We Read at Night

I have been to some of those places so dark at night that you can not see your own hand. I don't like those places. I will confess that after living in New York City most of my life, I am somewhat afraid of the dark because I don't really know what it is anymore. A case of Fear of the Unknown.

I have read about the health benefits of sleeping in total darkness. I am sure it is healthier, but I find greater comfort with light. I can sleep in well lit rooms, a bedroom at night without shades drawn, at the beach, or on park benches during the day. It's much easier to see anyone sneaking up on you, and vampires hate the light.

Although there are conveniences of living in a place where it is well lit at night, this plethora of illumination is light pollution, and it is a well documented problem worldwide, particularly in urban areas like New York City. The Dark-Sky Association (IDA) defines light pollution as any adverse effect of artificial light, including sky glow, glare, light trespass, light clutter, decreased visibility at night, and energy waste.

Links have been found between light pollution and cancer, increase in blood pressure, alertness and mood. Sleep and circadian disruption, along with melatonin suppression, may have long term health risks. In a larger sphere, ecosystems are disrupted. On March 26th, 2009, I wrote of the effect on our fine feathered friends in Birds Sing at Night.

We grow accustomed to the everlasting light of the city. In most areas, it is easy to read at any hour of the night in the parks or on the streets. Bill Hayes, a writer for the New York Times, in a piece called "Insomniac City," describes a phenomenon he discovered - people who took to the parks on summer nights to read all manner of printed materials - books, newspapers, novels and poetry.

On summer trips when I have vacationed in rural areas, I found a flashlight a necessary tool to carry at night. In the city, I use my flashlight during the day to find that lost item that has rolled under a desk and rarely to illuminate my way at night.

In a city that never sleeps and where everything is illuminated, birds sing and we read at night...

All Is Not Lost

Much of the art and music world in New York City has disappeared, but all is not lost. In the East Village and the outer boroughs, the arts live on, the product of tenacity and resourcefulness. If you are looking for arts on a smaller scale than the major museums, or for music on a smaller scale than Lincoln Center, then you will have look a little harder and concentrate your efforts in neighborhoods like DUMBO and Williamsburg in Brooklyn and the East Village and Lower East Side in Manhattan.

The East Village still has a substantial number of community gardens, art galleries, music clubs, and other small venues. I have featured a number of community gardens here, and more recently, the Nuyorican Poets Cafe. These types of places are virtually nonexistent elsewhere in the city.

The KenKeleba House Sculpture Garden spans an entire city block from East 2nd and 3rd Streets.

Kenkeleba House Garden has an extraordinary mix of large African sculptures as well as local sculptures made out of scrap, or bricolage, a specialty of the Lower East Side art scene since the 1970s. Situated in a large plot, the net effect is that of viewing an outdoor museum with both permanent and temporary pieces on exhibit. Some of the outdoor pieces on loan are from local artists who used to belong to the much beloved Rivington Street Sculpture Garden which had two incarnations in the neighborhood before it was pushed out by a new apartment building.

Double back to Avenue B, continue south for one block, and turn left onto to East 2nd Street. Since the whole garden runs from East 3rd to East 2nd between Avenue B and Avenue C, closer to Avenue B, it needs to be approached from both sides. The separate planted garden area, can be accessed from the East 2nd Street side entering during the designated posted hours when the garden gate is open. At other times, take a look around to see if anyone is in the gallery at 219 East 2nd Street who could open the garden for you. It is worth trying to gain entry to the planted garden, particularly since this also allows entry to the sculpture garden.

All is not lost...

Dave

I want to tell you about a man named Dave. He was a New Yorker, and for a time, I and a number of friends would see him daily in Washington Square Park. He was a gentle person and one of the most considerate individuals I have ever met. His concern was always for others, and at one point, when I was going through a trying time, he consoled me daily, always asking for a update the moment he saw me.

