Signs of Optimism

As I spend more time here in the big city, I realize that there are signs of optimism all around me. Initially I thought that the city would be a cynical place where I must be rough and tough to survive.

On instant it struck me as I walked to work from the subway. I watched a doorman spraying off the sidewalk in front of his building on a sunny morning. In half an hour, that portion of the street would be filthy again with cigarette butts and trash. Even though the man was just doing his job, it seemed to flaunt the cynical edge that I had come to expect.

"I expect I will offer more instances of this in the future," says the Optimist.

Pending entries

Hi Everyone,

I'm stuck without internet until Saturday. Rest assured, gentle readers, I am working off-line and I'll post as soon as Time-Warner gets to the house and installs our cable.

Upcoming subjects:

Found: One small nation. In the vicinity of Canal Street.

X-Games, sponsored by Mountain Dew

Running for your Life

Comment Spam

Ah, the internet. If there is something fun (for me, this blog), someone will find a way to muddy the waters by trying to sell you some c-r-a-p.

I've turned on the word verification feature on the comments section of the blog. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it seems some evil genius has found a way to drop advertisements into the comments field using an automation program. Curse them. If you have any comments, please feel free to post!

I have a couple more blog entries on the way. I've found that it helps to have my wife proofread them before I put them up.

ESPN presents the X-Games

Some of you may not know this, but I recently participated in the 2005 ESPN X-Games, sponsored by Mountain Dew. My wife, the occupational therapist, pushed me into it when she introduced me to the concept of Energy Conservation. This is the OT concept where you find small ways to rest when you are doing an exerting task so that you have enough energy to complete said task. It may seem a bit silly but we have found ourselves stuck walking to the subway on hot days while carrying bags of heavy groceries. At that point we are both grumpy and tired and we usually joke that we needed to be better at energy conservation. Of course, only I would have the brilliant idea to make it “X-TREME!”

Read on for a transcription of the ESPN commentary by Chuck Wonder and Travis Pastrana. For myself, I will use the nickname, “Opera Guy.”

CW: Well, Travis, Opera Guy started off well with his choice of a wool-blend, navy-blue suit and dessert shoes on an 80-degree day. Talk about setting yourself up for a challenge! The judges must take this kind of commitment into account when they score him at the end of this grueling first day of competition. With an eye doctor appointment in Brooklyn Heights, a temp interview in mid-town, and an audition on the upper west side, this guy could be the craziest athlete I've ever seen!

TP: You bet, Chuck! When he forgot his water bottle and started off by walking four blocks to the A/C Train rather than taking the G, I really thought he would put himself out of the competition. We are hovering at about 98% humidity here!

CW: He got lucky that the eye doctor's office was as air-conditioned as Hannibal Lechter's meat locker.

TP: Opera Guy made some good decisions by not giving up his seat on the subway for the group of orphans and their 80-year old chaperone... a nun!

CW: The judges have to be impressed that the passengers only shot him dirty looks. I'm not sure how he manages to look so cool and comfortable while those children are sobbing, pressed up against the glass. Wait... did that nun just faint? He really is a master of X-TREME Energy Conservation!

TP: Sorry to interrupt, Chuck, but he just transferred to an Express 4 and he scored a seat big enough to put his feet up! This could give him the edge he needs to really take this competition to the next level!

CW: You know, Opera Guy has really adapted well to this mass-transit system. It is a tribute to his ability to sit still and look at maps for hours on end. I'd be interested to see how he did in, say... Japan... would he look this cool and collected? I don't think so.

TP: We have to cut to a commercial. By the time we get back, he should be nearing Grand Central and facing the walk pass his favorite Starbuck's.

CW: Let's hope he can avoid the temptation of an extra-hot, non-fat, mocha!

---Cut to commercial---

Big Fish and a Big World

Tonight I sat down and watched Tim Burton's “Big Fish.” Watching the film is a meditation for me. It makes me think of fathers and memories and my need for fables and legends, rather than facts and figures. I felt inspired to write a valentine and tall-tale to my father. I suppose there might be some truth to this sketch, but not a whole lot.

