Times have changed. With my occasional switch to the F-train, I'm exposed to a much different cross-section of the NYC population than when I stayed on the C. Envision for me, if you will, core samples taken from the ice of the Antarctic (before it all melted, of course). Scientists would drill down and remove layers of ice and some of the frozen ground. By looking at it, they can make educated guesses about the origins of life.
I also development patterns as I switch trains. Back in the early 1980's, the punk scene became big at clubs like CBGB. Many of these angry, young musicians sported mohawk hairstyles and it shocked the uptight world of the Reagan years. People feared the punks and sporting a mohawk easily identified you as someone who would just as soon spit on you as talk to you.
This morning I boarded the F to find a young man sporting a mohawk. He wore a pink button down shirt and a hankerchief like an ascot. I was almost scared until I saw his Prada sunglasses and his terminally hip shoes.
How has mankind evolved so far so fast?
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Story Time
I've found that after a year of long wait lists, I've finally made the big move. Instead of reserving books from the New York Public Library, I'm getting them from the Brooklyn Public Library System. What a difference! I've already scored the new Tolkein book, "Children of Hurin." The wait at NYPL was about 800 people. I had my copy from BPL in 2 days.
We have started getting DVDs from the BPL as well. They usually arrive in a day or two. Netflix will be cut back soon!
We have started getting DVDs from the BPL as well. They usually arrive in a day or two. Netflix will be cut back soon!
The Long Walk
In an effort to increase my overall health, I recently purchased a pedometer. The goal is to reach 10,000 steps a day. When you work in an an office, though, it can be tough to reach 3,000.
My brilliant solution, which has led to the last couple of OC posts about the subway, is to walk from the West 4th Street Station to my office in Hell's Kitchen. It is about 40 blocks uptown and three long blocks west. It is only about 6,000 steps, but with the walking around the office, I make my goal. Yay me.
What a difference Seven Minutes makes
The great side effect is that I take a great walk through the West Village every morning. I walk down Greenwich Street. If I don't get delayed by the F-train, Greenwich is practically empty. The shops are closed and it is one of the most peaceful ways to start your day when living in the city.
Yesterday, being seven minutes late, the street was much more crowded and cafes were beginning to open up and people were getting their morning coffee. One of my favorite moments in film is in a movie called, "Smoke." Harvey Keitel plays the owner of a cigar store the story revolves around his customers at the store. Every morning, Mr. Keitel's character walks out the front door of his shop at exactly the same time, raises a small camera and snaps a picture. He adds it to his "photo collection." It is his way to track those small changes that happen in a small corner of the world, which seems to be the same day in and day out. Being out and about in the Village always makes me think of that movie. I don't know if it is a "great film" but it is one that has stuck with me through the years. Walking each day, I wish I could capture that feeling of motion and compare it to yesterday and tomorrow and store it in an album.
Decaffeinated
I've mostly given up caffeine. For those of you who didn't know, I was the first kid in high school to become addicted to coffee. It took me through the long days and short nights of undergrad, the courtship of Kitty (we met at the copy machine, but fell in love in Starbucks) and through the tribulations of simultaneously managing grad school, my apprenticeship and my first major database job. I am now down to one half cup of "half-caff" per day and sometimes a cup of decaf in the afternoon. I sleep better at night and I'm less edgy during the day.
My walk through the Village is a test, though. Quaint pastry shops abound and there are vendors on the street in small metal cubes on wheels that provide our fair city with carbohydrates, caffeine and chemicals to make it through the long work days. If that weren't enough, there are delis that sell an egg and cheese on a toasted hard roll and a cup of coffee for $1.50. It's enough to make a grown man cry out for mercy. The Seven Minute difference means that instead of being practically alone, I see New Yorkers walking down the street with small cups with greek key designs, large cups with mermaids, or cell phone and sandwich in hand.
Barcelona and Modernism
Getting to work has become harder since my last trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I saw the exhibit on Barcelona and Modernism. The artists who were a part of the movement, met at Le Quatre Gats, a cafe. They talked politics and talked about their art and were inspired to create. The Village makes me want to turn into one of the cafes and sit and leave behind the obligations of a day job. I could just sit and plan out my singing career and beyond. I could meet my neighbors and get inspired to put on a show in the city. I could find out about the next great revolution that is being planned in the, now bourgoise, heart of artistic New York. Instead, I turn up my music and walk out of the Village and on to Chelsea and my job.
My brilliant solution, which has led to the last couple of OC posts about the subway, is to walk from the West 4th Street Station to my office in Hell's Kitchen. It is about 40 blocks uptown and three long blocks west. It is only about 6,000 steps, but with the walking around the office, I make my goal. Yay me.
What a difference Seven Minutes makes
The great side effect is that I take a great walk through the West Village every morning. I walk down Greenwich Street. If I don't get delayed by the F-train, Greenwich is practically empty. The shops are closed and it is one of the most peaceful ways to start your day when living in the city.
Yesterday, being seven minutes late, the street was much more crowded and cafes were beginning to open up and people were getting their morning coffee. One of my favorite moments in film is in a movie called, "Smoke." Harvey Keitel plays the owner of a cigar store the story revolves around his customers at the store. Every morning, Mr. Keitel's character walks out the front door of his shop at exactly the same time, raises a small camera and snaps a picture. He adds it to his "photo collection." It is his way to track those small changes that happen in a small corner of the world, which seems to be the same day in and day out. Being out and about in the Village always makes me think of that movie. I don't know if it is a "great film" but it is one that has stuck with me through the years. Walking each day, I wish I could capture that feeling of motion and compare it to yesterday and tomorrow and store it in an album.
Decaffeinated
I've mostly given up caffeine. For those of you who didn't know, I was the first kid in high school to become addicted to coffee. It took me through the long days and short nights of undergrad, the courtship of Kitty (we met at the copy machine, but fell in love in Starbucks) and through the tribulations of simultaneously managing grad school, my apprenticeship and my first major database job. I am now down to one half cup of "half-caff" per day and sometimes a cup of decaf in the afternoon. I sleep better at night and I'm less edgy during the day.
My walk through the Village is a test, though. Quaint pastry shops abound and there are vendors on the street in small metal cubes on wheels that provide our fair city with carbohydrates, caffeine and chemicals to make it through the long work days. If that weren't enough, there are delis that sell an egg and cheese on a toasted hard roll and a cup of coffee for $1.50. It's enough to make a grown man cry out for mercy. The Seven Minute difference means that instead of being practically alone, I see New Yorkers walking down the street with small cups with greek key designs, large cups with mermaids, or cell phone and sandwich in hand.
Barcelona and Modernism
Getting to work has become harder since my last trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I saw the exhibit on Barcelona and Modernism. The artists who were a part of the movement, met at Le Quatre Gats, a cafe. They talked politics and talked about their art and were inspired to create. The Village makes me want to turn into one of the cafes and sit and leave behind the obligations of a day job. I could just sit and plan out my singing career and beyond. I could meet my neighbors and get inspired to put on a show in the city. I could find out about the next great revolution that is being planned in the, now bourgoise, heart of artistic New York. Instead, I turn up my music and walk out of the Village and on to Chelsea and my job.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Follow-up
If an F-train is not waiting in the station, don't switch trains. I lost 11 minutes total because of slow train traffic.
I think I'm going to write a thesis, "Abstract Transportation Issues: An Authoritative Guide to the Arcane New York City Transit Authority." It will read like the instruction manual for your new digital camera. (only much less entertaining.)
I think I'm going to write a thesis, "Abstract Transportation Issues: An Authoritative Guide to the Arcane New York City Transit Authority." It will read like the instruction manual for your new digital camera. (only much less entertaining.)
Monday, May 07, 2007
Crossing over
Well, I'm starting to make the leap into Web 2.0. Feel free to check out myspace. I'll be blogging about books and art and other random things. Send me a friend request or let me know where you are. I'd love to say "hello."
Shaving off 4 minutes.
Riding the Subway- PhD lesson #1
Conventional wisdom says that train transfers are slow you down.
Case Study- You are riding from Franklin St. (in Brooklyn) on the C train and you need to get to Spring Street. Fastest route? Stay on the C. Both are local stops.
Case Study 2- You are riding the train from Franklin Street (in Brooklyn) to W4 th. It is only one stop farther on the C than Spring Street. What is the fastest route? Conventional wisdom says, "stay on the C." Aha, says I... Switch at Jay Street to a waiting F-train and you bypass all of lower Manhattan. Today I saved about 4 minutes. I'd like to do a test next time Kitty and I go to the Village. I'll do the switch at Jay Street and she will stay on the C-train and we'll see who gets there faster.
Yes, these are the esoteric issues that plague New Yorkers after they have mastered the basics of the transit system.
Conventional wisdom says that train transfers are slow you down.
Case Study- You are riding from Franklin St. (in Brooklyn) on the C train and you need to get to Spring Street. Fastest route? Stay on the C. Both are local stops.
Case Study 2- You are riding the train from Franklin Street (in Brooklyn) to W4 th. It is only one stop farther on the C than Spring Street. What is the fastest route? Conventional wisdom says, "stay on the C." Aha, says I... Switch at Jay Street to a waiting F-train and you bypass all of lower Manhattan. Today I saved about 4 minutes. I'd like to do a test next time Kitty and I go to the Village. I'll do the switch at Jay Street and she will stay on the C-train and we'll see who gets there faster.
