Going Through Rehab

One of the most disappointing features of a post-war "modern" apartment is that in most cases, when you enter, you are typically dumped right into a living room with an an immediate sense of the lay of the land. Cookie cutter and boxy, no foyers, no "frivolous" use of space. There are no surprises around the corner, because there are not many corners or ways to meander.

If you like a labyrinthine experience in a Gothic environment, you may enjoy the Limelight, previously a church built in 1846 and after 1973, used as a rehab center, various night clubs - most notably The Limelight - and now a shopping emporium.

A nightclub in a Gothic church should be a dramatic, exciting experience. But it was not. I neglected to mention that some had nicknamed the club "Slimelight." I visited once in the 1980s, and the novelty of crawling through the maze of chambers in low light wore off quickly. Slimelight it was. I wrote about the sorry state of the Limelight on May 30, 2008 in Model for Decorum.

Its various reincarnations were not much better. On March 14, 2009, I visited again and found a large flea market of sorts - very disappointing. The photos I took remained unused. You can see an interior photo here.

After a $15 million dollar renovation, the building reopened in May 2010 as the Limelight Marketplace, a assemblage of over 60 upscale shops, eateries and outdoor cafe. See my photo gallery here.

Although some critics are not particularly enamored with this incarnation, and I do not champion the view that commerce heals all wounds, it certainly is refreshing to see the cleanup after going through rehab...

Curse of the Mouth Trumpet

It was September 25, 2005, and and I had the good fortune to be told about the first annual Bluegrass Reunion in Washington Square Park.

I was astonished to see the "mouth trumpet" technique of Bob Gurland. As an added bonus, I learned that, unbeknownst to me, the woman he began to engage with in a duet was Maria Muldaur. Conveniently, my point and shoot digital camera at the time had video capability. What an opportunity to capture a bit of spontaneous music history! Or so I thought.

I noticed just before they had nearly completed their duet, that I was not recording at all. I immediately enabled the video recording but only got 15 seconds of them together. This was also the total video footage of Bob:



I did get to chat with Bob and complemented him on his unique and amazing skill. He told me he had performed and recorded with a number of music bands, including one of the earliest heavy metal groups, Blue Cheer. His name appears on the credit list for their album Oh! Pleasant Hope.

I am, however, very tenacious, and I never forgot my aborted video. So it was with great pleasure that after 5 years, I saw Bob again at the recent 6th Bluegrass Reunion. Here, I was quite confident. I had much more experience with photo equipment and had several cameras, including a Sony HD camcorder which I did not bother bringing. The video function of today's point and shoots is excellent, and I was lazy, sure that I was adequately prepared with my new Canon S90. Or so I thought.

I was very relaxed, shooting Bob in a number of segments, and even introduced myself and got him to do a short video clip alone. However, there appeared to be a peculiar tinting to all the video. No time to research this now, as I was sure it was a screen display issue. It was not. In making this Canon camera very user friendly, some functions are much too easily changed by brushing against a small function wheel. I had accidentally changed the mode from standard to color accent and color swap. In my panicky state, I tried to find the functions settings for video, to no avail. Once I was home, I learned how childishly simple the mode change is. Too late.

So, if you would like to enjoy Bob and his fellow musicians in a variety of lurid skin tones and other color abominations, here is my video montage:



Next time, I am determined to prevail over the Curse of the Mouth Trumpet :)

Photo Note: Bob Gurland is on the left with Trip Henderson on harmonica on the right. Both are New York City residents.

Sukkah City

I have found it remarkable that everyone I have spoken to, including those who grew up outside the United States, has participated in what appears to be one of the most universal past times of children - the building of makeshift structures to hide and play in. An amalgam of anything available - sheets, cardboard, etc. are utilized to make a mini-home or fort. Perhaps it should be no surprise, owing that shelter is such a primal need of every human. Also no surprise that George Costanza of the TV series Seinfeld, in order to impress a woman, lies about his work, claiming that he is an architect.

Architecture is certainly an endeavor where the ingenuity, brilliance, resourcefulness and creativity of the human mind can be seen. One needs no further evidence than the recent international design competition, Sukkah City. There were 624 entries from 43 countries - you can see them here at the Sukkah City website. Every imaginable material and fabrication method was used to build Sukkahs*, as long is they conformed to the rules of construction. Twelve of the finalists were displayed in Union Square for two days (September 19 & 20) and the finalist, shown in today's top photo remains there for the entire week of Sukkot. See second photo here.

The designs are beautiful, evocative and inspiring. All twelve sukkah finalists are on sale, with proceeds benefiting Housing Works, an organization fighting Aids and homelessness. For the Jew or non-Jew, those with a home and those without, all can find inspiration in Sukkah City :)

*A sukkah is a temporary "booth" (the Hebrew translation) to live in during Sukkot, a week long festival that commemorates the forty-year period during which Israelites lived in temporary shelters while wandering in the desert after their exodus from Egypt. There are many rules governing the construction and use of the sukkah it must have two and a half walls (two full and one partial). The roof needs to be organic materials and sparse enough to let rain in and preferably to let the stars be seen from inside. Although Jews are required to eat all their meals and sleep in the sukkah, they do not need to do so if they are uncomfortable or during rain. See my photos here of a traditional sukkah typically found during this holiday in various locations around the city.

Note: The event was sponsored and organized by a number of firms, including the AIA center of New York City, located at 536 LaGuardia Place. A Sukkah City exhibition is on view from September 22, 2010 – October 30, 2010.

Urban Night Climbers

For a full night climbing experience, click and play audio link to accompany your reading.

Many years ago, in a conversation with a customer, the subject somehow turned to my childhood love of tree climbing. My customer was VERY pleased to hear this and encouraged me to rekindle this interest, embrace some trees, or perhaps even join him and his friends in their nocturnal sojourns. He was a night climber. Of buildings.

New York City is a city that never sleeps. We are known for our night clubs, night life and night people - but night climbers of buildings? I was not aware that there was an underground fraternity of those who practice buildering, aka urban climbing, stegophily, or structuring.

The press has covered the various climbing spectaculars of the city - Philippe Petit's legendary walk between the world trade towers on August 7, 1974. George Willig, a mountain-climber from Queens, New York, United States, climbed the South Tower of the World Trade Center on May 26, 1977. Alain Robert is a French rock and urban climber who in 1994 scaled the Empire State Building and on June 5, 2008, climbed the New York Times Building (later that day, Renaldo Clarke also climbed the building). Dan Goodwin, using suction cups and a camming device, climbed the North Tower of the World Trade Center on May 30, 1983.