He had a comforting aura about him. At a surface level, Dave looked quite ragtag, very poor and eccentric. His wardrobe was very limited, and he wore threadbare shirts and torn belts. He was always overdressed, often with sweaters and a down jacket, even in warm weather. He carried old and worn plastic shopping bags that were stuffed - I have no idea what he was carrying. At times, he could be mistaken for someone homeless.

He had a job, although he never spoke of his work or home. One of our group of friends said he was told by Dave that he was a clerical worker in a hospital. He lived alone, had no family and other than his park forays, was a recluse.

I introduced him to the New York Times crossword puzzle, sometimes did them together. Although he was not a native English speaker, he did well. It became very clear to me over time that this man was very intelligent and well read. I just had a gut feeling that there was much more to this man than met the eye.

Over time I began to learn a few details of his life. He was a Russian Jew and had served in the Israeli army. On another occasion, while discussing classical music, he told me that he had studied music formally for seven years. Discussing specific pieces such as the Chopin Etudes, e.g., it was clear that these claims were not likely to be fabrications, and I hoped to hear him play some time.

One day, we learned that he had a stroke. He was never to be the same again. Speaking to him on the phone was quite upsetting, as he was barely able to converse at all. Soon after, we were told that he had a brain tumor. Our belief was that he had known about this for some time yet carried the burden silently.

A friend told us that he had learned the most astounding thing. While visiting Dave in the hospital, he met two of his coworkers, who informed him that Dave was much more than a clerical worker. In fact, Dave was a research scientist with two PhDs in Pharmacology. The last time I saw him was in his room at Mt. Sinai, when I went to visit him with a friend. It was particularly sad seeing him with a shaved head and surgical scars everywhere. He was unable to say anything other than yes or no to questions asked. I asked him if it was true that he had two doctoral degrees. He said yes.

Dave died on November 4, 2009. I attended his memorial service. One story followed another from his coworkers about his selflessness and humility. I also learned that in addition to his research work, his interest in music was not casual at all - he performed as a concert pianist. He may have had no family or close personal friends here, but he is missed and loved by all whose lives he touched...

Note about the photo: Mount Sinai Hospital was founded in 1852 and is one of the oldest and largest teaching hospitals in the United States. In 2009, it was ranked as one of the best hospitals in the United States by U.S. News & World Report in 11 specialties.

Micronations

I purchased a book some time ago called Micronations. I was very intrigued yet disappointed. The book was entertaining but somehow did not fulfill the dreams I had as an armchair traveler. Perhaps I needed to look closer to home.

The newsstand in today's photo, taken in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, is not an uncommon sight in New York City, particularly in the boroughs such as Brooklyn or Queens, where there are large concentrations of ethnic groups. Bay Ridge has a population which is 11% Arab and 5% Greek.

On May 12, 2009, I wrote Salad Bowl about the failure of the metaphor of New York City as a melting pot to accurately describe the discreet ethnic groups. There are many people in New York who get along speaking virtually no English, who are so prevalent here. Chinatown is a good example of a very insular neighborhood, with so many services and products catering to the Chinese community that many residents never have to leave or learn another language.

These ethnic enclaves have places of worship, books, periodicals, schools, parades, festivals, restaurants, markets, and foods and products imported from their homeland. Doctors, lawyers, accountants and other professionals have established businesses in these communities, providing services and working in the native languages of the residents. There are often tiny pockets of immigrants of ethnicities rarely seen in the United States. No need to leave the Big Apple when looking for Micro Nations :)

At Least It's Water

In Back to Our Main Feature, I wrote that "the gifts nature bestows and the power she wields often feel secondary in a city like New York." Often, however, does not mean always, and even in the Big Apple, Mother Nature can show a dominant hand and deal a heavy blow - particularly, summer heat. As with other areas of the country, this summer has set all time records. Nothing is more oppressive than summer in the city - ambition to do anything withers in the blistering heat.