Yes, these are the esoteric issues that plague New Yorkers after they have mastered the basics of the transit system.
Monday, April 30, 2007
I'd like 8 inches of meat, please.
It's been over a year since our first trip to Coney Island. As you might recall, our trip was less then spectacular. Recently, Kitty and I were inspired to go back because the area has been purchased by a big developer and after this season, the area will be demolished and "disney-fied." According to some of our fellow New Yorkers, it will lose all its charm.
Rather than reprise the same sad trip, we went down last weekend on a Sunday after Mass. It was a bright sunny day- one of the first of the year. Armed with a sense of optimism, we started our trip in Brighton Beach. The plan was to go through Little Odessa, a neighborhood that we had not yet explored, catch up with the boardwalk and stroll down to Coney Island.
Signs, Signs, Everywhere is Signs...
The drive there wasn't too shabby. Of course, road signage in the 5 boroughs is absolutely terrible. While we were trying to off of Interstate 278, I saw a lane marked "To Belt Parkway." GREAT! I think, I'll go where the arrow points. At fifty-five miles per hour, I switch into the center lane of the highway. I position the car underneath the giant arrow and, do my eyes deceive me? I see a concrete median, not a road. The arrow wasn't pointing to the Belt Parkway, rather to some awful tragic death! I have a few seconds to make the correct decision. I can veer to the right or to the left of the concrete wall that is fast approaching us. I flinch and break to the right. It was the wrong choice. We end up heading towards Staten Island. After several more attempts to get back on the highway, we ended up driving by back roads. A twenty minute trip turned into an hour, thanks to the helpful NYC Department of Roads.
What does that have to do with the price of milk?
The first thing we noticed in Little Odessa was the inexpensive and incredibly fresh produce. Getting good produce in the city can be challenging. You can pay premium at Whole Foods or buy second class produce from your local grocery store. There are other options, I suppose, but it involves having a car and going to Washington Heights, which might as well be Maryland.
Little Odessa is named for its concentration of Russian and Slavic immigrants. I suppose it is almost as foreign as Chinatown. It is home to some of the most inexpensive luggage stores in the city. Where is the connection between the Russians and travel supplies?
We grabbed a bite to eat at a grocery and deli that specialized in Russian food. The woman behind the counter spoke minimal English and I tried to ask her questions. In the end, though, I acted out "What do you like?" and "Only vegetables and fish." My charades skills are still rather good and we ended up with a nice sized plate of food that Kitty and I shared on the rooftop veranda. We ended up with steamed salmon, Russian-style potato ravioli and a fantastic cabbage salad.
Fortified, we headed off to the Boardwalk. Unlike our last trip, the Boardwalk was full of families and sunbathers. There were musicians playing and it felt like a different world.
As we arrived at the heart of Coney Island, we grabbed a beer and sat to watch the world go by. Those run-down games that we saw before seemed fresher with people actually playing. Now, instead of "Dunk the Geek", the game had been updated to "Shoot the Geek." A young man dressed in body armor and a helmet hid behind obstacles and popped out slowly while people shot at him with paint-ball guns. It was a bit of a downer to watch people cheering as they shot the guy. Especially with the major shooting that just took place in Virginia, it seemed offsides. I suppose it is this one of the roughest edges that will be smoothed out as Coney Island becomes a corporate playground. On a brighter note, we saw the Coney Island Side Show Theater. It features sword eaters, pierced people, bearded ladies, etc. Not enough time to stop in, but since we are counting on heading back soon, we'll make a trip and I'll try to post some pictures.
We headed back to Little Odessa to get the car and decided to do some grocery shopping while we were at it. We picked up fresh veggies and whole wheat bread from a bakery. After that we headed to one of the specialty shops.
Get out, Don't need money.
Our first stop in the shop was the bulk food aisle. Back in the day, Kitty and her friends used to roam the aisles of bulk at the local grocery store and "sampled" to their hearts content. As we walked the three narrow aisles, a voice thundered out, "NO SAMPLE! NO SAMPLE!" Kitty's and my eyes got wide and we looked at each other to see if we were the offending party. "NO SAMPLE! BUY SOMETHING!" a Russian woman was yelling out.
A young man with a thick Brooklyn accent said, "Look at all dis stuff I'm buyin'?! I'll eat one damn piece of candy if I want to."
The Russian lady screamed, "GET OUT. DON'T NEED MONEY."
Typically, if someone is caught in the sample aisle, you sort of slink off an make a bigger purchase than you were going to. It's embarrassing but these things happen. Not that it's ever happened to me or anyone I know.
This guy, though, is absolutely resolute about his right to free samples. He starts telling her how he just won't buy anything and she keeps throwing out that kicker, "DON'T NEED MONEY!" He tosses his bag of goodies on a tub of honey-roasted peanuts turns and walking out the door as he curses her out.
What you've been waiting for...
Our final stop in Little Odessa was a full-service grocery that had a selection of specialty smoked meats, sausages and cold cuts. Since Kitty is a vegetarian, I don't bring home these kinds of treats very often but seeing the bounty laid out before me, the German blood in me could not pass it by! Of course, the language was once again a barrier. I asked the lady if she had any recommendations. No response. I asked what her favorite was. I got a puzzled look. Soon, I start with the charades and the sentence fragments, raising my voice and trying to act it out. She started to get hostile. I ended up leaving the store with a small piece of kielbasa and some salami that I'm guessing was of Slavic origin. Please email me if you have any ideas on how to act out "Your Favorite Authentic Eastern European Meat Products." It can get kind of ugly if you are just winging it.
Rather than reprise the same sad trip, we went down last weekend on a Sunday after Mass. It was a bright sunny day- one of the first of the year. Armed with a sense of optimism, we started our trip in Brighton Beach. The plan was to go through Little Odessa, a neighborhood that we had not yet explored, catch up with the boardwalk and stroll down to Coney Island.
Signs, Signs, Everywhere is Signs...
The drive there wasn't too shabby. Of course, road signage in the 5 boroughs is absolutely terrible. While we were trying to off of Interstate 278, I saw a lane marked "To Belt Parkway." GREAT! I think, I'll go where the arrow points. At fifty-five miles per hour, I switch into the center lane of the highway. I position the car underneath the giant arrow and, do my eyes deceive me? I see a concrete median, not a road. The arrow wasn't pointing to the Belt Parkway, rather to some awful tragic death! I have a few seconds to make the correct decision. I can veer to the right or to the left of the concrete wall that is fast approaching us. I flinch and break to the right. It was the wrong choice. We end up heading towards Staten Island. After several more attempts to get back on the highway, we ended up driving by back roads. A twenty minute trip turned into an hour, thanks to the helpful NYC Department of Roads.
What does that have to do with the price of milk?
The first thing we noticed in Little Odessa was the inexpensive and incredibly fresh produce. Getting good produce in the city can be challenging. You can pay premium at Whole Foods or buy second class produce from your local grocery store. There are other options, I suppose, but it involves having a car and going to Washington Heights, which might as well be Maryland.
Little Odessa is named for its concentration of Russian and Slavic immigrants. I suppose it is almost as foreign as Chinatown. It is home to some of the most inexpensive luggage stores in the city. Where is the connection between the Russians and travel supplies?
We grabbed a bite to eat at a grocery and deli that specialized in Russian food. The woman behind the counter spoke minimal English and I tried to ask her questions. In the end, though, I acted out "What do you like?" and "Only vegetables and fish." My charades skills are still rather good and we ended up with a nice sized plate of food that Kitty and I shared on the rooftop veranda. We ended up with steamed salmon, Russian-style potato ravioli and a fantastic cabbage salad.
Fortified, we headed off to the Boardwalk. Unlike our last trip, the Boardwalk was full of families and sunbathers. There were musicians playing and it felt like a different world.
As we arrived at the heart of Coney Island, we grabbed a beer and sat to watch the world go by. Those run-down games that we saw before seemed fresher with people actually playing. Now, instead of "Dunk the Geek", the game had been updated to "Shoot the Geek." A young man dressed in body armor and a helmet hid behind obstacles and popped out slowly while people shot at him with paint-ball guns. It was a bit of a downer to watch people cheering as they shot the guy. Especially with the major shooting that just took place in Virginia, it seemed offsides. I suppose it is this one of the roughest edges that will be smoothed out as Coney Island becomes a corporate playground. On a brighter note, we saw the Coney Island Side Show Theater. It features sword eaters, pierced people, bearded ladies, etc. Not enough time to stop in, but since we are counting on heading back soon, we'll make a trip and I'll try to post some pictures.
We headed back to Little Odessa to get the car and decided to do some grocery shopping while we were at it. We picked up fresh veggies and whole wheat bread from a bakery. After that we headed to one of the specialty shops.
Get out, Don't need money.
Our first stop in the shop was the bulk food aisle. Back in the day, Kitty and her friends used to roam the aisles of bulk at the local grocery store and "sampled" to their hearts content. As we walked the three narrow aisles, a voice thundered out, "NO SAMPLE! NO SAMPLE!" Kitty's and my eyes got wide and we looked at each other to see if we were the offending party. "NO SAMPLE! BUY SOMETHING!" a Russian woman was yelling out.
A young man with a thick Brooklyn accent said, "Look at all dis stuff I'm buyin'?! I'll eat one damn piece of candy if I want to."