But recreational buildering goes back much further than might be expected, at least to Victorian times in England, where students had been climbing the architecture of Cambridge University. Geoffrey Winthrop Young was roof climbing there in the 1890s and published The Roof Climber's Guide to Trinity in 1900. In 1937, The Night Climbers of Cambridge was written (under the pseudonym Whipplesnaith) about the nocturnal climbing on the town buildings and colleges of Cambridge, England in the 1930s.

In the United States, two men, George Polley and Harry Gardiner, both nicknamed the Human Fly, pioneered buildering as early as 1905. In 1920, George Polley climbed 30 floors of the Woolworth building before being arrested. Not much, however, is written about current recreational nighttime buildering in New York City, for obvious reasons. In 2008, the New York Times published an article with a little on the activity.

Apart from legality or prudence, I do understand the lure of urban climbing. Much as the alpine areas of the world are magnets for rock climbers, the buildings and skyscrapers of New York City provide the same challenges and draw in masonry, steel and glass. Perhaps I may yet get to witness the activities of these urban night climbers...

Photo Note: I was recently privy to access to one of the very few rooftops in the Village affording a direct view of Washington Square Park. The building and friends kind enough to invite me to share the view, will, in the spirit of buildering, remain a secret :)

New York is Bluegrass Country

I was once discussing prominent blues musicians struggling to make a living with a jazz musician who concurred and told me he had often seen world class jazz musicians playing to near empty bars. So, if you like meeting and mingling with life's movers and shakers in music, just shift your interest from mainstream popular genres.

In rock music, a man like Roger Sprung would be most likely with layered with security and screeners with little hope of a meeting. At the 2010 annual bluegrass reunion on Sunday, September 27, in Washington Square Park, Roger was easily approachable between sets.

Roger was born in Manhattan in 1930, A pioneer and the father of Newgrass banjo, he is credited with introducing authentic banjo music to the North. He was introduced to piano at age seven by his nanny and took lessons at age 10. Subsequently, his interest turned to guitar and then banjo, which he taught himself by listening to recordings of legends like Earl Scruggs.

Starting in 1947, Roger was introduced to the folk country scene in Washington Square Park by his brother George. In 1950, he made the first of what was to be many trips to bluegrass country, starting in Asheville, North Carolina. In Folk Songs of Greenwich Village in the 1950's and 1960's, bluegrass historian and performer Ralph Lee Smith wrote, "Banjo player Roger Sprung almost single-handedly introduced Southern bluegrass music to New York through his playing in Washington Square." Roger has performed with a myriad of legendary musicians and in a number of venues and on television. He is currently a resident of Connecticut, and his website can be found here.

Interest in bluegrass music has been growing in New York City with local players like Sheriff Bob, who has run the weekly bluegrass jam for years (formerly at the Baggot Inn, now at the Grisley Pear), Gene Tambor of Minetta Creek, and guitar virtuoso Scott Samuels who in recent years has added more bluegrass to his repertoire. New York City is ripe with bluegrass activities in various clubs, bars, parks and outdoor festivals. Classes can be readily found, along with equipment in various shops.

Bluegrass aficionados, performers and enthusiasts abound, and for those who want a taste or a full meal of bluegrass music need not look further afield than than this city. With a feather in your cap like Roger Sprung, it is easy to aver that along with all the other great things about this city, New York is bluegrass country :)

Postings featuring Bluegrass: Sheriff Session, Bluegrass Reunion, Paddy Reilly's, Pockets of Joy

Impossible

There are people who are so hypercritical, so persnickety, so picky, so cynical and such perfectionists, that to see them at dinner, whether it be fast food or haute cuisine, will result in a virtual forensic investigation of the dish's ingredients. Rather than embrace life, they appear to have a disdain for it, because it almost never meets their standards. Their negativity fills the air like a heavy cloud. Laughter itself is carefully meted out, only at worthy moments. I have met such people and perhaps you have also.

There are people who have a joie de vivre that permeates everything they see and do. For them, life is wonderment, and their love is absolutely infectious. Most who are fortunate enough to be around them are happy to be infected. They befriend everyone and most welcome the friendship. They are truly alive and easily become the life of the party. Laughter is their signature, and they are perpetually signing life's events.

I have met such people too, and although some may find their unbridled enthusiasm wearing, better a night spent with the life affirmer than walking on eggshells and having your balloons deflated by the disgruntled life disdainer. Although personalities and people are complex mixtures and do not fit these two boxes so conveniently, those at the polar ends of the spectrum do approach these characterizations rather well.

Constantin is from the Ukraine and is currently performing at Webster Hall in its Saturday night show, Circus. He approached us unexpectedly while sitting in Washington Square Park and asked if he could demonstrate some magic. Fortunately for him, he had just approached a group of life affirmers and had an audience poised for applause. We were hungry to show our love and appreciation.

I have seen a number of professional magicians, but Constantin's presence and speed was something to behold. A member of our group, JoSsS, is one of the world's great life affirmers, and you can see him in the video I shot that night (see it here - look for the man with the curly white hair). At 1 minute and 20 seconds into the video, you will see his ebullient, effusive, effervescent reaction to a particularly amazing trick, where, incredulous at the outcome, he repeats, "Impossible!" over and over, with his charming manner and Argentinian accent. I know he loves that word, and it is so appropriate, because for a life affirmer, a day without love, hugs and laughter is like a day without critical examination for the life disdainer - impossible :)

Tools of the Trade

In the 1980s, I frequently came home to spent whippet* cartridges on the stoop of my building. In the parks, used needles were not an uncommon sight.

Most activities have their requisite equipment. Users range the gamut, from those who take a strictly utilitarian view, often fashioning their own tools when possible, to those for whom the tools can become an end in itself, some taking on a near fetish quality.

Most users strike a middle ground - buying a reasonable number and quality of tools, typically without the time, interest or skills to enter the world of DIY. Some pursuits lend itself to the do-it-yourself or makeshift approach, other fields such as photography being near impossible to fashion one's own equipment, barring pinhole cameras. Photography is a classic field for equipment hounds, aka "shutter bugs" or "camera bugs."

There are other activities where the coveting and collecting of tools rarely becomes an end in itself, i.e. where the pleasure in use vastly outweighs any possible pleasure of ownership, such as the world of hedonistic indulgences of sex, drugs and food. Cameras maybe purchased, admired and unused, and books maybe collected and unread, but I have never heard of anyone buying scales or bongs to sit idly on a shelf.

