Our Urban Odyssey » public space

Summer Musings: Urban Waterfalls

Nova — Sat, 06 Aug 2011 00:37:57 +0000

Stumbled on a little urban oasis by Lincoln Center. It was a hot day and we wandered into a shaded area. The scene took me by surprise. These folks know how to do an urban summer, thanks to the courteous entity that still values open, public space. People lined their chairs up, backs faced to the rest of NYC, and were simply watching a man-made waterfall (aka water fountain). An endearing site. It’s how we do summer.

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Architectural Abominations of Gentrification

Nova — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 00:43:22 +0000

Grab your bag of popcorn and take a look at how the Upper West Side continues to gentrify and loose some of its character. Gone is the beloved Greek diner that stood here (which took in some previously displaced diner workers and patrons that were usurped by the Whole Foods construction a few blocks over) and up went this white plastic…. what the heck is it? “Hip apartments” of course, that fit oh so nicely with the rest of the neighborhood’s architecture.

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Checking in or Taking Out?

Nova — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 00:36:10 +0000

You tell me if this sign looks like the entrance to an Emergency Room (which it is) or an old 50’s Diner?

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If you’ve ever wondered…

Nova — Mon, 27 Sep 2010 00:48:24 +0000

Ever pass by a NYC garbage can and see something strange sitting in it? Things that leave you wondering what the story was that landed random objects in a public garbage bin? Well this weekend I had the privilege of witnessing the story behind one of the Twilight Zone activities of urban city living: Random Sh*t in the Garbage. It was like watching the tooth fairy actually deliver the money under my pillow, or catching Santa Claus leaving gifts under the tree.

A couple was having a very public fight, first in a restaurant (asked to leave), then up and down the streets, then in a bus (kicked out). Nobody probably knew what the heck was going on, because no-one probably understood the language. Agent Nova did, and between the man randomly drooling in between rants, he was in some sort of hot water that was going to cost him money he did not have. All of a sudden (either fed up with his stubbornness, his inebriation, his drugged up mind, his wrath) the woman takes his brand new suitcase and dumps it in the garbage and storms away. Seeing the perfectly fine looking suitcase dumped in there, handle extended out, would have provoked a “If you see something, say something” reflex in many a New Yorker who hadn’t seen the fight. I started wondering what was in the suitcase. Now I was in Pulp Fiction.

Eventually, they came back for the suitcase, but it was a 15 minute gamble; one person witnessing the spectacle already had their eyes on the can.

It was a very strange story to play out on the streets- the man was from another era and another continent, the woman too. They were so misplaced. And the suitcase looked so strange sitting alone in the garbage. I suppose it isn’t much of a surprise that Random Sh*t in an Urban Garbage usually has a Random Story behind it.

Other Random Sh*t in the Urban Garbage?

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Ads that just might work…?

Nova — Thu, 09 Sep 2010 00:17:18 +0000

Washington Heights, Fort Washington Avenue, August 2010.

This is how to get your message across. Remind people of the problem and what you would like them to do about it, with few words (since the piles of shit in the street are not enough to remind you that hmmm… shit on the floor is not a very pleasant thing.. Unless, of course, it’s being used as fertilizer and you’re going to get better plants.) And let’s make an art piece out of our message! Unfortunately, it was too direct for some people, as the ass of the dog and his little pile were blacked out by the obscenity squad shortly after. Oh, and New York City’s got nothing on this issue compared to Buenos Aires. Shit-kabobs for heels, anyone?

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Dante’s Inferno, Perhaps Third Cirlce: The Gross Man

ouo — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 21:15:12 +0000

For those who don’t remember, the Dante’s Inferno series are reserved for rants and the literary banishment of those who offend Urban Odyssey bloggers. Watch out, because this post comes from the fury of Bianca. Only mildly censored so as not to ignite an internet riot.

“Dear God,
Why? Why I ask, why do certain people exist?

Picture it, a muggy Spring morning in late May. The 6:00am 2 train. Abnormally packed train for this early in the morning. Seating is limited. As I go into my usual morning trance during my 90 minute commute I am rudely interrupted by foul play. That foul play my friends is Body Odor. A 6′ 5″ inch male, approximately 40 years old, still rockin fubu hard as if they were ever cool or like they ever made anything of quality…or perhaps his Asian themed button down is a “Dragon Ball-Z” shirt. Nonetheless his shirt sucks. His jeans are visibly filthy and 2 inches too short. He is wearing crew cut socks (do they even make those anymore?) and his new balance sneakers look like his lawn mowing sneakers however somehow I doubt he has a lawn to mow. Too harsh? Well you try sitting down wind from this motherfucker standing over you with what I believe to be 2 days worth of underarm body odor. There is no escaping this. I tried plugging my nose, burying my face in my arm then my bag. Shallow breaths from my mouth did not do the trick. “Ding!” The train doors open after this 15 minute violation. He takes two steps toward what I believe will be my freedom to breath. NOPE sits right next to me. I thought for a moment the smell would die down since I was no longer right beneath his armpit. 5-4-3-2-NOPE.