The Russian lady screamed, "GET OUT. DON'T NEED MONEY."
Typically, if someone is caught in the sample aisle, you sort of slink off an make a bigger purchase than you were going to. It's embarrassing but these things happen. Not that it's ever happened to me or anyone I know.
This guy, though, is absolutely resolute about his right to free samples. He starts telling her how he just won't buy anything and she keeps throwing out that kicker, "DON'T NEED MONEY!" He tosses his bag of goodies on a tub of honey-roasted peanuts turns and walking out the door as he curses her out.
What you've been waiting for...
Our final stop in Little Odessa was a full-service grocery that had a selection of specialty smoked meats, sausages and cold cuts. Since Kitty is a vegetarian, I don't bring home these kinds of treats very often but seeing the bounty laid out before me, the German blood in me could not pass it by! Of course, the language was once again a barrier. I asked the lady if she had any recommendations. No response. I asked what her favorite was. I got a puzzled look. Soon, I start with the charades and the sentence fragments, raising my voice and trying to act it out. She started to get hostile. I ended up leaving the store with a small piece of kielbasa and some salami that I'm guessing was of Slavic origin. Please email me if you have any ideas on how to act out "Your Favorite Authentic Eastern European Meat Products." It can get kind of ugly if you are just winging it.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Times, they are a changin'
Yesterday, Kitty said something that shook me to my soul. "You aren't new here anymore. It's been almost two years."
It was fairly traumatic for me but, looking back on the lack of entries lately, I can see her point. On the other hand, I have spent the last few days working at an investment bank on the 35th floor near Central Park.
As I walked into the lobby, I had to catch my breath. From the window I could see all of Central Park. It looked almost small. Knowing the scope of the park added to the sense of scale of this city. It is a point of view that I have not experienced.
I feel like I've walked into the nerve center of our economy. Traders sit at computers that have three monitors shooting out different information. They are plugged into to complicated phone systems via headsets and they shout out things like "I'm selling 35,000 but we are shorting 42 cash!" I don't know what that means, but I'm sure the profit will pay my salary for a decade.
While the experiences are new, the eyes now seem a little older. I rarely get the shock and awe that Kitty and I could talk about for hours. Now, in some ways, I've seen it all. There will be more, of course, but it will now measure up to a whole batch of weird New York City experiences.
This brings me to a semi-rhetorical question: Where does the blog go from here? We've left the Chocolate Room and we can't really go back. I can tell you all about the weird events that happen in our lives, but they are going to be fewer and far between. Do I blog now about the books I read, the art I see and the music I hear? Perhaps I could put together some tours of NYC for tourists... something to get them out of the Times Square rut but still have them feel safe as they explore. If you have ideas, please don't hesitate to drop a line.
It was fairly traumatic for me but, looking back on the lack of entries lately, I can see her point. On the other hand, I have spent the last few days working at an investment bank on the 35th floor near Central Park.
As I walked into the lobby, I had to catch my breath. From the window I could see all of Central Park. It looked almost small. Knowing the scope of the park added to the sense of scale of this city. It is a point of view that I have not experienced.
I feel like I've walked into the nerve center of our economy. Traders sit at computers that have three monitors shooting out different information. They are plugged into to complicated phone systems via headsets and they shout out things like "I'm selling 35,000 but we are shorting 42 cash!" I don't know what that means, but I'm sure the profit will pay my salary for a decade.
While the experiences are new, the eyes now seem a little older. I rarely get the shock and awe that Kitty and I could talk about for hours. Now, in some ways, I've seen it all. There will be more, of course, but it will now measure up to a whole batch of weird New York City experiences.
This brings me to a semi-rhetorical question: Where does the blog go from here? We've left the Chocolate Room and we can't really go back. I can tell you all about the weird events that happen in our lives, but they are going to be fewer and far between. Do I blog now about the books I read, the art I see and the music I hear? Perhaps I could put together some tours of NYC for tourists... something to get them out of the Times Square rut but still have them feel safe as they explore. If you have ideas, please don't hesitate to drop a line.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
A Valentine to Remember
For the first time in many years, after a strictly enforced "no-gift" policy, Kitty surprised me with the perfect Valentine's Day gift. One ticket to attend the 2007 ComicCon, a comic book convention at the Javits Center. The all day ticket was good from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. and it is an homage to my years spent collecting comics and playing video games and Dungeons & Dragons. I never have lost my love for these things though work, studies and singing have pulled me away from it over the past few years.
For most of you regular readers, you may not have had any idea as to how much of a geek I really am. This entry will prove it. If you don't want to know, don't read this!
The Goddam Jedis get all the perks.
The Javits Center is a huge building that takes up about 5 city blocks. It's immensity was magnified by the fact that the line snaked around the building from a lower entrance, around the corner across a little street and up a hill to 11th Avenue and 44th Street where I stood. It was a
chilly, chilly day and as you know, it is always 10 degrees freezing my backside off. What made it worse was that us non-Jedis were being guarded by stormtroopers (the most incompetent footsoldiers in the galaxy) and Jawas. Yes, they were cooler by the water. Frankly, I was mutant, giant Jawas, but hell... they were Jawas!! I would have settled for a Gammorean Guard! But Jawas? REALLY!!!!
Looking through the glass, I could see the goddam Jedis practicing in full costume with their costumes. I knew that somewhere around here there was a special line just for them. I'm ready to enroll in the club so that next year I won't have to wait in line! When a bunch of them came out to smoke and chat with the non-Jedis in line, I wanted to jump the wall and beat them. Even if they could use their Jedi powers on me, they smoked... I could totally take them if they had the nicotine shakes. The Jedi group did light saber demonstrations during the day. I give them full props for their show. Take a look at the videos on their website. They did a good job.
When the line finally started moving and I made it into the building, they were all there trying to sell me custom-made lightsabers that could be used for dueling. It was... well... interesting. I've always wanted a light saber. I don't want Kitty to disown me and so I moved on and into the Convention itself.
I'm no Superman
I've decided that comic book costumes look better in 2d. I tried to get a pic with Spiderman but he was much more popular than the Blue Beetle and the Flash. I can't imagine why. I hope these guys got paid a million bucks for this. Could you imagine putting this on your resume? These guys were in remarkably good spirits considering the tightness of their pants.
A Brave (and Strange) New World
As I entered the main part of the Convention, I realized the scope of the event. All the major comic publishers were represented (Marvel, DC, Dark Horse) and also some of the newer publishers (TokyoPop). There were plasma tvs set up where you could try the latest video games and even ones that weren't out yet. There were vendors selling rare comics, toys based on comics, t-shirts, posters and also many vendors selling children's books.
As I walked by some of the video game vendors, I realized that I was seeing one of the rarer species on earth, the "Booth Babe." A Booth Babe is the female of our species that is wearing a skimpy outfit and trying to look vaguely interested in the "geek product" that she is trying to sell. It's hard work because geeks have a reputation of not having girlfriends or even good skills at dealing with people of the opposite sex. Booth Babes are known for their ability to avoid giving out their phone numbers, yet making the geeks feel like they are special and they should buy the video game, comic, or whatever. You'll notice that I don't have pictures of a Booth Babe. I'll refer you to my previous comment about lightsabers, I could have taken a picture but I didn't want Kitty to disown me.
Drawing on their Skill Set
The second floor was known as Artist's Alley. Walking down the aisles, I saw countless comic book artists- some famous, some aspiring- showing off their work. They would sign comics for free or you could buy original art by them. The works varied in size and composition and some of them were absolutely beautiful. They would have been a great decoration in our apartment. Some pictures would have fit in perfectly against our Calla Lilly-colored walls that were chosen by the Scottsman, our decorator. Of course, I'd like to refer you to my earlier comments about lightsabers and Booth Babes... I don't want Kitty to disown me. The Scottsman would probably whack me outside the head as well if I put a comic book picture into an apartment that he worked so hard on!
Beyond the Alley
Walking through the Alley, the second floor room opened up into a large hall where competitive gaming was taking place. In this case, all of the games were board games such as Dreamscape and D&D Miniatures or card games like Pokemon, Magic and more obscure games. Around the perimeter of the room you could get autographs from celebrities (such as some of the cast of Buffy the Vampire Slayer) or notorious people like:
I would have paid $20 bucks to get my picture taken with him and get his autograph, but I fear that, like light sabers, Booth Babes, and framed comic art, Kitty would have said, "Watchoo talkin' 'bout!" and disowned me.
Delving Deep
At about 3 p.m., I finally found my way to the basement. Here there was a giant space where Steven King had made a speech at 11 a.m. Yes, I missed it entirely. There was a screening of The Hills Have Eyes 2 and Hostel 2. For those of you who don't know those films, they star Oscar-winners Dame Judi Dench and Dame Helen Mirren who go about killing tourists in Europe. Ok. I made up some of that. And yes, I missed both entirely. As I walked through the door, Kevin Smith was chit chatting with audience members (about 1,000). I like some of his movies but I felt that my time was coming to a close. I was hitting the wall.