New York City, particularly the East and West Village, has been home to the head shop for as long as I came remember - many decades. Head shops carry all manner of drug paraphernalia, such as bongs (water pipes), roach clips, glass pipes, coke spoons and mirrors, pipe screens, vaporizers, rolling papers and machines, scales, and legal substances such as whippets.

Head shops have varying legal statuses worldwide. In the United States, they exist in a gray area, since the items sold can be used for illegal and legal substances. In the 1990s, the Giuliani administration made efforts to crack down on these shops with numerous raids and confiscation of goods. However, with a mix of merchandise and many of the items not specifically drug related, this was a short lived campaign.

The ones in today's photos were taken in the West Village on 8th Street and on 6th Avenue. The names of the stores themselves often obfuscate or hint at the real uses for the products sold. In the photo, you can see Two Toots, a play on a cocaine user's word toot, while Good Sense is a play on sensimilla - a very strong and high quality breed of marijuana that produces no seeds.

With the decriminalization of marijuana in many states, head shops are making a comeback. Like alcohol, drugs are here to stay, and for those that indulge, there will always be sellers of tools of the trade...

*Whippets are nitrous oxide cartridges used in refillable whipped cream canisters. They can also be used as a drug for getting high through inhalation.

When Jungles Collide

I have often likened New York City to a jungle and am certainly not the first to do so. But this overused metaphor typically refers to the concrete jungle of man's creations. However, at certain times in certain places, there are small pieces of the natural world to be discovered for urban explorers.

In many of the New York City parks and gardens, surprises abound in the world of flora and fauna. In 2009, there was even a New York City Cricket Crawl, described as an aural expedition and a celebration of life in the leafy jungles of urban and suburban NYC and surrounding area.

I've been listening to the sounds of summer for years, never knowing my cicadas from my katydids. But at least I know crickets. Some New Yorkers appear to be so out of touch with the natural world that they can not even hear the natural sounds around them, or perhaps have tuned them out. One evening I pointed out the incredible din of crickets in Washington Square Park to a friend. Surprisingly, they could actually not hear what I was talking about. Perhaps inured to the sound or perhaps unable to isolate from the city's ambient hum.

Last night, as a number of us watched the amazing magic of Constantin, a katydid came jettisoning through the Washington Square arch. I followed it, not expecting to see it at rest, but it did light nearby on the cobblestone. I signaled to others to come observe this rare event. The katydid appeared to be stunned, perhaps lost from the foliated areas of the park. One of our group was able to produce a flashlight and illuminate our subject. I captured this photo, and we then moved the katydid to a garden area of the park and he (or she) flew off.

For a few moments with a katydid on granite, we saw well illuminated by spotlight the ultimate juxtaposition when jungles collide :)

Covenant of the Keys

Where my family grew up, in northern Maine, houses were not locked. If one needed to borrow something, you would just let yourself in to that neighbor's home, take what you needed, and leave a note. With large families and little means, cooperation was a survival issue, and privacy was not part of the lifestyle. There are still many places where doors are not locked.

Although New York City is infinitely safer than it was 40 years ago, that does not mean security is no longer an issue, nor does it mean you can let your guard down. I lock car doors everywhere I go, even at my family's home in the country. If you click here, you will see an extraordinary photo for a New Yorker - the only time I have displayed a photo from out of state on this website to illustrate a point.

Keys, therefore, take on a much larger meaning here. So much so, that an entire episode of the TV series Seinfeld was about apartment keys. In this episode (The Keys), with complex arrangements of loaning and borrowing, keys take on mythic proportions. In one scene, Kramer says:

No, no, no, it's o.k. I don't care about the keys. It's my fault. I gave the keys away with my stupidity. I broke "the covenant of the keys."

I don't want the keys back! No, I'm glad the way things turned out. I was clingin' to those keys, man! Like a branch on the banks of a raging river. And now I have let go. And I'm free...to go with the current. To float. And I thank you.

In another scene Kramer says:

Because you see, George, having the keys to Jerry's apartment? That kept me in a fantasy world. Every time I went over to his house, it was like I was on vacation. Better food, better view, better TV. And cleaner? Oh - much cleaner. That became my reality. I ignored the squalor in my own life because I'm looking at life, you see, through Jerry's eyes. I was living in twilight, George. Living in the shadows. Living in the darkness...like you.

Although an outsider may see this as a nonsensical, farcical indulgence of one of life's minutiae, it is not. In a large city like New York, there is no transparency regarding homes or lives. Often you may be acquainted with someone for years and perhaps only know that person's building address or neighborhood, having never seen his or her apartment. Our homes here are sacrosanct. In tandem with the security issues, to give someone keys to your home is the ultimate act of trust. If someone ever entrusts you with their apartment keys in New York City, please act responsibly, lest you break the covenant of the keys...

Enjoy These Photos

A visitor or even long time resident may be puzzled by the reason for nursery or garden centers in Manhattan or for gardening supplies in hardware stores. One of the secrets of New York City, particularly Manhattan, is that there is a lot more green than one might imagine. This world will rarely be seen unless one has access to a view.

The impression one might get while walking the streets is that the city is a fusing of buildings. The Concrete Jungle is an apt description for much of Midtown Manhattan and the Financial District, where steel, glass and concrete is the norm. Any green space is limited and in plain view such as pocket parks, atria etc.

However, in residential neighborhoods, particularly those dominated with rowhouses such as the Village and Chelsea, gardens spaces are located behind every house. These backyard gardens abut each other, often resulting in unbroken green space for an entire city block from avenue to avenue. The best way to see this is using the satellite view of an online search engine's mapping feature. Locate a neighborhood such as Greenwich Village (try zipcode 10011, e.g.), zoom in and pan around. You will see a surprising amount of green space. Note the interior garden spaces behind the buildings.

The lush green oasis in today's photo is a rare view of the communal greenspace behind the Macdougal-Sullivan Garden District. From the website of the Greenwich Village Society for Historic Preservation:

This small enclave planned around a private central garden became a prototype for related developments of the 1920s. In 1920 the Hearth and Home Corporation purchased 22 deteriorated Greek Revival Row Houses, built between 1844 and 1850. It commissioned a rehabilitation from the architects Francis Y. Joannes and Maxwell Hyde who removed the stoops and gave the two street facades a Colonial Revival appearance, as well as communal backyards.

The development served as a model for several other redevelopment projects in the South Village in the 1920’s and 30’s, where older buildings (often tenements) were joined together to create communal spaces and more “modern” appearances for their buildings. This was in many ways reflective of the changes in the neighborhood in the inter-war years: foreign immigration had subsided, but the area was increasingly of interest to Americans of a creative or bohemian bent.