I had a friend that went to school in Miami, Florida. I asked how anyone could tolerate summers there. He assured me that no one spends time or walks outdoors - all human movement is from one air conditioned environment to another - car, store, home etc. The problem in New York City is that everything you do involves some walking. Even getting a taxi means standing in the street, sometimes with no success.

Subway platforms, although underground, offer no respite. They are subterranean infernos. The asphalt streets are like beds of lava, conducting heat to all who dare to stand on them. Tree shaded streets are few, and we walk in the shadows of buildings if the time of day is right.

Virtually everyone I have spoken to has had the same solution - stay in during the day, go out in the evening (if at all), and wait the heat wave out. Even in this fast paced city, where residents are undaunted by virtually anything, summer heat is suffocating and its effects visible everywhere and affecting virtually everything - shopping habits, work, and recreation.

For those who do not leave the city, heading for water is one solution, but New York City has few options. Sprinklers are sometimes mounted on fire hydrants for children. The beaches of Coney Island, Brighton Beach, Jacob Riis Park and Rockaway are popular. For those who do not live nearby, you could travel there, given that you are willing to make the long journey and be accompanied by (literally) a million other relief seekers. Buses are also available to places such as Jones Beach.

In Washington Square Park, the newly renovated fountain has been a water park both day and night for adults and children, with spectators sitting around the fountain's edge, watching the aquatic antics and cooled by overspray.

Lincoln Center's fountain (in today's photo) lures people in all year, and although immersion is not an option here, no matter how real or illusory its cooling effect is, at times like this, at least it's water...

Other Fountain Posts: Water Sprites, Bethesda Fountain, Signs of Summer, Bad Hair Day, Trapped in Paradise, Remembering, Double Your Pleasure, Verdant Oasis, Gallivanting, Shag Carpeting, Cup Runneth Over.

Paint by Number

There is nothing that seems to make an artist bristle more than paint by number* or anything remotely resembling it. It is useful to know what is best left to subjective human judgement. However, it is also good to know what is best done by using numbers, as well as where using numbers is more efficient and does not degrade the human experience.

I recall a documentary on the illy coffee company of Italy. What really impressed me was the balance between the subjective and objective in their coffee production process. There are things better done using science and technology and things better done by the human senses, and the illy family knows when to use what.

Numbers lie behind most things, and ultimately, given fine enough resolution, many analog things can be reduced to a digital file with satisfying results. Music is a good example. Most musicians have embraced digital recordings. Whether or not they are absolutely identical to an analog recording and whether there are any audible differences are moot points for most - the digital files communicate well the feelings intended by the composer and performers, the primary feature being the ability for flawless reproduction.

There are things that appear to resist reduction to digital reproduction and are controversial. Stradavarius, Guarneri and Amati violins are a good example - these instruments are highly coveted by violinists. However, tests have been done using antique and new instruments, with mixed results as to the ability of some of the world's greatest musicians and experts to distinguish the old from the new by listening alone.

Along with music, imaging and photography have been most greatly impacted by the digital process. The fact that a scene like that in today's photo can be effectively communicated with a digital file is remarkable. I stumbled upon this exquisite little gingerbread cottage while driving through the Lighthouse Hill neighborhood in Staten Island. The home, at 298 Lighthouse Hill Avenue, neighbors the Tibetan Museum and shares the same hillside and vistas (see second photo here). Built in 1899, the house is only 968 square feet. Its diminutive size and idyllic charm is communicated easily, whether you take photos, brush by instinct, or paint by number :)

*About Paint by Number: The 1950s in America saw a rise in prosperity and leisure time. "For critics, the paint-by-number phenomenon provided ample evidence of the mindless conformity gripping national life and culture. The making of the fad is attributed to Max S. Klein, owner of the Palmer Paint Company of Detroit, Michigan, and to artist Dan Robbins, who conceived the idea and created many of the initial paintings. Palmer Paint began distributing paint-by-number kits under the Craft Master label in 1951. By 1954, Palmer had sold some twelve million kits. Popular subjects ranged from landscapes, seascapes, and pets to Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper. Paint-kit box tops proclaimed, 'Every man a Rembrandt!' " Read more here.