Closing Thoughts
As I left the Javits Center after 8 hours of non-stop geekitude, I realized that I hadn't really talked to anyone all day. Sure, I had played every game demo that was there, and I scored two free t-shirts (one said, "Pirates: Getting Booty since 1732"), and I picked up tons of free comics and magazines (two full plastic bags worth!). In the end, I knew that next year I would need back up and RoboGuy and the Secret Agent would have to come join me. We all went to high school together, read comics and played D&D together and when my good judgment takes hold and I wonder if I should shell out the bucks, they will make sure that I'll come home with a light saber, pictures of Booth Babes, a large framed picture of Wonder Woman and Gary Coleman's autograph. Since they will have the same things, they'll have to explain it to their wives too!
For most of you regular readers, you may not have had any idea as to how much of a geek I really am. This entry will prove it. If you don't want to know, don't read this!
The Goddam Jedis get all the perks.
The Javits Center is a huge building that takes up about 5 city blocks. It's immensity was magnified by the fact that the line snaked around the building from a lower entrance, around the corner across a little street and up a hill to 11th Avenue and 44th Street where I stood. It was a
chilly, chilly day and as you know, it is always 10 degrees freezing my backside off. What made it worse was that us non-Jedis were being guarded by stormtroopers (the most incompetent footsoldiers in the galaxy) and Jawas. Yes, they were cooler by the water. Frankly, I was mutant, giant Jawas, but hell... they were Jawas!! I would have settled for a Gammorean Guard! But Jawas? REALLY!!!!Looking through the glass, I could see the goddam Jedis practicing in full costume with their costumes. I knew that somewhere around here there was a special line just for them. I'm ready to enroll in the club so that next year I won't have to wait in line! When a bunch of them came out to smoke and chat with the non-Jedis in line, I wanted to jump the wall and beat them. Even if they could use their Jedi powers on me, they smoked... I could totally take them if they had the nicotine shakes. The Jedi group did light saber demonstrations during the day. I give them full props for their show. Take a look at the videos on their website. They did a good job.
When the line finally started moving and I made it into the building, they were all there trying to sell me custom-made lightsabers that could be used for dueling. It was... well... interesting. I've always wanted a light saber. I don't want Kitty to disown me and so I moved on and into the Convention itself.
I'm no Superman
I've decided that comic book costumes look better in 2d. I tried to get a pic with Spiderman but he was much more popular than the Blue Beetle and the Flash. I can't imagine why. I hope these guys got paid a million bucks for this. Could you imagine putting this on your resume? These guys were in remarkably good spirits considering the tightness of their pants.A Brave (and Strange) New World
As I entered the main part of the Convention, I realized the scope of the event. All the major comic publishers were represented (Marvel, DC, Dark Horse) and also some of the newer publishers (TokyoPop). There were plasma tvs set up where you could try the latest video games and even ones that weren't out yet. There were vendors selling rare comics, toys based on comics, t-shirts, posters and also many vendors selling children's books.
As I walked by some of the video game vendors, I realized that I was seeing one of the rarer species on earth, the "Booth Babe." A Booth Babe is the female of our species that is wearing a skimpy outfit and trying to look vaguely interested in the "geek product" that she is trying to sell. It's hard work because geeks have a reputation of not having girlfriends or even good skills at dealing with people of the opposite sex. Booth Babes are known for their ability to avoid giving out their phone numbers, yet making the geeks feel like they are special and they should buy the video game, comic, or whatever. You'll notice that I don't have pictures of a Booth Babe. I'll refer you to my previous comment about lightsabers, I could have taken a picture but I didn't want Kitty to disown me.
Drawing on their Skill Set
The second floor was known as Artist's Alley. Walking down the aisles, I saw countless comic book artists- some famous, some aspiring- showing off their work. They would sign comics for free or you could buy original art by them. The works varied in size and composition and some of them were absolutely beautiful. They would have been a great decoration in our apartment. Some pictures would have fit in perfectly against our Calla Lilly-colored walls that were chosen by the Scottsman, our decorator. Of course, I'd like to refer you to my earlier comments about lightsabers and Booth Babes... I don't want Kitty to disown me. The Scottsman would probably whack me outside the head as well if I put a comic book picture into an apartment that he worked so hard on!
Beyond the Alley
Walking through the Alley, the second floor room opened up into a large hall where competitive gaming was taking place. In this case, all of the games were board games such as Dreamscape and D&D Miniatures or card games like Pokemon, Magic and more obscure games. Around the perimeter of the room you could get autographs from celebrities (such as some of the cast of Buffy the Vampire Slayer) or notorious people like:
I would have paid $20 bucks to get my picture taken with him and get his autograph, but I fear that, like light sabers, Booth Babes, and framed comic art, Kitty would have said, "Watchoo talkin' 'bout!" and disowned me.Delving Deep
At about 3 p.m., I finally found my way to the basement. Here there was a giant space where Steven King had made a speech at 11 a.m. Yes, I missed it entirely. There was a screening of The Hills Have Eyes 2 and Hostel 2. For those of you who don't know those films, they star Oscar-winners Dame Judi Dench and Dame Helen Mirren who go about killing tourists in Europe. Ok. I made up some of that. And yes, I missed both entirely. As I walked through the door, Kevin Smith was chit chatting with audience members (about 1,000). I like some of his movies but I felt that my time was coming to a close. I was hitting the wall.
Closing Thoughts
As I left the Javits Center after 8 hours of non-stop geekitude, I realized that I hadn't really talked to anyone all day. Sure, I had played every game demo that was there, and I scored two free t-shirts (one said, "Pirates: Getting Booty since 1732"), and I picked up tons of free comics and magazines (two full plastic bags worth!). In the end, I knew that next year I would need back up and RoboGuy and the Secret Agent would have to come join me. We all went to high school together, read comics and played D&D together and when my good judgment takes hold and I wonder if I should shell out the bucks, they will make sure that I'll come home with a light saber, pictures of Booth Babes, a large framed picture of Wonder Woman and Gary Coleman's autograph. Since they will have the same things, they'll have to explain it to their wives too!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Brooklyn Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down...
The following post was done by trained professionals. Do not attempt to recreate these events outside of New York. Children, do not try to imitate these situations, it may result in death or dismemberment.
In the past few days, two dear friends have had some terrible spills as they walked along the streets of New York. My friend, "La Diva," fell as she crossed 76th Street on the Upper West Side. It was a horrible fall and she needed multiple stitches and a black and blue mark covered most of her face.
I spoke to her after the fall and she told me that almost before she hit the ground, she could hear people shouting and coming to her aid. She was helped up and an ambulance was called instantly.
Likewise, the Scottsman, my boss, took two falls. Yesterday he was with his daughter and they were surrounded by people in a flash. He was fine and walked it off. As we were chatting about his fall this morning, I told him about La Diva's fall and apparently he felt the need to "one-up" her.
Today he was walking with a client and fell. Again, strangers crowded around to help him but this time, he fell in front of Hermes. A staff member saw him and insisted he come into the store where he sat down and they offered him a brandy to steady his nerves.
So what have we learned, kids? If you must take a fall, do so in New York City, where help is only a few steps away. When you choose your location, fall in front of Hermes because they offer free drinks for the gravitationally challenged.
Kitty- if you are reading this post, please don't start throwing yourself at the ground for free drinks!
In the past few days, two dear friends have had some terrible spills as they walked along the streets of New York. My friend, "La Diva," fell as she crossed 76th Street on the Upper West Side. It was a horrible fall and she needed multiple stitches and a black and blue mark covered most of her face.
I spoke to her after the fall and she told me that almost before she hit the ground, she could hear people shouting and coming to her aid. She was helped up and an ambulance was called instantly.
Likewise, the Scottsman, my boss, took two falls. Yesterday he was with his daughter and they were surrounded by people in a flash. He was fine and walked it off. As we were chatting about his fall this morning, I told him about La Diva's fall and apparently he felt the need to "one-up" her.
Today he was walking with a client and fell. Again, strangers crowded around to help him but this time, he fell in front of Hermes. A staff member saw him and insisted he come into the store where he sat down and they offered him a brandy to steady his nerves.
So what have we learned, kids? If you must take a fall, do so in New York City, where help is only a few steps away. When you choose your location, fall in front of Hermes because they offer free drinks for the gravitationally challenged.
Kitty- if you are reading this post, please don't start throwing yourself at the ground for free drinks!
Monday, December 11, 2006
Things we love, Pt. 4- update
If these aren't the Most Important Gawddam Dumplings in the World (tm), why would I wait for 45 minutes to get five of them?
I had time to kill before rehearsal and I decided that I needed dinner. Eldrich is on the way. At some point, though, you wonder if these spectacular, little dumplings are just not worth it. Apparently, they keep one person behind the counter to take orders and then immediately disappear into the back room, never to return again. At least 15 customers were served, ate and left before I received these impeccably fried, succulent dumplings. Maybe it was because I didn't order in Chinese or maybe it is because I had the look of a nice guy who wouldn't blow his top. Of course, as I sat at rehearsal and ate those perfectly created bites of heaven, all is forgiven and the pain and insecurity of waiting in line washes away with each delightful pocket of delicately spiced pork.
I had time to kill before rehearsal and I decided that I needed dinner. Eldrich is on the way. At some point, though, you wonder if these spectacular, little dumplings are just not worth it. Apparently, they keep one person behind the counter to take orders and then immediately disappear into the back room, never to return again. At least 15 customers were served, ate and left before I received these impeccably fried, succulent dumplings. Maybe it was because I didn't order in Chinese or maybe it is because I had the look of a nice guy who wouldn't blow his top. Of course, as I sat at rehearsal and ate those perfectly created bites of heaven, all is forgiven and the pain and insecurity of waiting in line washes away with each delightful pocket of delicately spiced pork.