Older housing, such as rowhouses and tenements were considered by some obsolete. However, this communal style of redevelopment reflected a valuing of the neighborhood’s quaint features, even as landlords and new residents sought modern amenities and collectively enjoyed light, air, and open space.

These gardens are not open to the public, so unless you have the rare privilege to know a resident, you will have to enjoy these photos :)

Love Is All Around, Part 2

On cursory examination, such as on one of my drive-by shooting expeditions, where one does not engage with people and local culture, it is easy to dismiss a place or form a very distorted impression. By the time I had toured Astoria by car on a gray, drizzly deadly quiet Sunday, spent time exploring the streets around the Con Edison Power Plant and taken photos of folding chairs on a deserted street, I was already forming an opinion about Astoria. Or, perhaps, it is better said that in finding a bleak street and thinking about a story idea, much as I have had occasions to squeeze my feet into shoes that are too small, my image of Astoria was being jammed into a very narrow mind.

Of course, I have known many young artists who lived in Astoria and called it home. Like anywhere else, I knew that behind closed doors and in restaurants and shops, there were real people with lives, hopes, joys and aspirations. But that would require getting out of my car and meeting some people.

I did plan to eat in a Greek restaurant and had done research. In my pocket, I had names and addresses of two places that were well reviewed, both on Ditmars Boulevard, one of the central arteries of Astoria. So, an interaction with humanity was in the day's plans. I ended up choosing a local favorite, Agnanti on Ditmars Boulevard.

On my last swing down Shore Road flanking Astoria Park on the way to Agnanti I was taken by an extraordinary sight - an Islamic wedding party. Wedding parties being photographed in New York City parks are a common sight.

Here, however, the dominant black clothing theme, the only variants being a white wedding dress and young girl in turquoise on a misty green hillside, was very dramatic and evocative. Certainly worthy enough to stop my car and take a few photos from my window. Although there were those among them that were taking photos with point and shoot cameras, I had a better vantage point and had photos of the entire group.

Come on, don't be so lazy. Get out of the car, run up the hill, give them your card and offer to send them the photos you have taken. This is not an ordinary occasion and they will appreciate the offer.

I got out, strolled across the green lawn and met the party briefly, gave my card and took more photos. I told them that if they contacted me, I would be happy to send them photos. They were very exuberant and asked me to take a few more posed shots. I obliged.

One of the group has since contacted me by email and said there was no rush for the photos. She also commented that she looked over this website and liked it. I'm very glad I met them - my mental images of Astoria will always include the newly married couple and family on the hill. And it will always be another reminder that with a small effort to connect with people or at least stop and look out your car window, it is easy to see that in Astoria, like anywhere else, love is all around :)

Love is All Around, Part 1

We are living in a time in New York City where the housing options are becoming more and more grim. The borough of Manhattan is not an option for most newcomers or young people - there are no edgy, affordable neighborhoods. Gentrification is like a big iron, and all the edges and wrinkles have been pressed out.

Neighborhoods in the boroughs with dramatic buildings and setting, like DUMBO, have also been gentrified beyond affordability. Areas with historic homes, like Park Slope and Brooklyn Heights, have been pricey for many decades - certainly nothing that anyone would consider affordable. Willamsburg and Red Hook with its industrial buildings are going the way of SoHo.

For the young and/or the artist desiring to be immersed living among those of like mind and spirit, this can be discouraging. The only options left are extremely blighted or working class neighborhoods. Places that have no particular cache. This sometimes means living in an ethnic enclave where, although readily accepted, it is easy to feel like an outsider. More and more, I have seen younger people move to neighborhoods where they feel isolated.

However, many adapt and embrace these areas and welcome the change, new foods and cultural mix. Some revel in the absence of the trendy and chic, places that are real working class neighborhoods, like Astoria, Queens, which has has attracted artists for decades. See my photo gallery here. Many looking for reasonable rents and proximity to Manhattan have found a home in Astoria. On October 9, 2009, the New York Times ran a story of how "a thriving hive of comedians has affixed itself to Astoria, perfectly suited to the particular microclimate there." From the article:

In 2003, ASTORIA, across the East River from Manhattan on the northwest tip of Queens, always has been a neighborhood of affordable beginnings. William Hallet, a 17th-century English immigrant, is said to have secured his 1,500 riverside acres in exchange for 7 coats, 14 kettles, a blanket and some beads. Waves of Germans, Czechs, Irish, Italians and Greeks followed, working-class folk who bought into the American dream and local real estate.

Today, the immigrant pool includes Russians, Arabs, Middle Europeans, South Asians, East Asians, Latin Americans and young Midwesterners who think they have discovered Europe in the coffeehouses and bakeries. Few neighborhoods, even in New York City, have such ethnic diversity.

The slogan ''only 15 minutes from Bloomingdale's'' describes location, not shopping habits. As the essence of a working-class neighborhood in the 1970's, at the height of Greek immigration, Astoria was home to TV's Archie Bunker. Despite an influx of young professionals, musicians and actors seeking refuge from Manhattan prices, and a nudge toward the chichi with two Starbucks with wireless connections, shops like Victoria's Secret and a vibrant night life, Astoria still has blue-collar roots.

Best known for its Greek population, Astoria is named after John Jacob Astor, who was persuaded to make a small investment there but never lived in Astoria. It working class roots go back to Steinway & Sons, home there since 1853. Astoria is also home to the American Museum of the Moving Image and Kaufman-Astoria Studios. You can read more about the area here and here.

But be not misled by a working class neighborhood, a couple of dreary photos, and a few plain looking homes - because in Astoria, as you will see in Part 2, Love is All Around...

U Thant Island

I love islands. No matter how small or how close to another land mass, an island always has a feeling of being its own intimate world. When inhabited, there is typically a focused energy, the opposite of suburban sprawl. There is a precious quality to a place where resources and space are very limited and boundaries are well defined. If desirable, this precious quality can reach a fever pitch, where every inch is taken. Like Manhattan.

On the flip side, the uninhabited island is virtually synonymous with remoteness and isolation. And in New York City, you can find both extremes just a stones throw apart.

U Thant Island is New York City's smallest island (100 x 200 feet) and sits only about 1000 feet from Manhattan in the East River, opposite the United Nations and just south of Roosevelt Island. It is diminutive in size but not small in history or fascinating lore.

Belmont Island, as it was known at one time, was built on the granite outcrop, Man of War reef in the East River, from landfill during the construction of the Steinway Tunnels. The landfill was removed from a shaft dug down the reef to the tunnels.