The Redeemer

I played accordion for approximately seven years and practiced every day for exactly one hour. By exactly one hour, I don't mean 61 minutes - a clock was always nearby to insure I played for the time required - never more, never less. I never wanted to play the accordion but was corralled into it - I had a childhood best friend who played the instrument, so I was destined to follow suit.

My joyless experience was fueled by my instructor, who groomed me in a repertoire of the grim and joyless. I worked diligently on songs like the Marine Corps Hymn, the Beer Barrel Polka, and Song of the Volga Boatmen. I still recall the illustration on the music of a man along side a river, pulling a boat - an apt metaphor for my musical experience.

Lawrence Welk did nothing to endear me to the instrument. His schmaltzy polka extravaganzas only further cemented the feelings I had, adding to the perspective of the accordion as an instrument of torture and embarrassment for all.

At family gatherings, somehow it became de rigueur for me to play, even for an entire afternoon. No one really listened, and only when I stopped did someone bark, "Don't stop, Brian, keep playing." I never understood why. Recently, my cousin caught me off guard by chiding, "Hey Brian, take out your accordion." A good laugh for both of us, but I still felt a twang of pain on a raw nerve.

Later, things began to change. In my first cello lesson as an adult, my instructor asked if I had ever played a musical instrument. I replied, yes, kind of, but it was an instrument that did not really count. Rather annoyed, she asked, "What instrument would that be?" When I told her the accordion, she said that it was a fine instrument and spoke of the world of serious players and organizations. My mind opened briefly, only to be closed again by the famous Farside cartoon.*

As time passed, my exposure to the instrument in New York City was invariably positive. Innovative styles and players and traditional music all began to sound better and better.

This was the 3rd performance of this summer's Washington Square Music Festival, in its 52nd year (their website here). The repertoire for this festival ranges widely (typically classical), and not knowing what to expect, I was surprised to find that every piece on the program included accordionist William Schimmel.

I was riveted from the first piece. It was everything that great music should be. I later learned in my reading that Schimmel, a New Yorker, is a major heavyweight in the world of accordion. With a doctorate from Juilliard School of Music, Schimmel is credited as being one of the principal architects in the resurgence of the accordion. Regarded as the world's greatest accordionist by National Public Radio, he has performed with virtually every major symphony orchestra in America (and the Kirov). Schimmel is a virtuoso accordionist, author, philosopher, teacher and composer. The accolades for his playing are seemingly endless. You can visit his website here.

I do not typically enjoy music that bills itself as inventive or innovative. But I found William Schimmel's interpretations and quirky style not only refreshing but also purely enjoyable.

I need no further evangelical exposure to the instrument, because in every sense of the word, when it comes to accordion, I have been saved and William Schimmel is truly the Redeemer...

*A classic Far Side cartoon shows a split panel, one side showing St. Peter greeting people entering the pearly gates, saying "Welcome to Heaven, here's your harp." On the other panel, the Devil greets at the gates of Hell, saying "Welcome to Hell, here's your accordion."

Todt Hill

If you enjoy exploring New York City, then Todt Hill is a must. This residential hilltop neighborhood is certainly one of the most, if not the most, exclusive, secluded areas in the five boroughs of New York. Todt Hill, with an elevation of 410 feet, is the highest natural point on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States south of Maine.

Staten Island is also the least populous of New York's five boroughs, with under 500,000 residents. This much lower population density and its very hilly terrain create some very rural and remote feeling areas.

I love hill and mountain tops, and Todt Hill had been on my list for quite some time, having only passed through the area once before a long time ago. On this trip, I explored the backroads and (along with Forest Hills Gardens, Bayside, Queens and Dyker Heights, Brooklyn) found it to have some of the most extraordinary private homes in New York City - McMansions abound with topiary, bricked semicircular driveways, and fountains. See my photo gallery here.