Refinement, NYC style.
Standing on the corner of 57th and Madison, a slight woman stands on the sidewalk. She is wearing a black overcoat with a fur collar, black gloves and her blonde hair is perfectly coiffed. She is a little bit older, perhaps in her early sixties, but there is an aura of refinement as she steps off the sidewalk and her high-heeled boots step out onto the street. The light hasn't changed yet, but, like most New Yorkers, she seeps forward with the crowd to get that "head start" on the walk to her next shopping destination. As she stands there, a car goes by her, making a turn off of 57th on to Madison. Perhaps the car was a hair to close to her as it made the turn. That is probably why a $500 glove was removed and a perfectly manicured middle finger was raised as the car roars by.
I'm sure I've mentioned this before, here in the city, obsenity has been elevated from a seasoning to a side dish. In some cases, it's a super-sized order of fries. I'm surprised at how we function here in the city with that slight edge. As I look around and see the gestures and hear the yelling, I wonder if it isn't a means to just "blow off steam." With the crowds and the noise, we all need a way to let go of the anger we feel when we get cut off in traffic or a cab splashes us as it turns the corner. Better a little obscenity now and then, I suppose.
I'm sure I've mentioned this before, here in the city, obsenity has been elevated from a seasoning to a side dish. In some cases, it's a super-sized order of fries. I'm surprised at how we function here in the city with that slight edge. As I look around and see the gestures and hear the yelling, I wonder if it isn't a means to just "blow off steam." With the crowds and the noise, we all need a way to let go of the anger we feel when we get cut off in traffic or a cab splashes us as it turns the corner. Better a little obscenity now and then, I suppose.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Shooting at the walls of Heartache-- bang bang
Another New York City moment.
At approximately 3:30 a.m. this morning, our front door buzzer goes off. Stumbling out of bed, I see two police officers. "Excuse me, is this the residence of Kitty, uhhhh, Leh, Loh, Looh?"
"Kitty lives here... Yes," I cautiously replied. I didn't want to be the guy to fink on my wife, you know?
"Your car has been broken into and we have apprended the man who did it. Just to verify, you did not ask him to enter your car and remove your property, yes?" It's three a.m., my head is spinning from a cold I'm fighting and faced with all the double-negatives, I utter some sort of reply that seems to make everything ok. "Would you like to press charges?"
I suppose that is the single scariest moment of the night. How do you press charges against someone over attempted theft of two decorative pillows, a set of jumper cables, a kite and a hackey sack? "I suppose so."
"Why don't you come out, I'll show you the car and we'll get the paperwork started."
Changing into jeans and putting on a jacket, I tell Kitty about the situation and I tell her I'll be back in a few. I arrive at our car, parked just down the street and there are six officers standing around. "Yeah, he cut his finger on a fuckin' file cabinet." "Lost the finger at the first fuckin' knuckle?" "Yeah, it got some sort of fuckin' infection..." "Oh, hey Sarge, this the guy from Colorado?"
They stand around looking at the car and I hear bits and pieces of the story. A transit cop happened to be on the platform for the elevated train directly above our street and he saw the man as he broke the window. He ran down from the platform and caught another officer at the entrance to the station and the two policemen bumped into the guy as he was walking away with the items. The arrest was easy after that.
Sarge asked me if I would come down to the station. They'd photograph everything and I could just take it home immediately rather than make another trip down later. The driver looked like Arnold Voosloo and the music was the best of the eighties. I hop in the back of the cruiser and three red lights and seven minutes later I was at the back entrance of the Police depot at Hoyt-Schermerhorn Station. Sarge brings me around to the front desk where almost magically, the same cops are standing around. "Yeah, he cut his first fuckin'..." "Oh, hey, Sarge." "This is Gurnsey, who made the collar."
"Oh, yeah, Tranist makes the bust of the century..." says Sarge.
"You know, it's Grand Larceny if he steals shit out of a car," says Gurnsey.
"Woh, hold on a second, Gunga-din, you hoping to get some bars out of this? He stole two goddamned pillows. What next, attempted murder?" yells Salvatore, the Desk Sargeant.
"Well, there is dried blood on the screwdriver."
"Oh. So did he cut himself?"
"No."
"Shit. Better send that to the lab."
The conversation goes on and soon a copy of the New York Penal Code is brought out and references are being made. I didn't realize that the drafters of the Code dropped the F-bomb into it as much as they did.
"Hey, did you get to question him further?" asks Gurnsey.
"Nah," Salvatore says, "As soon as he got to the cell, he fell asleep. The guy has been arrested like, a hundred times." He then intones,"The Guilty always sleep."
As I'm identifiying items from the car, there is a sunglasses case from Ann Klein. Confused as to whose it is, I need to call Kitty. I'm led back to a room where Salvatore is enjoying a cigarette. He sees me and his eyes get big. Apparently, I've found the last room in the city where a person can grab a smoke. Wait a second, how can a man that big disappear? "Hey kiddo, do you have a glasses case from Ann Klein?"
"Yeah, I think so," she groggily replies and hangs up.
Wait a second. When did she buy Ann Klein sunglasses? I think two crimes were committed here tonight...
Signing paperwork and packing up took no time at all and soon Voosloo was driving me back to the apartment. The Sarge snapped some pictures of the broken window and I'm supposed to expect a call from the District Attorney today.
All in all, we count ourselves lucky. As Sarge said, "It's rare that we are in the right place at the right time like this. Usually we just take reports and it is gratifying to actually prevent something every once in awhile."
At approximately 3:30 a.m. this morning, our front door buzzer goes off. Stumbling out of bed, I see two police officers. "Excuse me, is this the residence of Kitty, uhhhh, Leh, Loh, Looh?"
"Kitty lives here... Yes," I cautiously replied. I didn't want to be the guy to fink on my wife, you know?
"Your car has been broken into and we have apprended the man who did it. Just to verify, you did not ask him to enter your car and remove your property, yes?" It's three a.m., my head is spinning from a cold I'm fighting and faced with all the double-negatives, I utter some sort of reply that seems to make everything ok. "Would you like to press charges?"
I suppose that is the single scariest moment of the night. How do you press charges against someone over attempted theft of two decorative pillows, a set of jumper cables, a kite and a hackey sack? "I suppose so."
"Why don't you come out, I'll show you the car and we'll get the paperwork started."
Changing into jeans and putting on a jacket, I tell Kitty about the situation and I tell her I'll be back in a few. I arrive at our car, parked just down the street and there are six officers standing around. "Yeah, he cut his finger on a fuckin' file cabinet." "Lost the finger at the first fuckin' knuckle?" "Yeah, it got some sort of fuckin' infection..." "Oh, hey Sarge, this the guy from Colorado?"
They stand around looking at the car and I hear bits and pieces of the story. A transit cop happened to be on the platform for the elevated train directly above our street and he saw the man as he broke the window. He ran down from the platform and caught another officer at the entrance to the station and the two policemen bumped into the guy as he was walking away with the items. The arrest was easy after that.
Sarge asked me if I would come down to the station. They'd photograph everything and I could just take it home immediately rather than make another trip down later. The driver looked like Arnold Voosloo and the music was the best of the eighties. I hop in the back of the cruiser and three red lights and seven minutes later I was at the back entrance of the Police depot at Hoyt-Schermerhorn Station. Sarge brings me around to the front desk where almost magically, the same cops are standing around. "Yeah, he cut his first fuckin'..." "Oh, hey, Sarge." "This is Gurnsey, who made the collar."
"Oh, yeah, Tranist makes the bust of the century..." says Sarge.
"You know, it's Grand Larceny if he steals shit out of a car," says Gurnsey.
"Woh, hold on a second, Gunga-din, you hoping to get some bars out of this? He stole two goddamned pillows. What next, attempted murder?" yells Salvatore, the Desk Sargeant.
"Well, there is dried blood on the screwdriver."
"Oh. So did he cut himself?"
"No."
"Shit. Better send that to the lab."
The conversation goes on and soon a copy of the New York Penal Code is brought out and references are being made. I didn't realize that the drafters of the Code dropped the F-bomb into it as much as they did.
"Hey, did you get to question him further?" asks Gurnsey.
"Nah," Salvatore says, "As soon as he got to the cell, he fell asleep. The guy has been arrested like, a hundred times." He then intones,"The Guilty always sleep."
As I'm identifiying items from the car, there is a sunglasses case from Ann Klein. Confused as to whose it is, I need to call Kitty. I'm led back to a room where Salvatore is enjoying a cigarette. He sees me and his eyes get big. Apparently, I've found the last room in the city where a person can grab a smoke. Wait a second, how can a man that big disappear? "Hey kiddo, do you have a glasses case from Ann Klein?"
"Yeah, I think so," she groggily replies and hangs up.
Wait a second. When did she buy Ann Klein sunglasses? I think two crimes were committed here tonight...
Signing paperwork and packing up took no time at all and soon Voosloo was driving me back to the apartment. The Sarge snapped some pictures of the broken window and I'm supposed to expect a call from the District Attorney today.