On February 25, 1885, a group of prominent Long Island businessmen incorporated the East River Tunnel Railroad Co. to construct a tunnel railroad from Ravenswood, north of Long Island City, Queens, to Manhattan as a direct connection between the Long Island Rail Road and the New York Central & Hudson River Railroad. At one point, new money was needed to invest in the project and one of the men who became interested was Mr. William Steinway, founder of the Steinway & Sons Piano Co. He owned a sizable part of Long Island City real estate & owned the Steinway and Hunter's Point Railroad which was a local horse car line. By obtaining control of the tunnel company, it would increase the value of his properties. He died in 1896 before the project was completed.

In 1902, August Belmont, Jr. began to take an interest in the project. Belmont was German-born, a banker who had had inherited his fathers vast fortune in 1890 and also a friend of Steinway. The trolley tunnels were finished in 1907 and sold to the city in 1913. The tunnels are still in use today for the number 7 subway Flushing line.

Forgotten for over 70 years, in 1976, a group of employees of the United Nations and followers of Buddhist guru Sri Chinmoy, began to lease the land from New York State for $20 a year. They renamed it U Thant Island, after U Thant, a Burmese diplomat, 3rd UN Secretary General from 1961 to 1971 and friend of Sri Chinmoy. Flowers, bushes and trees were planted and a 30 foot high steel peace arch constructed. Reportedly, there is also a time capsule including pictures and speeches of U Thant.

In 1999, though, the group erected a sign for U Thant, which reads: “Compassion: Home. Dedicated to world peace. Simplicity was U Thant’s life. Sincerity was U Thant’s mind. Purity was U Thant’s heart. His was the approach of serene and illumined dignity."

The island was used occasionally used for meetings and meditation.

In 2004, NYC artist Duke Riley, under the influence of rum, rowed a boat in darkness with a friend, landed on U Thant Island, proclaimed it a sovereign nation and hoisted a 21 foot long pennant flag up the island's navigation tower. On their return to land, they were apprehended by the coast guard but were not arrested. The adventure was videotaped and entitled Belmont Island (SMEACC) - it can be seen here.

Currently, the island is not accessible to the public and is a sanctuary for migrating birds, including a colony of Double-crested Cormorant. I'd like to tell them how lucky they are to have access to U Thant Island :)

Photo Note: I have been obsessed with this small island for ages and it has been in my cross hairs for this website since its inception. Only recently however, on a the pier at Gantry Plaza State Park in Queens, was I able to get a reasonably good vantage point from which to take a photo (upper photo mine, lower photo public archives). I hope to get closer to one day by boat.

There's Nothing Here

Don't ever try to sell a place to an unwilling buyer. On a brief trip once with my parents, we were traveling from Colorado to New Mexico. I had made the mistake of extolling, to no end, the wondrous beauty of New Mexico.

Those who have been to Colorado know that, despite any naysayers, this place is spectacular and dramatic. So traveling to the Southwest, i.e. Arizona or New Mexico, and appreciating these states will require an adjustment. Not a lowering of standards, just an adjustment to a very different type of beauty. For a New Yorker, all the empty space alone is novel and beautiful.

My mother, however, did not see it that way at all. Growing up in northern rural Maine, space was no novelty. It was a place better to shun and leave, as she had, by moving to southern New England. And her perennial cynicism, skepticism and negativism know no bounds and can be infuriating at times. We had only just barely crossed the border seeing the sign "Welcome to New Mexico - Land of Enchantment" when she started in. "I don't see anything here."

That's true. Inches from a border crossing is not a good barometer of an entire state. We were hours from our first destination, and I hoped the serene beauty would overtake her as it does most who visit there. I asked her to wait and see how patience would pay off. It did not.

We had not gone much further when we heard a confident reminder. "I told you, there's nothing here." Variants on this refrain never stopped, and soon I was contemplating suicide or murder. I never should have sold New Mexico at all. In fact, it would have been better that I had not even taken them there. The beauty of big sky country and open land was my thing, perhaps more greatly appreciated because I came from New York City, where empty space itself was a thing to behold.

Emptiness is not abundant in New York City, and we marvel, revel and even tell of the joys of emptiness. How we found an empty bench, empty seats at a concert, empty stretches of highway, an empty street(s), an empty parking spot, an empty area of a park. These finds are bragging rights as well as a soothing balm to the soul of a New Yorker, where quiet moments and places are special indeed. See my stories Small Gestures and Quietude.

In northern Astoria, Queens, there is an enormous Con Ed power plant. Visiting this area on a dreary, drizzly, Sunday is a sure way to experience some peace and quiet. I found entire streets with not a soul in sight. Two empty, front row seats were available, as I suspect they might always be, because truly, there's nothing here :)

Drive-by Shooting

Silvercup Studios, with its huge iconic sign, has been an elusive enemy of mine for some years. On February 7, 2007, I did a story on the studios in located at at 42-22 22nd Street in Long Island City, Queens, and its history as a conversion of the former Silvercup Bakery building (circa 1920) - see it here. However, all the photos from that time were taken from across the river in Manhattan. I had yet to see the sign and studios close up.

My experience of war and enemies is limited to Avalon Hill board games such as Stalingrad, and chess or Go, all of which I played in high school and where circling the enemy is an effective, if not necessary, strategy. So Sunday, armed with cameras for shooting, flashcards as ammunition and board games as experience, I hunted that sign down.

Fortunately, for the inexperienced warrior that I am, Silvercup Studios is a very slow moving target, and a drizzly Sunday is the perfect time to go to Long Island City. The neighborhood is very quiet, essentially deserted. Public transportation will get you there easily, however, covering large tracts of the outer boroughs becomes impractical by foot - best is by bicycle or car. If you have the luxury of a car, driving is a breeze and parking is everywhere to be found on Sunday.

There are many subjects in New York City that, for any number of reasons, are best photographed from an automobile. Many vistas and vantage points are from roadways - often, stopping is not even an option - so shooting through an open driver's or passenger's window, open sunroof, or straight through the windshield becomes the modus operandi. However, if not limited to necessary situations, this can become a dangerous habit, leading to a lazy style of photography which I like to call drive-by shooting.