Most of Staten Island has a decidedly suburban feel - driving there is more akin to nearby New Jersey than New York City, with much of the developed areas of the borough revealing a plethora of strip malls and other visual clutter.

Do not be misled, however. Staten Island has some of the most beautiful natural and historic environments in New York City - places like St. Andrews Church, historic Richmond Town, Snug Harbor, the Museum of Tibetan Art, the Kreischer Mansion, The Crimson Beech (residence designed by Frank Lloyd Wright), yacht clubs, waterways and estuaries, the Latourette House (1836), Staten Island Botanical Garden, and the Fresh Kills landfill. This massive landfill, opened in 1947 and closed in 2001, has been cleaned up and is now undergoing development into a park larger than Central Park - plans include a bird-nesting island, boardwalks, soccer and baseball fields, bridle paths and a 5,000-seat stadium.

But, if like me, you really like lofty pursuits, head for Dongan Hills, Grymes Hill, Lighthouse Hill and Todt Hill :)

Back to Our Main Feature

Please understand that I, like most New Yorkers, do love Mother Nature, but the gifts nature bestows and the power she wields often feel secondary in a city like New York.

Additionally, unlike California, the Rocky Mountains, the Pacific Northwest, the coast of Maine, Florida, or the southwest, where someone might move for quality of life and nature's bounty, people live in New York City for culture, work and all the things and opportunities that are man-made.

Often, nature feels like a corporate perk or, at times, even like an irritant, standing between us and what we want. This is a city on the move, and nothing will stop a New Yorker from getting what he or she wants. Or at least trying until his or her tank is clearly empty.

Most New York City residents use a combination of walking and public transportation to get around town. Few of us do more to adapt to changing seasons or weather than change wardrobe - this is one of many reasons why the impact of nature is mitigated. We typically do not shovel snow, salt our own walkways, put on snow tires, rake leaves, mow lawns, water the grass or clean gutters - all the activities that connect humans with nature.

Unfortunately, New York City is not ideally suited for those who want a comfortable ride in a roomy vehicle. That's OK - not everyone is a driven Type A or has the need to be. There are many days when I question the prudence of the self inflicted wounds from voluntary immersion in America's biggest rat race.

Last night there was a brief lightning storm dramatic enough to make many of us look up and say wow. But unlike our country brethren, who may spend a pleasant evening watching shooting stars, we rarely indulge these natural phenomenon for very long. Glancing up to the sky, seeing a spectacular display of lightning complemented by a waxing moon, we acknowledge when nature has spoken. Yes, like any great commercial, we hear you, but now, back to our main feature :)

Pink Flamingos

I was once gifted the book The Encyclopedia of Bad Taste, many parts of which I found hilarious. The writers, Michael and Jane Stern, have selected the most egregious infractions on good taste in American culture. There are chapters on Easy Cheese (in a spray can), Spam, Velvet Paintings, Chia Pets, celebrity death cars, lava lamps, etc. One article highlighted lawn ornaments.

Most of us have seen a lawn display featuring classics such as the plastic flamingo. I thought I was well versed in lawn displays (particularly after seeing the Dyker Heights Christmas displays). That is, until I saw the display in front of the mansion of Alla and Alex Shchegol at 724 Todt Hill Road, Staten Island.

I was happy to find a little information online about the house and the Shchegols, who have been collecting these lawn statues for years. However, I was not prepared to find a small uproar in Dongan Hills/Todt Hill, Staten Island, one of the wealthiest communities in New York City. An article in SI Live voices the concerns some have about the danger of distraction to motorists. It certainly comes as very startling to drive by this property and encounter Tarzan hanging from a tree over a lawn full of statues in a loosely themed jungle and Jurassic Park. There are dinosaurs, jungle animals, and other creatures.