All in all, we count ourselves lucky. As Sarge said, "It's rare that we are in the right place at the right time like this. Usually we just take reports and it is gratifying to actually prevent something every once in awhile."
Friday, November 03, 2006
The Negotiater
Sitting in a buisness consultation for my singing career, my mentor said, "I know you are thinking of having Kitty be your manager, but, really, can she negotiate?"
I replied, "Do you see that leather jacket over there?"
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Flashback: Two weeks ago on the Lower East Side.
Our idea was to improve my "image" by buying a versatile leather coat that would help tidy me up for the fall and winter in New York. The street was rather quiet but apparently, this was the place to be to purchase leather outerwear in the whole city. We turned the corner onto Ludlow Street.
"Leather Jackets here." "Starting at $100." "Wear only the best leather." "Nobody beats my prices."
Even with only a few shoppers out, the barkers on the sidewalk were practically dragging people up or into their shops. Within this block, there were probably twenty stores all selling similar jackets and leather supplies- and for those of you with sick minds- I mean wallets, shoes and belts. This is a family blog. (mostly)
The first store was up a narrow flight of stairs and the walls were covered with jackets, as were the shelves, counters and floor. We waded through the jackets and tried a few on.
The second store, we were more prepared. It was more spacious and certainly more tidy. Our saleswoman, Maria, said that she had a great deal for us. We found a jacket we liked. "Well," she said, "that will be $425." We both kind of stopped and looked at each other. Instantly, "Ok, for you, $225. That's a special deal for today."
Oh you poor, poor woman, I think to myself. You just showed weakness. The blood is in the water and Kitty is going to eat you alive. I say a silent prayer for Maria's soul.
An eyebrow is arched and a glint hits Kitty's eye. "Well, we really didn't want to pay that much for a jacket." She sounds so innocent and nice as she says it. She leaves the bait hanging in the air. I can see Maria as she looks at the bait, sizing it up, asking herself, "Is there a hook in there?-- nah... There's no hook."
"Alright, for you, I'll talk to my manager." Maria walks away to talk to a man wearing a leather coat.
"What are you thinking? I whisper. "$225 is right in our budget. It's a great coat. Why are you pushing her? Don't you want to buy a coat today?" There is a tone of desperation in my voice and it cracks a little. I like this coat. All I get is the eyebrow.
Maria comes back, "Ok, I'll sell it to you for $175 cash. That's my best deal. I had to get my manager's approval." The man with the leather jacket is taking one off and putting another on. (Wait a minute, is he really a manager? I guess we'll never really know.)
"Well," says Kitty, "can we get your card? We want to look around a bit and we'll come back if we don't find anything better."
"Ok, $150." She's hemmoraging dollars at this point and I am well past feeling sorry for her now.
With a little toss of her head and a flip of the tail, the shark swims out of the store to search for fresh prey. And I, the little fish, hoping for scraps, follow her out of the store.
"Well, I guess that's it, huh. We aren't buying the coat today?" I say.
"Don't worry, let's just hit one more store," Kitty says.
The third store is relatively quiet. As we look at some coats, I try one on, it looks good but it is a medium and I really need a small. All of a sudden, a heavy set man walks up to us. He is wearing white sweatpants and a New York Giants t-shirt and a leather jacket. His baseball hat is old and he looks like he just rolled out of bed. He also is sporting a 5 o'clock shadow that extends down to his chest in his front and to the tuft of back hair poking out from the top of the t-shirt.
"Dats a nice lookin' jacket."
"Well, it's a medium and we were really hoping for a small, "says the Shark.
"Oh, naw... dat medium is great. See, ya want it bigger. Ya know... Everyone wears it big." He tilts baseball cap so that it is sideways on his head. "See, all my buds where a size or sumtimes two sizes too big."
"Well, it's a medium and we were really hoping for a small," repeats the Shark. Apparently, this guy can't tell that she's trying to negotiate.
"Aw hell, I've got one somewhere. Look, I just got another shipment in today." He points to a stack of boxes. "Gimmee a second."
"Wait," says Kitty, demoted from shark to confused amphibian, "How much do you want for it if it's a small?" Apparently, we are really going to have to lead this horse to water.
"Oh, uh, I dunno, what about Onefiddy?-- see, it's lambskin... it's real nice soft leather. So you'll take the medium?" I can tell that he really doesn't want to go digging.
"No, we won't take the medium. Why don't you look for the small and we'll come back later."
As we walk out of the store, I tell Kitty that I'm hitting the wall. I can't keep up this brutal pace of negotiation and my arms are getting tired from trying on all these jackets.
We are not twenty feet out of the door when..."chief... Chief... CHIEF!!!!!" First of all, nobody calls me Chief. No one ever has, why the heck would I start answering to it when its a crowded street and there are people yelling everywhere? Secondly, my unfortunate friend is running down the street, his hand is hanging tightly on to the back of his sweatpants in a failing attempt to mitigate the plumber's crack that is being revealed to those behind him. As he approaches, I can see sweat and toxins pouring down his hairy face. This is obviously a poster child for why we should spend more time playing outside in the park.
"Chief, I found a small... come back... come back..." he wheezes.
Kitty smiles as if she planned this all. We find ourselves walking briskly as he prances ahead of us, describing the Herculean effort of finding this needle in his proverbial haystack. His hand has let go of his sweatpants as he sort of acts out the triumph of finding the perfectly sized coat. We are led on by his tremendous Plumber's crack and we arrive back at the shop.
"Well, $150 seems ok, but we were really hoping to pay $100."
He looks like someone just murdered his puppy. "Oh. Well. Huh." I see the pain in his eyes when he realizes that he was negotiating with a master and it's almost checkmate for him. "Well. Let me... uh... talk to the owner."
A small Asian woman is sitting at the cash register. Kitty moves in for the kill. "Would you take $100 cash?" she starts.
"Cash or credit... makes no difference in price," says the owner. "I'll give it to you for $125."
Cue the whistling music as we are transported to the Old West. Kitty is standing in front of the Saloon and the shopkeeper is by the General Store. They face each other, sizing each other up, their hands by their holstered guns. A tumbleweed blows across the road between them. Kitty is wearing the black hat.
"Well, we'll just keep looking, partner," Kitty drawls.
"$110. Best offer."
"Done."
A look of relief crosses the townspeople's faces as the two gunfighters relax. There won't be any bloodshed this afternoon.
"Give her the credit card," Kitty says.
BAM! "What happened to the cash?" the shopkeeper says as she lies on the street bleeding.
"I guess it doesn't make a difference either way," Kitty says as she nods her black hat, mounts her horse and rides off into the sunset.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"That's a great story and she sounds like she could be a good manager," says my mentor. "But can she do that in the other direction?"
I replied, "Do you see that leather jacket over there?"
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Flashback: Two weeks ago on the Lower East Side.
Our idea was to improve my "image" by buying a versatile leather coat that would help tidy me up for the fall and winter in New York. The street was rather quiet but apparently, this was the place to be to purchase leather outerwear in the whole city. We turned the corner onto Ludlow Street.
"Leather Jackets here." "Starting at $100." "Wear only the best leather." "Nobody beats my prices."
Even with only a few shoppers out, the barkers on the sidewalk were practically dragging people up or into their shops. Within this block, there were probably twenty stores all selling similar jackets and leather supplies- and for those of you with sick minds- I mean wallets, shoes and belts. This is a family blog. (mostly)
The first store was up a narrow flight of stairs and the walls were covered with jackets, as were the shelves, counters and floor. We waded through the jackets and tried a few on.
The second store, we were more prepared. It was more spacious and certainly more tidy. Our saleswoman, Maria, said that she had a great deal for us. We found a jacket we liked. "Well," she said, "that will be $425." We both kind of stopped and looked at each other. Instantly, "Ok, for you, $225. That's a special deal for today."
Oh you poor, poor woman, I think to myself. You just showed weakness. The blood is in the water and Kitty is going to eat you alive. I say a silent prayer for Maria's soul.
An eyebrow is arched and a glint hits Kitty's eye. "Well, we really didn't want to pay that much for a jacket." She sounds so innocent and nice as she says it. She leaves the bait hanging in the air. I can see Maria as she looks at the bait, sizing it up, asking herself, "Is there a hook in there?-- nah... There's no hook."
"Alright, for you, I'll talk to my manager." Maria walks away to talk to a man wearing a leather coat.
"What are you thinking? I whisper. "$225 is right in our budget. It's a great coat. Why are you pushing her? Don't you want to buy a coat today?" There is a tone of desperation in my voice and it cracks a little. I like this coat. All I get is the eyebrow.
Maria comes back, "Ok, I'll sell it to you for $175 cash. That's my best deal. I had to get my manager's approval." The man with the leather jacket is taking one off and putting another on. (Wait a minute, is he really a manager? I guess we'll never really know.)
"Well," says Kitty, "can we get your card? We want to look around a bit and we'll come back if we don't find anything better."
"Ok, $150." She's hemmoraging dollars at this point and I am well past feeling sorry for her now.
With a little toss of her head and a flip of the tail, the shark swims out of the store to search for fresh prey. And I, the little fish, hoping for scraps, follow her out of the store.
"Well, I guess that's it, huh. We aren't buying the coat today?" I say.
"Don't worry, let's just hit one more store," Kitty says.
