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Where have all the comic stores gone?
What’s a girl-nerd to do? Some people take to booze, some drugs, some a little bit of both, others chocolate… Comic book stores used to offer a paradise of fantasy for those who need a little something more than the life of an urban odyssey. You’d save your allowance, or blow your measly first-job paycheck on X-Men, X-Force and Excalibur, crossing over to DC territory only for a Supergirl or Wonder Woman. Inside the pages of a comic book, bodies are perfect, men are heroes, you can sore through the sky and toast people who are bad. But now… now where are all the comic book stores? Big Apple? All that’s left of you are the markings of of where your bricks were ripped away to give way for the building of a new race of condos on the Upper West Side. Oh, the agony of seeing what is left of you advertised on the streets like a billboard: lines and lines of scratches against the building where you were once nestled, like a trail of scratches from bloodied fingernails.
I suppose the comic book stores have went the way of all small mom and pop shops, the predecessors of the plight of independent bookstores… No, don’t comfort me with the selection at Barnes and Nobles or Borders… I don’t even care for the comic book store near Union Square (if it’s still there) not because I have anything against it… it’s just not my hood.
Ode to the comic book store! A recently rejected-by-a-literary-agent- nerd-girl’s strip club, drug den, and escapist paradise.
Out with it. I dance on 2!
Part of Urban Confessions Week
Those in the confessional:
Nova is making a guilt-free declaration: She dances “on-two”, mambo style and makes no apologies. No, dears, it isn’t snobbery, I’m not part of the gang taking salsa away from its Nuyorican streets and “legitimizing” it in ballrooms with white academics. Dancing “on two” is a practice of cultural preservation of a distinct style of salsa dancing. It fits me like a glove, fills me with a joy of living, and does the same for others too. And practicing a certain form of salsa dancing sort of makes it an exciting hobby.
Does being an on2 dancer make it harder to spontaneously go out and be able to express your adopted art form? Sure… so you try to learn to manage to celebrate salsa’s other forms. But in your heart you ache… you can’t become one with that second explosive beat that drums along with your heart.
And for all you non-counters out there that think the passion of music is lost in numbers… it can be said that numbers are the fabric of everything- we forget or don’t realize this because numbers speak in different languages. And, as JPLogan so astutely pointed out to me one salsa night, the biggest counters are the ones making salsa itself: the musicians! Does this mean you need to go out and buy an abacus to bring along with you to the dance floor? No… after awhile the numbers are dressed differently, sort of like when you stop “translating” a foreign language slowly in your head after you have a fundamental command of it.
So take those salsa shoes out of the closet, get to Iguana, a social, whatever floats your boat and when the music starts, if you’re a lady, step out with the right on one, a man, break back with the left. Doesn’t that feel good?
For more about this, visit: salsanewyork.com
More diner talk
I’ve been enjoying more of our classic NYC Greek diners. What pleasure to know that even though there may be an abundance of Starbucks, I can still roll the die in passing them in faith that the NYC Greek diner is still a steady part of our urban landscape and I will find one to enjoy a good cup of coffee.
We already talked about part of the secret to their great cup of joes, Cecilwares Fe 100’s. But here are more reasons I’ll take my coffee there over other places:
- sitting at the counter top is like being in someone’s living room. There is a feeling of hospitality. The people behind the counter are like mother hens to your needs.
- the cups are a heavy ceramic that retains the heat of the coffee. The feel of the china in your hands is real, not a flimsy disposable cup, a plastic nothingness that separates you from the world and implicates you as an eco-sinner. That ceramic cup is endless. It’s always hot, and when it is not, you’ll get a refill.
- the experience seems tailored just for you. You don’t have to speak a stupid branding language, you don’t have to order like a robot.
- they can make the cheapest bean taste good.
So ode again to the Greek diner and its coffee.
Mission: Space
Wannabe Astronauts, Trekkies, and Nova-sympathizers, listen up: If you want the thrill of your life and don’t have millions of dollars or the balls for the real thing, Mission: Space should be your pilgrimage in life. It might very well be the closest thing you’ll have to a real space odyssey. A spiritually uplifting moment (to make up from the tears of joy shed on the Silver Golf Ball, to be blogged about soon) that I can only describe as a mind-f*ck if it wasn’t real and I didn’t really go to Mars. Mission: Space – continue reading …
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.
You’ve got style, Miami
Major check off urban odyssey bucket list: sing this song into the Miami skyline in your bikini.
Ode to… Jet Blue
Nova’s odysseys begin again to other cities around the globe (thoughtfully avoiding the moon on Friday of course given how other things were landing there). The first jet graced with our presence on our first odyssey of October is Jet Blue- and I am taking the time to write this immersed in the upper echelons of night to pay homage to Jet Blue. The short is Jet Blue is finally one of those companies that figured things out. How our environment contributes to our moods and behaviors, how you don’t just brand a product (in this case airline) you brand the totality of the customer’s experience. Travel begins the moment you walk out your home door. You remember your encounters with the check-in crew, security, and then the wasted hours inside an airplane hangar weighed down with luggage. The new Jet Blue terminal in JFK makes you WANT to leave early for the airport. You have abundant choices of dinners (from fine-ish to fast food) your snacks are healthier versions of junk (but still satisfying those cravings), you can shop for useful travel goods, get your shoes shined, plug your laptop in to email, play with your kids in the kid play pen area, charge your phone, then sit in one of their cool colorful, playfully shaped sofas (that aren’t gross with cloth hiding who-knows-what, but pleather) and watch the sun set behind our city in glorious reds and golds. No, Jet Blue is not responsible for such an awesome sunset that brought a smile to my face as I wondered briefly if it would be my last, but it is responsible for my enjoyment of a sunset by placing such a couch by the window and making it so comfortable.
So right now I say, Ode to Jet Blue! Thank you for appreciating the fine details of odysseys that give life flavor.
Where will Nova land?
Space Odyssey in Washington Heights
This installment sits in the secluded woods of Fort Tryon Park by the dog run. I think it is a cleverly disguised black monolith from the movie: 2001: A Space Odyssey. Instead of apes jumping up and down to its presence and hum, you have dogs barking around it, perhaps triggering some evolutionary spark in them so that dogs evolve into their anagram: gods. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, visit the black monolith link.
If it’s not a disguised black monolith, then it is an ode to the types of radiators we have in Washington Heights.
Your thoughts?
Ode to… Cecilware Fe-100
I was sipping my coffee in Reme diner in Washington Heights, and I was struck by a wave of taste bud goodness. The coffee was the perfect temperature. Hot. Even when you put cream in it. I was in heaven. I was sitting at the bar, so I looked up to see where the magic came from- again a Cecilware Fe-100. Ode to Cecilware Fe-100! It turns any cheap coffee bean into cafe heaven. Reme has a good relationship with its Cecilware Fe-100. Because when the waiter saw my cup half empty, he said, “Here, let me give you a fresh, hot cup…” and whoosh! took it away and replaced it with more black liquid goodness. They didn’t pour more into my stale coffee, probably knowing it would make it luke warm. I adored them immediately. Hail Cecilware Fe-100 in Greek diners.
Ode to… Héctor Lavoe
Ode to Héctor Lavoe by Dister
Afro-Punk Festival, Brooklyn NYC
July 5th, 2009