A long day of work and running around on a hot day justifies why he might not be so fresh… but it is 6am.

What made him leave the house without a shower? A few swipes of deodorant? Some cheap cologne to mask this odor?
Time? No time was on his side because he had the time to put on his tarnished rhinestone bracelet that looks like some shit from an old lady’s garage sale that he probably got for a steal still pondering the possibility that it could be real.
The gentleman enjoyed several games on his iPhone and bopped to the beat of whatever music he appeared to be too old to be listening too.

“Ding!” He gets off at 125th in Harlem which allows me to drawn one conclusion for a man not dressed for work traveling this early. Off to the DMV to stand in line to pay off his 64 parking tickets for his car that he has found himself behind 5 months on his car note because he couldn’t afford it o begin with. It was either this or jail time.

So God I ask you why. Why does this human exist? What purpose does he have on this earth? Answer me this.

Sincerely violated,

Bianca”

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Guess who’s back?

Nova — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 01:55:28 +0000

Those who followed the Elusive White Tiger hunting in an abandoned lot in Inwood, which then became a blog on a Scorched Earth policy here that turned the lot (and hunting grounds) to a wasteland, will be happy to know that the grass grew back and…. the tiger is back, still hunting! See that white dot in the back? That’s the tiger walking ever so stealthy through a jungle.

Who knows what our little tiger ate while the earth was poisoned? Who knows what our little tiger is eating NOW from a poisoned earth…! What kind of crazy toxins are in those deceptively green everglades? How long before Thanos comes back with his ghostbuster’s toxin backpack for another scorched earth wave?

Despite this, the hunt continues.

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Central Park as a Galápagos Island

Nova — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 03:05:33 +0000

Part of Urban Confessions Week

Like it or not, some New Yorkers treat Central Park like a Galápagos Island. It’s either a free pet store or an orphanage. We’ve racked up a dog, iguana and parakeet from its forests, all with the thrill of catching them with our own hands. How many of you will fess up to taking your Woolworth’s goldfish to a local pond to either to spare it the spin down the toilet bowl, or because you imagined that it would have a better life there? Keep it up and we’ll spawn some new weird urban species.

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A dollhouse in Murray Hill

Nova — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 21:25:01 +0000

This building in Murray Hill, Manhattan, caught my eye as a work of art. The black windows climb haphazardly along the walls and look almost like you can slide them from here to there with your finger. Still, it has a harmony pleasing to the eye. The building has a clean, earthen color, contrasted by the almost toy-like colorful newsstands and signs out front.

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The Phone Booth

Nova — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 04:05:00 +0000

There was a phone booth at the corner of an Inwood block, right beside a mailbox, trash can and a few newspaper receptacles that flash passersby morning news. The phone booth was the first thing I noticed when I walked up that block for the very first time. It immediately became a marker of home, and contributed to why I moved there. It felt right. The phone booth was a cozy fixture, its location seemed so perfect, so residential, so reminiscent of pre-cell phone days. I imagined its use- a lover calling to see if their object of desire was home, a phone in a surrounding apartment being answered as a face peeked through curtains, looking for the caller who is hunched in the phone booth to escape the rain. Surely this phone booth would do some good, and I smiled every time I passed it.

Its phone had a yellow handle that blended so nicely with the fallen autumn leaves.

I suppose the phone might have had other, more diabolical uses. I suppose the logical question is also, had I ever seen anyone use it, outside my romantic fantasy? Perhaps once, but even that is not something I can say with certainty.

So the other week I heard horrible machine noises, buzz saws munching into metal and concrete. I didn’t peek through a curtain to see what was happening- (though that would flow nicely with the story)- I happened to be walking outside and saw Verizon chopping down the booth like a tree. It took something like two vans, a fire hydrant spilling out crystal cold water, and a whole lot of men to down the little phone booth. It seemed an expensive operation.

Why do I find the loss of the phone booth so sad, like I lost a good neighbor? Despite my admiration of it, I never offered it a hello. All that remains of it is a fresh patch of grey cement and a warning bar not to step there, like a tombstone.

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