There are numerous good vantage spots for shooting the Silvercup Studios sign, and I explored the options, combining the few skills I have and what I know, past and present, about capturing the enemy by circling the building and neighborhood numerous times in my covered wagon for an afternoon of drive-by shooting :)

Note: The ultimate view of the sign is from the on ramp to the upper roadway of the Queensboro Bridge, returning to Manhattan. Here the road makes a complete 360 degree circle completely around Silvercup, affording close views of the sign from front, back and side. However, this busy traffic loop is somewhat treacherous to drive one handed while shooting with the other. Another time perhaps.

One Size Too Small

There may be comfort in old shoes, but not in my old shoes. I have a beautiful pair of white bucks by Cole Haan, one of the few impulsive extravagances of my life. The purchase was encouraged by my sister and her husband on a Madison Avenue shopping spree while visiting New York City. Buy them, they said. You never do anything good for yourself. True, but not a full size too small. What was I thinking?

The shoes have been professionally stretched several times. To no avail. So, lest I want to become crippled, they will stay in my closet. On another occasion, while trying on a new pair of shoes, a salesman just glancing at me from afar told me that the shoe size I had selected was definitely too small. I purchased them anyway.

Why would I do such a thing? I am convinced it is a family obsession, inherited from my mother, who was adamant about not wearing shoes that are too big. Pondering this over many years, I have a suspicion this may have come from being brought up in a poor household and the stigma of hand-me-downs. But I don't care how tight they are. I'm not giving up those Cole Haans.

I just read an article: Nobody wants your old shoes: How not to help in Haiti. This had to do with the ineffectiveness of the transport and distribution of goods in a relief situation. However, I am sure the title would be heartily embraced by my family. They are happy donors but, outside of family members, no old shoes for them.

Many individuals are not enamored with the prospect of wearing other people's shoes or clothing, but for those who are, there can be tremendous value in shopping for used merchandise. The world of fashion is built around newness. In the case of technology, the quest for the new leaves mountains of yesterday's products (like CRT computer monitors - see my story here), often for the taking.

Although it is a seemingly unlikely place for thrift shops, they do exist in New York City. Salvation Army had a location on 8th Street in the Village which recently closed. Monk, at 175 MacDougal, has been a fixture in Greenwich Village since 1993. One of three stores, it is owned by Tarek from Egypt. All donations are accepted - things not used in the store are donated to churches.

In Consumption, I wrote of the three Rs of waste management - Reduse, Reuse, Recycle. Unfortunately, in a culture where shopping is a national pastime, the first two Rs are largely ignored and the third R, recycling, has numerous logistic problems and dubious benefits overall (see Recycling is Garbage from the New York Times).

I just recently was given a number of beautiful new shoes by my father. The good news is that we are the same size. The bad news is, as you probably guessed, that my father seems to have the same affliction that I have. We have shuffled undersized shoes between us for decades. Family visits and the holidays might be better called The Tight Shoe Exchange.

While the nation struggles with a mountain of debt, my father and I struggle with a hill of undersized shoes. As long as we keep buying those unwearable shoes, we are making no inroads with that second R of waste management (Reuse). I think my father and I should open a shoe shop. Look for a place called The Tight Shoe Exchange or One Size Too Small :)

Goin' To Lourdes

Annie Hall: Oh, you see an analyst?

Alvy Singer: Yeah, just for fifteen years.

Annie Hall: Fifteen years?

Alvy Singer: Yeah, I'm gonna give him one more year, and then I'm goin' to Lourdes.

This dialogue, from Woody Allen's film Annie Hall (with Woody playing Alvy Singer), demonstrates the iconic status of the shrine at Lourdes, France, in the Pyrenees. Lourdes has become synonymous with miracles.

Growing up as a Roman Catholic, Lourdes has always fascinated me. What is most intriguing is the purported healing properties of the water. An estimated 200 million people have visited Sanctuary of Our Lady in Lourdes since 1860. Currently, about 6 million yearly make the pilgrimage. The church has recognized 67 miraculous healings.

One should be careful to dismiss these as self-delusional or write this off as a case of the Catholic Church's self promotion. The claims for miraculous healings actually are put through quite rigorous testing before a Lourdes Medical Bureau, comprised of doctors. Those claims standing up to preliminary examination are referred to the International Lourdes Medical Committee, an international panel of medical experts in various disciplines (not all Roman Catholic, the panel is open to any denomination). Only a handful of claims make it this far, and the entire process takes 5-12 years, ensuring the cure is permanent. The church itself gives the final approval.

The Roman Catholic church is actually reluctant and extremely careful to acknowledge miracles or grant sainthood - the repercussions of fraudulent claims would certainly come back to haunt them. See a New York Times article here. The conditions to qualify as a genuine miracle are:

The original diagnosis must be verified and confirmed beyond doubt

The diagnosis must be regarded as "incurable" with current means (although ongoing treatments do not disqualify the cure)

The cure must happen in association with a visit to Lourdes, typically while in Lourdes or in the vicinity of the shrine itself (neither drinking nor bathing in the water is required)

The cure must be immediate (rapid resolution of symptoms and signs of the illness)

The cure must be complete (no residual impairment or deficit)

The cure must be permanent (with no recurrence)

The waters of Lourdes are available right here in New York City at the Church of Notre Dame, located at 114th Street and Morningside Drive, near Columbia University, with which it has been associated since 1988. The first administrator of the church was Fr. Maurice Reynauld. While in France in 1913, Reynauld affiliated the Church of Notre Dame with the Sanctuary of Our Lady in Lourdes. A special arrangement was made for Lourdes water to be sent directly from the shrine in France to the Church of Notre Dame in New York City. Since that time, water from the Lourdes shrine has been continuously available at the church in New York.

I am very curious about the whole thing. I've been to California. One day, I'm goin' to Lourdes...

On The Road

If you are not familiar with what I do for a livelihood, click here before reading this story. Also see the related links at bottom.

Note: Please click and play the audio link to accompany your reading of this remarkable tale.

In a typical evening ritual, I circumnavigated the central plaza of Washington Square Park looking for a music jam. I had a number of choices but I was drawn to this particular man who I had never seen before. He looked like a man passing through.

His voice was very good, his playing style confident and his repertoire quite extensive. The more I listened, the more I liked him, so I decided to make a commitment and sit down. I took a few photos.

Between songs, a number of friends and I learned a few things about him - he was a native Alaskan on the road. A broken G String offered the opportunity to dig deeper.

He seemed extremely accommodating and as we spoke, I took out paper and pen and began making notes about the details of his life. I slowly began to feel there is a good story here. But nothing as good as what was to come.

At one point I told him that I hoped he did not mind, but he was going to be the subject of the next day's story. He appeared pleased and I was also, so now with a green light, I filled in the details of his life.