The third store is relatively quiet. As we look at some coats, I try one on, it looks good but it is a medium and I really need a small. All of a sudden, a heavy set man walks up to us. He is wearing white sweatpants and a New York Giants t-shirt and a leather jacket. His baseball hat is old and he looks like he just rolled out of bed. He also is sporting a 5 o'clock shadow that extends down to his chest in his front and to the tuft of back hair poking out from the top of the t-shirt.
"Dats a nice lookin' jacket."
"Well, it's a medium and we were really hoping for a small, "says the Shark.
"Oh, naw... dat medium is great. See, ya want it bigger. Ya know... Everyone wears it big." He tilts baseball cap so that it is sideways on his head. "See, all my buds where a size or sumtimes two sizes too big."
"Well, it's a medium and we were really hoping for a small," repeats the Shark. Apparently, this guy can't tell that she's trying to negotiate.
"Aw hell, I've got one somewhere. Look, I just got another shipment in today." He points to a stack of boxes. "Gimmee a second."
"Wait," says Kitty, demoted from shark to confused amphibian, "How much do you want for it if it's a small?" Apparently, we are really going to have to lead this horse to water.
"Oh, uh, I dunno, what about Onefiddy?-- see, it's lambskin... it's real nice soft leather. So you'll take the medium?" I can tell that he really doesn't want to go digging.
"No, we won't take the medium. Why don't you look for the small and we'll come back later."
As we walk out of the store, I tell Kitty that I'm hitting the wall. I can't keep up this brutal pace of negotiation and my arms are getting tired from trying on all these jackets.
We are not twenty feet out of the door when..."chief... Chief... CHIEF!!!!!" First of all, nobody calls me Chief. No one ever has, why the heck would I start answering to it when its a crowded street and there are people yelling everywhere? Secondly, my unfortunate friend is running down the street, his hand is hanging tightly on to the back of his sweatpants in a failing attempt to mitigate the plumber's crack that is being revealed to those behind him. As he approaches, I can see sweat and toxins pouring down his hairy face. This is obviously a poster child for why we should spend more time playing outside in the park.
"Chief, I found a small... come back... come back..." he wheezes.
Kitty smiles as if she planned this all. We find ourselves walking briskly as he prances ahead of us, describing the Herculean effort of finding this needle in his proverbial haystack. His hand has let go of his sweatpants as he sort of acts out the triumph of finding the perfectly sized coat. We are led on by his tremendous Plumber's crack and we arrive back at the shop.
"Well, $150 seems ok, but we were really hoping to pay $100."
He looks like someone just murdered his puppy. "Oh. Well. Huh." I see the pain in his eyes when he realizes that he was negotiating with a master and it's almost checkmate for him. "Well. Let me... uh... talk to the owner."
A small Asian woman is sitting at the cash register. Kitty moves in for the kill. "Would you take $100 cash?" she starts.
"Cash or credit... makes no difference in price," says the owner. "I'll give it to you for $125."
Cue the whistling music as we are transported to the Old West. Kitty is standing in front of the Saloon and the shopkeeper is by the General Store. They face each other, sizing each other up, their hands by their holstered guns. A tumbleweed blows across the road between them. Kitty is wearing the black hat.
"Well, we'll just keep looking, partner," Kitty drawls.
"$110. Best offer."
"Done."
A look of relief crosses the townspeople's faces as the two gunfighters relax. There won't be any bloodshed this afternoon.
"Give her the credit card," Kitty says.
BAM! "What happened to the cash?" the shopkeeper says as she lies on the street bleeding.
"I guess it doesn't make a difference either way," Kitty says as she nods her black hat, mounts her horse and rides off into the sunset.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"That's a great story and she sounds like she could be a good manager," says my mentor. "But can she do that in the other direction?"
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Things we love, Pt. 4
If you have the chance, you can have a dinner for two for $4 bucks. Go to the Eldrich Dumpling House at Essex & Delancy off the F-J-M-Z trains. Head east on Delancy to Eldrich and go two blocks south. On the left hand side, you'll find a small "to-go" stand that serves Sesame Pancakes stuffed with tuna salad or beef ($1.50 each) and 5 perfectly fried pork dumplings for $1.
Rated highly by cheapos and food critics alike, Eldrich Dumpling House is one of those hidden gems that feel like a "best kept secret." We love these our secrets because the tourists won't get past the alphabet soup on the subway and the graffiti that frames the Lower East Side tenament buildings. (Which are really only cleverly disguised million dollar condos).
Best-kept-secrets. We love them and we'll share them with you... if you're nice to us!
Rated highly by cheapos and food critics alike, Eldrich Dumpling House is one of those hidden gems that feel like a "best kept secret." We love these our secrets because the tourists won't get past the alphabet soup on the subway and the graffiti that frames the Lower East Side tenament buildings. (Which are really only cleverly disguised million dollar condos).
Best-kept-secrets. We love them and we'll share them with you... if you're nice to us!
Do you feel that breeze?
That's the feeling of salvation rushing towards you at ninety miles-per-hour.
Being a newly baptized Catholic, I've found a lot of joy at Mass on Sundays. Clocking in at an hour-fifteen or hour-and-a-half, it's a great way to get centered. I've been a Catholic-American (is that the correct phrase?) for almost 6 months now. For the first time, Kitty and I took a trip to St. Patrick's Cathedral on 5th Avenue by Rockefeller Center.
The majesty of the Cathedral is unmistakable. Arches soaring overhead, a grand organ, excellent preaching and a sense of tradition that feels like it has travelled across generations all combine to make for a great retreat. In our case, we were looking forward to celebrating All Saint's Day- a Holy Day of Obligation- where all Catholics are directed to attend Mass.
We met after work in front of St. Pat's and ran in. It was very crowded but not too packed. We found a pew near the center aisle with a clear view of "the action."
The opening hymn began and we realized this would be no ordinary Mass (pun intended). One verse later, the Priest was up front and before we knew it... BAM! We were on to the readings. Anything that was usually sung, was spoken. Not 10 minutes into the Mass, we were on to the Homily. Plowing forward, our excellent preacher told a gripping story and as soon as he was finished... WHACK! On to the collection, before that even finished, Father was blessing the Gifts and then... WHOOSH! We were walking up for Holy Communion. We made it back to our seats where we closed with one verse of another hymn.
Final tally? 33 minutes from beginning to end. If they had shortened it any more, it would have been a haiku.
Being a newly baptized Catholic, I've found a lot of joy at Mass on Sundays. Clocking in at an hour-fifteen or hour-and-a-half, it's a great way to get centered. I've been a Catholic-American (is that the correct phrase?) for almost 6 months now. For the first time, Kitty and I took a trip to St. Patrick's Cathedral on 5th Avenue by Rockefeller Center.
The majesty of the Cathedral is unmistakable. Arches soaring overhead, a grand organ, excellent preaching and a sense of tradition that feels like it has travelled across generations all combine to make for a great retreat. In our case, we were looking forward to celebrating All Saint's Day- a Holy Day of Obligation- where all Catholics are directed to attend Mass.
We met after work in front of St. Pat's and ran in. It was very crowded but not too packed. We found a pew near the center aisle with a clear view of "the action."
The opening hymn began and we realized this would be no ordinary Mass (pun intended). One verse later, the Priest was up front and before we knew it... BAM! We were on to the readings. Anything that was usually sung, was spoken. Not 10 minutes into the Mass, we were on to the Homily. Plowing forward, our excellent preacher told a gripping story and as soon as he was finished... WHACK! On to the collection, before that even finished, Father was blessing the Gifts and then... WHOOSH! We were walking up for Holy Communion. We made it back to our seats where we closed with one verse of another hymn.
Final tally? 33 minutes from beginning to end. If they had shortened it any more, it would have been a haiku.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Things we love, Pt. 3
It isn't enough to go shopping here. The experience must be augemented and made as pleasurable. I might have mentioned the music in stores before, yes? Well, to make it official, a kick-ass soundtrack is beloved by all New Yorkers. I'm not just talking about the music in Abercrombie that makes your eardrums pop because of the sheer volume. This is music played at the perfect volume. Good enough to hum along but unobtrusive enough to hold a conversation. If it were a hot tub, the music would be at exactly 100 degrees.
The range of songs are unbelievable. If you are picking out tuna fish at the grocery store, the Village People are a good option. If you are in the pharmacy getting your prescription, it is best to have Marvin Gaye playing.
It isn't just the music, I'm finding that New Yorkers are not inhibited to sing in public. Just the other day in the cereal aisle, I saw a guy do a little spin on his heel as he sang along to D'yer Maker by Led Zepplin. Good music makes your ordinary shopping experience extraordinary!
The range of songs are unbelievable. If you are picking out tuna fish at the grocery store, the Village People are a good option. If you are in the pharmacy getting your prescription, it is best to have Marvin Gaye playing.
It isn't just the music, I'm finding that New Yorkers are not inhibited to sing in public. Just the other day in the cereal aisle, I saw a guy do a little spin on his heel as he sang along to D'yer Maker by Led Zepplin. Good music makes your ordinary shopping experience extraordinary!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Full-on changes
Moving
Things change a lot in New York. We now have a new apartment where Franklin Avenue meets Fulton in Brooklyn. It's slightly further out than our old digs in Ft. Greene, but the rent is cheaper.