My father was born during the Second World War in Germany. His childhood was difficult but he found solace in the world of molecules and chemical interactions. As a young man, he knew that the small villages where his family had raised him were not big enough for him and so, like many young men, he set out on his great adventure. He went to Munich.

School in Munich was challenging. He had done reasonable well in his tests leading to the university and his chosen career of Chemistry appealed to his desire to grow and experience life in the big city. The city was full of people, interacting like covalent bonds, sharing electrons and moving in magnetic packs. He had a small circle of friends, but it was this larger world that excited him.

His work in the lab paralleled his observations of the people in the city and he felt that his work should reflect one singular human condition. His mind wandered as he fiddled with his chemicals and he thought about how large objects attracted other smaller objects nearer to this. Now, technically, this is not a chemical process, but he was never one to quibble with such details.

My father worked day and night in the lab. His friends rarely saw him and he poured over large tomes of chemical wisdom from the library as he ate his pretzels and drank his beer at the taverns. Eventually, inspiration struck and he found he had invented a solution that, when drunk, would make him larger than a normal man. He would grow and grow and grow and then, the physics of the situation would kick in and he would find himself as a new sun, orbited by many people.

On the morning that he chose to drink his potion, my father looked around his laboratory and stopped to look out the window. The sun was shining on pavement outside and the world was starting to wake up. The streets were being swept and stores were opening up. My father saw an old bookstore owner as he extended an awning over the front door of his store. The bookseller saw him through the window and waved. My father drank his solution.

No one was more surprised as he at what happened next. Nothing. Nothing at all. My father wracked his brains at what might have gone wrong with his formula but he could think of nothing. He was interrupted as his colleagues arrived at the laboratory, he acknowledged them and felt disappointed that months of hard work had gone for naught.

The day lingered on and since no dramatic changes occurred, my father felt obliged to pick up his abandoned studies and work towards a stable career. He was not going to dwell on his failure and besides, who needed such a product besides himself? As he went from class to class, my father learned about the ways crystals form in the natural world and how chemicals could affect them. This became his new passion and he studied it with all the vigor that he once put into his failed growth formula.

His studies began to wind down and my father started to feel that the streets of Munich were no longer a right fit. He would sit with his friends at the bars and laugh and talk but he felt pinched. My father was reminded of the shoes he had when he was growing up. Money was tight after the war and he could not always have the right sizes. The streets of Munich that he rode on his bicycle every day had become so well known to him that he felt trapped.

So he did what any young man with an eye for big things would do. He moved to Texas. That was a place where a man could make his fortune. A chemist would not be far from people who needed him. It was a place of industry and a place of adventure. There were men who still wore guns on their belts when he stepped off the plane in Dallas. My father knew that a post-doctorate degree in Chemistry might not be the wildest frontier in the west, but like most men, it was a land that he felt he could tame. A land that he could settle on and build a home and a family. Best of all, he didn't need to speak the language very well. Those frontier men didn't really speak English all that well themselves.

He did all these things. He had become larger than life. My father had moved from a small village and found himself in America. He found himself with a job and a wife and a daughter and a son.

My father was still a giant when I was born. In one of my first memories, he took me to Burger King for a Whopper sandwich. “Whoppers are better than Big Macs, Eapen,” he said through his thick, Bavarian accent. “They just taste fresher.” We stood in line and I looked around the store. I grabbed his leg and looked up to see a strange man looking down at me. I started to cry, wondering where my father had gone. A few steps away, I saw him and I ran to him and this time wrapped myself around the right leg. His leg was huge and he laughed as he saw what had happened and he lifted me up into his giant arms to comfort me.

And then, instantly, his potion stopped working. As the time went on, he didn't exactly shrink, but he stayed the same. The years went by and I started to think I was just as tall as him. I certainly was not. He was still that gentle giant, come over from distant lands. When I saw him last, we were the same height. I was moving to the big city and I looked him in the eye as we said goodbye to each other. I got in the car with my wife and started off to the big city where I could begin my family and my adventures.

From my window at the top of Clinton Hill, at the top of a high-rise apartment building, I look out over a vast city. It is as wide as my window and the Empire State Building seems to be at eye level. I feel as giant as my father after he drank his mysterious potion and left for that larger world. A world where my father found adventure and excitement, a family and his future.