Gaby Lampkey is 54 years old and was born in Juneau, Alaska to a Filipino father and a Tlingit mother* who busied herself raising nine children. Gaby is a member of the Raven Tribe, Seagull Clan. His family moved to Los Angeles when he was young. He served in the coast guard for 6 years where he worked as a captain's cook and was married for 13 years and has two girls.

Gaby has been on the road for 10 years, with no real home, living by his wits and sleeping wherever he can (he plans to move into the Manhattan hostel on the Upper West Side). His income of tribal dividends is supplemented by work as a street musician playing guitar. We spoke of hobos and trains, which was not his preferred mode of travel - he is an itinerant hitchhiker. Gaby described himself more as a traveling hippie, a participant in the annual Rainbow Gatherings and a recent attendee of the 41st anniversary of Woodstock, where he performed. He said he was an avid reader and read everything he could get his hands on, including the sides of iodine bottles.

In a very surprising shift, he said he was a juggler and spoke of how juggling changed his life with anecdotes. I acknowledged his experiences, only half hearing them, my mind intoxicated with the possibility of the obvious connection. If this was going were I think it was, it would be as astonishing as Walid Soroor (see story here).

But play your cards slowly I thought - don't reveal them now, go for the knockout punch.

I have a hard time keeping a secret or containing my enthusiasm, but while Gaby spoke, I contained myself and very casually reached into my bag for a stack of business cards.

I handed him one and asked him if he had heard of the company. He immediately responded, yes indeed and that Brian Dubé was the person that made him his first set of juggling clubs.

He recounted how, for most things in Juneau, he had to order from a catalog. He had poured over the Dubé Juggling Equipment catalog as a boy and ordered his first set of juggling clubs. He also told me, that unlike most other products that did not live up to catalog imagery, when his new clubs arrived, they were just like those pictured and he worshipped those objects which he kept in his room. I was beaming.

You have him now, I thought, no need to belabor this any longer. Deliver the one-two punch.

I asked offhandedly if he knew Brian Dubé. He answered that he had never met Brian personally. I said "Yes you have, you have been talking to him for the last two hours."

Gaby and a handful of friends around me who were privy to this conversation were just stunned and burst into a virtual applause. This was a connection just too amazing to believe and we spent quite some time exchanging more notes, anecdotes, mutual friends and acquaintances. I expect to see him again and give a copy of this story. Only in New York with a fortuitous set of circumstances and an intersection in time and space with a man who is on the road...

*The Tlingits are a matrilineal indigenous people from the Pacific Northwest Coast. You can read more about the Tlingits here.

Related Posts: Supercute!, Signature, Juggle This, Spinning, Artiste Extraordinaire, Fish and Ponds.

Collection Day

We were so naive. One day, when I was in college, a roommate said he had learned something incredibly invaluable: the city streets were a virtual bazaar of quality goods on the sidewalks at night before bulk trash collection days. The explanation was that there were people of enormous wealth in areas like the Upper East Side, who, due to whimsy and boredom, put out quality items they no longer fancied. And all we had to do was know the collection days and scavenge the streets the night before.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. Do you think that expensive, high quality merchandise would be 1) thrown out and 2) survive on the sidewalks of New York City for more than one second? Obviously this merchandise would be given away to friends, family, sold at auction or to dealers, or donated to charity. Very little of real value makes it to the streets.

That's why we have auctions houses, used merchandise dealers and flea markets.

In a way, flea markets in New York City are redundant - the city itself is a virtual open air bazaar. Perhaps that is why these places can be easily overlooked, as well as why I have never been through the NoHo market at 688 Broadway, even though it is located a stone's throw from my home and I have passed it thousands of times.

Despite soaring real estate in the city, permanent open air and indoor flea markets still exist, even in Manhattan. You can find every spin imaginable as far merchandise goes - used, antique, new, arts and crafts. Remarkably, the NoHo market sits in an open lot in prime real estate territory, flanked by large buildings on either side.

The huge city population provides for the seemingly endless array of goods available at low prices. For city residents, the issue becomes not only do I need it or want it, but also do I have a place to put it? At one time, I had some interest in collecting in a few areas, predominantly books. My mother, a compulsive cleaner and person who enjoys getting rid of things, made a comment that we are just passing through and temporary caretakers of our things. Over the years, the truth in this has settled in my mind, and I now get more joy from getting rid of things than I do from collecting them.

There are values to be found in flea markets, and if this is your cup of tea, you can find online lists of hundreds of flea markets in the five boroughs (see listing here). It certainly will save you the work of scavenging the sidewalks of the Upper East Side at night before collection day :)

The Bathroom Closes in 20 Minutes

There are innumerable thankless jobs, and many of us worked them when we were young. But for those of us who were college bound, doing these jobs in high school, no matter how distasteful, was made tolerable by seeing light at the end of the tunnel - knowing full well that this was only a temporary position on a journey to an easier life. There was hope.

But the masses of the work force are employed in jobs knowing that despite any late night self improvement evangelists, the reality is that the thankless job they have is the end of the tunnel. Despite patronizing platitudes like "every job has worth," who of those with a good job and pay will trade it for the thankless job with its purported dignity? "Make the best of it," we are told, but few of us have the temperament to make lemonade from these kinds of lemons for a lifetime.

John Henry Black is a maintenance worker in Washington Square Park. He not only has a great attitude, but he makes a real difference for those who enjoy the park. Complaints about odors emanating from a sewer area where hot dog vendors dump their refuse water daily has John preparing and adding a cleaning solution to douse the odoriferous offensive waters. He is known to warn women tourists to look out after their handbags or to suggest to others that they should move from the bench they are sitting on, since it is located below roosting pigeons. John is also a harmonica player and will often take a few moments to join a music jam.

He is best known for his mantra, which he belts out in the evening making his final rounds: "The bathroom closes in 20 minutes. If you gotta go, you better go."* We who spend time there regularly find his words and routine to be a palliative, a familiar soothing balm. And, of course, many do appreciate these announcements, which were never made in the past, leaving those in need of a bathroom and unfamiliar with park policy unpleasantly surprised that Washington Square Park is open long after its bathrooms close.

John Black hails from Florence, South Carolina, and has lived in New York City for 25 years, currently a resident of Harlem. His job as park maintenance worker is seasonal. In the late fall, he fills in his off time with other jobs until the following spring. When I asked his full name, he proudly smiled and answered, "Black." Seeing that I was doubtful, he produced official identification that did indeed identify him as John Black.