The many comments to the SI Live article range the gamut - see the article and comments here. Some say the huge ornaments are terribly distracting and dangerous, while other locals say the concerns are exaggerated. The vast majority of naysayers are just horrified at what they consider to be one of the supreme examples of tacky, bad taste.

Actually, I was very surprised to read about the congeniality of the owners. Apparently, many passersby stop, some even knocking on the door for information about the display. Others ask permission to take photos with their children on the various animals, which the owners typically grant. A number of people, like the Shchegols themselves, just see this as harmless fun and encourage the outraged to lighten up.

Most will agree, however, that no Encyclopedia (or lawn) of Bad Taste would be complete without Pink Flamingos :)

Miracle Garden

In the 1960s and 1970s, the East Village was one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Manhattan. Even the most brazen college student, carousing with reckless abandon, would think twice before strolling the East Village. Being mugged, even in broad daylight, was not fanciful paranoia; it was reality. I always traveled with at least one other person.

On one occasion, a very aggressive panhandler, to whom we refused to give money, became extremely menacing, wielding a baseball bat and threatening us. This incident occurred at a pizza parlor on 3rd Avenue and St. Marks Place, a major intersection. Only by begging the shop employee for refuge were we spared a possible battering.

Alphabet City was truly a no-mans land. The neighborhood was filled with drug addicts - there are only a few ways of feeding a drug habit. Unable to keep a job, most turn to theft or prostitution. For the male heroin or crack addict, a source of income comes down to robbing for money or stealing goods and fencing them. Many Village residents have had their bike stolen, only to see it being sold on the streets of the East Village. Rather than provoke an incident and risk the opportunity of getting it back (by calling the police), some have even resorted to buying their own bicycle back.

So in one way, it is surprising to see so many beautiful oases in the form of community gardens in the East Village. On the other hand, it is not surprising at all. This area has had a history of homesteading, squatting, and community takeover of buildings and empty lots. The neighborhood was extraordinarily blighted and largely abandoned by the city. Without the passion, grassroots efforts and activism of community members, it is doubtful that this neighborhood would have been inhabitable at all. Even with all the gentrification over decades, the East Village still has a decided grittiness.

Miracle Garden is located at 194-196 East 3rd Street between Avenues A and B. It was founded in 1983. According to New York Songlines, this urban garden was built on the site of a former crack house. What better name than Miracle Garden?

Note: I have written about and photographed some extraordinary community gardens. See the related links: Shangri-La, Devil's Playground, La Plaza Cultural Garden, Grapes, Stay Lean Stay Hungry, Urban Oasis, Alberts Garden, West Side Community Garden, Bird Country, Hua Mei Bird Garden, Paraiso.

The Carlyle

There are worlds that few will ever know, and one of those is living in a luxury New York City apartment hotel - places like the Carlyle, the Sherry-Netherland, the Waldorf Astoria, the Pierre, the Stanhope, the Gramercy Park, the St. Regis, the Ritz-Carlton, the Mandarin Oriental and recently converted Plaza.

New York is an international city with an enormous number of individuals who own more than one residence. This is one factor which accounts for the gravity defying Manhattan real estate market.

For the well-heeled looking for a pied-à-terre, the residential hotel fits the bill perfectly, with the amenities of an apartment and the services of a hotel (at the Carlyle Hotel, for example, there is a full time staff of 400.) For those wanting to own a place, there are cooperative and condominium apartment hotels.

These structures typically have a block of rooms which are strictly hotel room rentals, segregated from the privately owned rooms, often with a separate building entrance.

The Carlyle Hotel has been called the grand dame of this world. The services abound with restaurants, clothing and jewelry boutiques, an art gallery, antique shop, and antiquarian book dealer. The Café Carlyle has featured numerous well-known jazz performers, with regulars such as Bobby Short (1968-2004) and Woody Allen, who has been a Monday night regular there since 1996.