Leaving the Chocolate Room and starting out

For now, let us consider that our episode in the Chocolate Room is over. We moved out of it a week ago and have been staying in Washington Heights. The apartment we were at was beautiful and had a lovely view of New Jersey. That may seem like an oxymoron, but there is a certain splendour to the skyline and the sight of the sun setting on the buildings.

And now a new chapter in our adventure begins. As I write, I am looking out on the Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan Skyline. I'll send a picture of the view as soon as we find a way to take pictures again.

We have mostly moved our belongings into the apartment. My friend, Rockstar, is still storing several boxes of winter clothes for us. The fall is starting here and the overwhelming heat of summer that was with us when we arrived has broken. The days are cool and refreshing. The apartment is in an old building that was built to house the workers at the Brooklyn Navy Shipyards. Almost immediately after the housing was built, the yard closed down and soon after that, this became a co-op. Break out your maps, kids! For those of you with NYC Subway maps, we are at the Clinton/Washington stop on the G-train. We are also a short walk from the A and C Trains, which are slightly more useful. Some might say that we live in Ft. Greene. Some might say Clinton Hill. What you call it directly depends on your tax bracket and how much you hope you will get for your apartment.

Though my wife will never say it herself, she is doing exceedingly well with her job interviews. With 8 million people in this city, you might be surprised at the profound need for Occupational Therapists. Jobs seem plentiful and interviews keep popping up. Not only that, she is batting 1,000 for job offers.

As for me, I'm doing a temp interview tomorrow morning. I'm also in contact with Barnard College, my employer when I lived in NYC in 1997/8 and I've placed applications at Columbia University. The locations are far from where I am, but a little commute doesn't hurt anyone.

I can hear kids yelling on the playground right below our window. Looking away from the skyline, there are trees all over our neighborhood. There are brownstones and churches and it reminds me of parts of Cherry Creek or Seattle, only perhaps a few decibels louder.

As we explore more parts of our neighborhood, we will let you know about the state of nightlife, dining, shopping and some of the more mundane aspects of life in Brooklyn.

Goat in the City

My wife's friend, Peace Corps, was in town for Labor Day and invited us to check out a little parade in the heart of Brooklyn. It was great to catch up with her and we tracked them down to a nice little neighborhood near Grand Army Plaza. Peace Corps' friend SuperDave picked us up from the subway and after a second breakfast of fried eggs and plantains, we headed off on the bus.

Complete Chaos. On the Sunday of Labor Day Weekend, the entire West African population of New York City meet for a little party. We missed the early morning party that started at 4 a.m., but it was still raging at 3 p.m. The parade consisted of a semi-tractor trailer for each of the respective countries. These trailers were laden with bands, speakers and dancers in costume. The trucks moved in a circle around the blocks and were surrounded by thousands and thousands of dancing locals. The bass pounds into your chest as you dance and you can feel every organ in your body vibrate separately. I now know the precise location of my spleen and why it is differently shaped than the liver.

The floats were all decorated by country and the grand prize winners should definitely be Jamaica. Those guys parked themselves in front of us for at least 10 minutes and nobody could stop dancing. We were sad to see them go.

For a late lunch, Peace Corps recommended a roti. Being an adventurous fellow, we found ourselves a tent and I got a large paper-thin flatbread filled with curried goat (bones in). It was delicious but my wife was more than a little freaked out by it.

Some of you might know this but at any point during the day or night in New York City, one can purchase dvds of the current round of new releases for $5 on the street. My wife and I were intrigued and we decided to go out on a limb and get a copy of “Wedding Crashers.” When we popped it in, we discovered that the picture was rather grainy and the sound was awful. Also, you could hear people laughing in the theater and occasionally someone would walk in front of the camera that recorded it. All in all, it was pretty lame. After a short discussion, we decided to classify the expense as “Education” rather than “Entertainment” in Quicken.

Wine-tastings, snacks and lovely, inappropriate people

When you are poor and living in New York City, one tries to find fun things to do on a budget. As some of you might know, my wife has a nose for finding bargains, deals, and most importantly, Free Samples. If you put her in a Costco, she can sense them like Spidey senses danger. She can also bat her eyes and score samples from unsuspecting vendors of produce, groceries and baked good.