Today, on Labor Day, September 6, 2010, I nominate John Henry Black for candidate as poster child for the American Worker, an inspiration to make the best you can of what you do. But don't wait too long, because the bathroom closes in 20 minutes :)

*John actually starts with a series of announcements, typically an hour before, changing his mantra to reflect the time remaining.

Picnic Anyone?

In the early days of the Windows operating system, when it was making heavy inroads into the graphical interface market, Apple devotees began to find themselves in a very defensive posture. A typical response was that Windows was built over MS-DOS and that the Windows user experience and computing suffered for it.

I recall an Apple Computer salesman once arguing for the superiority of the Macintosh interface over Windows by saying that you can dress a gorilla in a tuxedo, but underneath, you still had a gorilla. Salesmen love these clever little general quips - they sound good, avoid the specifics, and minimize arguments.

During that same time, I was evaluating Apple vs PC/Windows and was discussing this with an acquaintance who was very experienced in both platforms. I suggested something which I had heard in defense of the economy of a PC running Windows over the premium charged by Apple: anything you can do with an Apple computer you can do on a PC. He immediately retorted: Yes, and you can also do it with pencil and paper.

Although his response was an exaggeration, he did make a good point for the value of aesthetics/design over utility. This debate still rages on, with many seeing the purchase of Apple computers as foolishly overpaying for an unnecessary luxury and Apple users more than happy to pay a premium for what they feel is a superior user experience and industrial design.

I can't imagine a much better example of utility over aesthetic than what I saw recently on Muldoon Street in Staten Island: a metal table with chairs, unshaded, roadside, in the blistering heat in front of a NYC Department of Sanitation garage near the Fresh Kills landfill. The immediate surroundings are shown in the lower two photos. A online map street view shows this lawn as empty, so it appears this is a recent addition. Perfect for Labor Day weekend. Picnic, anyone?

Supercute!

My first formal exposure to cuteness was an introduction to the website cuteoverload.com by a friend. The mere mention of the website by name, and I knew this had to be successful. I was immediately very irritated or, better said, jealous that I had not thought of it first.

Kittens, bunnies, snorgling, puppies, and the whole panoply of obvious and non obvious subjects qualifying as cute populate the blog, which receives over 40,000 visits per day.

Some may bristle at cuteness, particularly in New York, a city that prides itself on being a center for sophistication and edge, with many self appointed curators. But cuteness lovers will not be dissuaded, and even in New York City, lovers and embracers of the cute, cuddly and adorable abound. And what does one do when hyper cuteness becomes deliberate and, in a way, with a splash of self mockery, redefines what is edgy?

When a colleague who does the social networking for my business discovered and brought to my attention the indie-pop band Supercute!, I was much more favorable to their brand of cuteness, as was everyone in our office. Was it that they redefined and remarketed cuteness in a novel way, or was it that I recognized the marketing potential of Supercute! for a product we all they were manufacturing, hoops?* Both.

Learning also that Supercute! were residents of New York City, I immediately asked a staff member to contact them, acting out fantasies of the agent and power broker finding and signing the unknown talent and sleeping giant. Laughable in the age of the Internet, and also since these girls already had presence online and an active career with accolades from the public and press.

Supercute! (Rachel Trachtenburg, June Lei and Julia Cumming) was easily approachable, and a meeting was set up to discuss the possibilities of a mutually beneficial relationship, particularly with their hula hoop song.

Seeing them arrive in costume and character was a big and fun surprise. They were accompanied by Rachel's mother, Tina, and June's father and photographer, John Lei. The photo was from a recent visit, where we customized a set of hoops for the girls in their signature colors of pink and blue. Always the charmers, the girls arrived again in costume. While waiting for their hoops to be made, the girls busied themselves primping up in our showroom for a performance in a variety show that evening at the Bowery Poetry Club (see photo here).

Supercute! was formed in 2009 by Rachel Trachtenburg, who has been performing since the age of six with her mother, Tina Piña, and father, Jason, as the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players. These girls are getting invaluable guidance from their parents' professional careers and experience in a world where success is neither easy nor durable, even if you are Supercute! :)

*You can find our website here and here with posts about what I do here: Signature, Juggle This, Spinning, Artiste Extraordinaire, Fish and Ponds.

Sittin' on Top of the World

Manhattan has a coordinated traffic signal system. Avenues run north/south and are generally one way, like the majority of crosstown streets. These avenues have traffic lights that are timed progressively so that traffic can move without stopping. In theory. The lights move in a wave - a green wave of about 5 lights traveling below speed limit, sandwiched between red lights behind and in front of this green wave. Driving these avenues is urban surfing - wait for a wave, catch the wave, ride the wave as long as possible and don't get caught in the soup. I have often ridden a wave like this for miles down an avenue.

On other major avenues that are two way, such as Park Avenue, Central Park West, 11th and 12th Avenues, lights are timed to change simultaneously. This means that the faster you go, the more lights you can make before stopping.

I drove a taxi in college, as did nearly all of my best friends. On one occasion, the wildest driver of the bunch asked me how many blocks I could make on Park Avenue. I believe he said he could make somewhere in the vicinity of 27 blocks. Without going through the mathematics, I can assure you - that is some fast driving on city streets, somewhere in the neighborhood of at least 60 miles per hour. Unfortunately, a few of us took this as a challenge, later comparing results. Fortunately, there were no fatalities in this short-lived reckless contest.

The speed limit in Manhattan is 30 mph. Traveling at 60 plus miles per hour on crowded city streets is lunacy. The reason for high auto insurance for those under 25 is abundantly clear.

Today's photo was taken looking north from the last Park Avenue mall. The small park extends from 96th to 97th streets, where the Metro North train tracks emerge from underground to travel on an elevated trestle along Park Avenue. Looking at this now, I realize that I could have challenged my college friend to see if, in French Connection style*, he could outrun a commuter train.

I, however, will keep away from all temptation that Park Avenue may offer, opting instead, for First or Second Avenue with the gentle waves of the progressive lights, where, with good conditions, I can catch a wave and ride it all the way. That thrill makes me feel like the ultimate Beach Boy, because in New York City, if you can catch a wave and ride it all the way, you feel like you're really sittin' on top of the world* :)

*The French Connection (1971) has what many consider of the greatest car chase scenes ever filmed. The chase was between a hitman on an out-of-control train on an elevated section of a subway line in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, and a police officer in a car on the streets below the train. Most of the chase sequence was real and filmed without permission from the city of New York. It includes an accidental car crash which was left in the film.

* From the Beach Boys song Catch a Wave, with the refrain: "Catch a wave and you're sittin' on top of the world."