and requires nothing from you except submission. Suddenly you’re aware that someone is taking in all the fine details of your face, a beauty mark on your cheek, they way a strand of hair curls along your neck. You begin to feel their pencil tracing the contour of your nose, outlining the shape of your lips. What probably makes the experience a little confusing (do I sit still, do I smile, do I wickedly roll my tongue across my upper lip?) is that you were never introduced, never did you give permission to sit for a portrait that can stay locked in a drawing pad, be part of a stalker series, be displayed in a classroom or serve as some inspiration for something that hangs in a museum (did I mention how flattering it can be?) It is both a wicked and innocent act. Should they catch you in a not-so-loving mood, then your solace is remembering this: Some things aren’t owned- people’s impressions of you are not yours, though you may exert influence. They are something people take with them, sometimes in number two pencil on the pages of a sketch book.