A rock-star friend of ours recommended we check out the free wine tasting at a small boutique in the heart of downtown. He gave a great warning, "Be careful, some people who attend are socially inadequate."

We found the place rather easily and the sign outside advertised an afternoon of wine-tasting. Walking into the store, there was a bewitching aroma in the store but my wife and I could not quite tell what it was.

There was a line of about thirty people in the store that went up a flight of stairs to a balcony where the tasting was to take place. As we walked in, the line surged forward and we went right up and started to crowd in with everyone. As we moved forward to sample the whites, we were cut off by four short, stout women. Armed with their wine glasses, they parked themselves in front of the white wine taster and proceeded to drink, and drink, and drink. After about four tastings (big ones) each and as their voices got louder and louder, the sommelier recommended that they move forward in line and try some reds.

Moving forward through the sea of people, we made it to the reds table. At this point, we chose to park ourselves and drink, and drink, and drink. Of course we chose to keep our voices down and be the picture of decorum.

The wine tasting was put on by Coppolla Vineyards and we especially enjoyed the Claret. Of course, when it's free, everything is pretty good.

After about three or four glasses, necessary to identify all of the variables that separate the Claret from the Shiraz, my wife and I noticed people had plates of food. There was a small kitchen in the back of the balcony and what was cooking? B.L.T sandwiches. Not just any B.L.T.s, but rather, the "Best B.L.T. in the City." Twice smoked Bacon, organic lettuce and tomatoes from the farmer's market in the square outside of the store, with mayo on bread. Limit one per person. Of course, the three Fates have moved on from the red wine table where we were all parked and have managed to put down three or four each by the time we finally get to the table.

To quote my wife, "Nothing says wine-tasting, like B.L.T. Sandwiches."

The nice thing was that I didn't expect to have a free wine tasting in the middle of the city. One would think that with the enormous wealth of the city there would be no reason to give it away. It turned out to be a lovely store with incredibly helpful staff and we are looking forward to our next trip.

Big thoughts at the Met

Today was an "easy" day. No interviews for my wife. The day started with an easy commute to the upper east side and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. After making a small donation, we took a guided tour with a volunteer. He was an elderly gentleman who was once a banker and now does this for fun. (Fun for him includes one year of training and lectures with the curators at the Museum.)

He chose one piece each from seven different galleries and described them in length. He did not ask too many questions but rather treated it like a lecture and gave us information that we then could use later as we looked at other pieces in the galleries.

The range of works was staggering. We saw statues from ancient Greece to air-brushed comic book-like pictures and everything in between.

Some of our interesting conversations that came up during our tour were:

When Claude Monet passed away, what was the initial response from the newspapers and media of the day? Was it a small note or had he achieved that monumental success that would, today, garner the front page of Time Magazine?

Matisse painted odalisques. They seem to be partially clothed women, but what is the real definition of the word?

Madonna and Child, ca 1300, by Duccio di Buonisegna, was purchased recently for $42 Million. Take a look at it at their website. It's an interesting work because it is one of the early transitional pieces from two-dimensional iconography to religious paintings with perspective.

One of the highlights of the show was a collection of paintings and cuttings by Matisse and the collection of pieces of cloth and clothing that inspired the works. It is a fascinating look at an unconventional inspiration for art and how it changed the work of Matisse and helped focus his style.

Finally, both my wife and I agreed that our favorite painting was "The Storm" by Pierre-August Cot (1837-1883). (http://www.art.com/asp/sp-asp/_/PD--10284491/The_Storm.htm?sOrig=SCH&ui=435D63D77DD442B4B96534EBB4BB1CFA#)
It is a lot like "The Ravishment of Psyche" by Adolphe Bouguereau, which is another family fave.

International Fervor

After our interviews were finished for the day, my wife and I visited the U.N. Our tour group included people from Israel, Ireland, Germany, Spain, Norway, Canada, and an absolutely charming couple from the United States.

For those of you coming to visit us in the future, you might enjoy the trip. Our tour guide (from Camaroon) was marvellous. The tour was surprising as it highlighted the limitations of the U.N. as well as the successes.

I don't have any faux-witty comments about this trip. It was just an inspiring and intellectually challenging experience.