Kitty and I live in the basement of a brownstone on a small street called Lefferts Place. Nestled between the mayhem of Fulton Street and the car detailing shops on Atlantic, Lefferts is a quiet, tree-lined street. Families hang out on the stoops and slowly you can see the houses are getting repaired one-by one.
A showdown at high noon.
At the corner of Fulton and Franklin, a showdown is going on. On one corner, Crown Fried Halal Chicken and on the other, Popeye's Chicken. Both serve their chicken from behind bullet-proof glass. The best fried chicken is served from behind bullet-proof glass. Popeye's has the consistency of a chain, but it costs more. Crown (a local chain) is much less expensive and in addition to chicken, they serve beef patties, pizza, burgers, gyros, fries (which are delicious), ice cream and popcorn shrimp. You can guess which one we go to.
New sounds
When once we listened to children playing on the playground, we now hear the sound of the mosque, calling the faithful to daily prayers. It's an amplified recording of a man singing and on days when I'm around to hear it, the music reflects our place as outsiders in this neighborhood. For the first time, we are racially a minority, even though we are living with people who are in the same economic level as us.
Sweet Dreams.
As we turned out the light to go to bed, Kitty said, "It's stuffy in here. Would you open the window?" I happily oblige only to hear the sound of a car running at about 9,000 rpm. "What the... " I say. Our bedroom is in the back of the brownstone and it opens out onto the backyard. There is no street there. So what is the car doing?
The next day, I get home late and two men are walking towards the apartment. Our landlord, Vicky, is standing at the door in her robe and the men ask if they can come into our apartment. It turns out that they are from the State Environmental Protection Agency. Everyone on our street is complaining because one of our neighbors has neglected to pay their power bill. Instead, they installed a gas generator in the back. It's late, the guys are tired and they look sort of defeated as they go into the bedroom and pull out some sort of sound measuring device and roll their eyes when they see the reading on the meter. "Yep, it's a violation," says one.
"So, what happens next?" I replied.
"Well, we cite them again, cite the landlord and hopefully in nine months they will be evicted along with the generator. They've already been cited three times."
It's good to know that the city of New York is on our side!
Things change a lot in New York. We now have a new apartment where Franklin Avenue meets Fulton in Brooklyn. It's slightly further out than our old digs in Ft. Greene, but the rent is cheaper.
Kitty and I live in the basement of a brownstone on a small street called Lefferts Place. Nestled between the mayhem of Fulton Street and the car detailing shops on Atlantic, Lefferts is a quiet, tree-lined street. Families hang out on the stoops and slowly you can see the houses are getting repaired one-by one.
A showdown at high noon.
At the corner of Fulton and Franklin, a showdown is going on. On one corner, Crown Fried Halal Chicken and on the other, Popeye's Chicken. Both serve their chicken from behind bullet-proof glass. The best fried chicken is served from behind bullet-proof glass. Popeye's has the consistency of a chain, but it costs more. Crown (a local chain) is much less expensive and in addition to chicken, they serve beef patties, pizza, burgers, gyros, fries (which are delicious), ice cream and popcorn shrimp. You can guess which one we go to.
New sounds
When once we listened to children playing on the playground, we now hear the sound of the mosque, calling the faithful to daily prayers. It's an amplified recording of a man singing and on days when I'm around to hear it, the music reflects our place as outsiders in this neighborhood. For the first time, we are racially a minority, even though we are living with people who are in the same economic level as us.
Sweet Dreams.
As we turned out the light to go to bed, Kitty said, "It's stuffy in here. Would you open the window?" I happily oblige only to hear the sound of a car running at about 9,000 rpm. "What the... " I say. Our bedroom is in the back of the brownstone and it opens out onto the backyard. There is no street there. So what is the car doing?
The next day, I get home late and two men are walking towards the apartment. Our landlord, Vicky, is standing at the door in her robe and the men ask if they can come into our apartment. It turns out that they are from the State Environmental Protection Agency. Everyone on our street is complaining because one of our neighbors has neglected to pay their power bill. Instead, they installed a gas generator in the back. It's late, the guys are tired and they look sort of defeated as they go into the bedroom and pull out some sort of sound measuring device and roll their eyes when they see the reading on the meter. "Yep, it's a violation," says one.
"So, what happens next?" I replied.
"Well, we cite them again, cite the landlord and hopefully in nine months they will be evicted along with the generator. They've already been cited three times."
It's good to know that the city of New York is on our side!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
A source of irritation
Moving to a new neighborhood changes your day on a fundamental level. The biggest change is that your commute. In this case, I find myself riding a bus. The bus is a curious environment. It is crowded and there are certainly rules about riding it. Since the bus driver has complete control over the environment, s/he is a bit of a dictator. Not a benevolent one, but a dictator who follows his/her whims. Catch her in a good mood and she will reopen the doors and let you on before the bus takes off. If he is in a bad mood, you may not be allowed on because "the bus is too full."
This was the case last week when Kitty and I were waiting for the B48. As the bus pulled up, the front was full of people. The bus driver wouldn't let us on. "Please, there is a lot of room to stand in the back of the bus!" Kitty yelled. "Just swipe our cards and open the back door."
At this point our bus driver (let's call him Shecky, for lack of a real name), starts motioning to his ears like he is deaf. Then he laughs and does it again.
"Please move to the back of the bus," Shecky half-heartedly announces into the microphone.
Let me interrupt for a moment. In a preliminary assessment of New York Bus Etiquette, it seems that it is not customary to actually move to the back of the bus to make room for other passengers. Even empty seats in the back of the bus must be avoided at all costs. Apparently, ascending the two small steps to the raised seating in the rear is too much of an effort. Rather than moving to the back, New Yorkers will do a sort of quarter turn with their bodies, in a an effort to make a bit more space. It's like one quarter of the hokey-pokey. A hoke, if you will.
Shecky looks at us and makes a chopping motion across his neck and laughs and laughs, then pretends to be deaf again. He shuts the door and the bus slowly lurches off.
Kitty and I start walking and we make it to the next bus stop before the bus arrives. Shecky pulls in, makes like he is going to open the door, then makes the chopping motion across his neck and pulls off, laughing all the while.
We continue our walk and at the next two stops he refuses to let us on. In the end, we walked to my subway stop and Kitty finished the mile-long walk to work. It probably took about the same amount of time as the bus would have taken. Why do we even try?
This was the case last week when Kitty and I were waiting for the B48. As the bus pulled up, the front was full of people. The bus driver wouldn't let us on. "Please, there is a lot of room to stand in the back of the bus!" Kitty yelled. "Just swipe our cards and open the back door."
At this point our bus driver (let's call him Shecky, for lack of a real name), starts motioning to his ears like he is deaf. Then he laughs and does it again.
"Please move to the back of the bus," Shecky half-heartedly announces into the microphone.
Let me interrupt for a moment. In a preliminary assessment of New York Bus Etiquette, it seems that it is not customary to actually move to the back of the bus to make room for other passengers. Even empty seats in the back of the bus must be avoided at all costs. Apparently, ascending the two small steps to the raised seating in the rear is too much of an effort. Rather than moving to the back, New Yorkers will do a sort of quarter turn with their bodies, in a an effort to make a bit more space. It's like one quarter of the hokey-pokey. A hoke, if you will.
Shecky looks at us and makes a chopping motion across his neck and laughs and laughs, then pretends to be deaf again. He shuts the door and the bus slowly lurches off.
Kitty and I start walking and we make it to the next bus stop before the bus arrives. Shecky pulls in, makes like he is going to open the door, then makes the chopping motion across his neck and pulls off, laughing all the while.
We continue our walk and at the next two stops he refuses to let us on. In the end, we walked to my subway stop and Kitty finished the mile-long walk to work. It probably took about the same amount of time as the bus would have taken. Why do we even try?
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Messages from the Men's Room
Be warned, this cell conversation takes place while I'm in the bathroom: "Kitty, this is Opera Boy... I'm surrounded by marble. There is a tub behind me, to the right is a room with a shower head the size of a small river... This is the greatest bathroom I've ever visited in my life!"
And so, we are at the Kohler Party at Sky Studios in the Village. The Studio is the top floor of a building at 4th Street and Broadway. It is a loft that opens up to a rooftop with a swimming pool. Kitty and I hit the party just as it opened and our invite thanks to my job at a high end design firm in the NYC. I've been promoted to Assistant Designer (in name only... on weekends I still wear two types of plaid simultaneously) and I've decided to take advantage of the opportunities.
In a way, this is the most extravagent of excesses. It is an industry party for the design trade. The racy picture you see is not actually from the bathroom where I called my wife. Rather, it is from the top balcony looking down on a "sample shower" that Kohler set up to show off the new products that they have. I find it hard to believe that the models could still smile on a windy fall night.
This is one of those experiences where New York City defies all explanation and description. I humbly offer this clip to show what some obscure industry party looks like. I think that Kitty and I have to find the really big parties next.
Rather than describe the party in depth, let me say that this restroom that I had the pleasure to visit was cased by two antique, iron-bound, wood doors that opened into a marble room. Their was a leather club chair and ottoman that sat next to the marble tub with antique fixtures. Facing the club chair was a commode and to the right was a wooden vanity with a vintage sink and mirror. The whole place was roughly the size of our living room.
Oh. The party was pretty good too. Kitty staggered out with a Kohler bag on her shoulder and a Mamoun's falafel on her mind!
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