The Carlyle is renowned for guest privacy and why the New York Times called it a "palace of secrets." It became best known when President John F. Kennedy owned an apartment there on the 34th floor. From Christopher Gray's Streetscapes in the New York Times:

The earliest hotel tenants included Chester Dale, an investment banker and art collector who was later president of the National Gallery of Art. His collection of French 19th- and 20th-century paintings was one of the finest of the mid-20th century. ... Senator Kennedy took Dale's former apartment, 34A. Kennedy held onto it throughout his presidency.

The Carlyle is where Marilyn Monroe reportedly had a tryst with Kennedy, entering with him via a labyrinth of tunnels. On June 14, 2010, the FBI released a 2,352 page file, in which are reports of alleged sex orgies in Kennedy's suite, naming John, Robert, and Ted Kennedy, actor Peter Lawford and his wife Patricia Kennedy, Marilyn Monroe, Frank Sinatra, and Sammy Davis Jr. as participants. I have read many snarky comments about how this news is so old - who cares? But this is not just any family, this is the Kennedy family and this is not just any hotel, this is The Carlyle.

Note: The Carlyle, located at 76th Street and Madison Avenue in Manhattan's Upper East Side, was built by Moses Ginsberg, designed by Bien & Prince and completed in 1930. The Art Deco residential hotel has 180 rental rooms and 60 privately owned residences.

A Terrible Mistake

I have a customer who I have known since the 1980s, when he was a teenager and a student at Stuyvesant High School. He was very bright, astute, and street smart. On one occasion, I was telling him about my dealings with a customer who was particularly upset. In his characteristic, lighthearted style, his prescriptive was simple and direct: "Brian, just tell them 'I'm sorry, there's been a terrible mistake.' " Funny and simplistic, yet his palliative contained customer service core principles - apologize, take responsibility and don't make the customer wrong.

On April 27, 2009, I wrote a story called Pick Two, which highlighted the project triangle - good, fast and cheap, and how you can only get two out three. My search for a restaurant where you could find the impossible three out of three led me to L'Annam.

Since that time, I have been frequenting another Vietnamese restaurant, just down the block on University Place - Saigon Grill. This place is rather remarkable. Its elegant decor bespeaks of a place which should be much more expensive. It is always clean, and the speed of food delivery is the fastest I have ever seen, other than a fast-food takeout restaurant. The place is enormous, yet always busy. The food quality is very good.

This place appeared to be another candidate for the rarified club of businesses who deliver three out of three. A little investigation, however, reveals one way in which owners can do the seemingly impossible.

Saigon Grill has been embroiled in one of the biggest controversies I have ever seen in the New York City restaurant business. A battle between deliverymen and owners Simon and Michelle Nget raged for over two years with allegations by employees. During that period, there was picketing outside, blogs and articles calling for boycotts, and media spotlights.

From the New York Times:

The owners of the two Saigon Grill restaurants in Manhattan were arrested Wednesday on more than 400 criminal charges, including violating minimum-wage laws, falsifying business records and defrauding the state’s unemployment insurance system.

Several deliverymen asserted that they usually worked more than 65 hours a week but were often paid only $520 a month, or less than $2 an hour, far less than the federal and state minimum wage.

The deliverymen asserted — and a federal judge agreed in his October ruling — that the restaurants had illegally deducted from $20 to $200 of the workers’ pay when they committed infractions like letting the restaurant door slam on their way out.

In the final decree, a Federal judge awarded the deliverymen $4.6 million in back pay and damages. In the case of egregious criminal activity, my friend's advice is no avail. Apparently, no Federal Judge or jury is going to believe "I'm sorry, there's been a terrible mistake."

World of Sheep

I once dated a woman just after college for a short time. A very short time. Actually, if I recall, it may have been only one date. This woman had been highly affected by her readings of the existentialists. I can't say I liked her much, and I remember very little, except her assertion that "people were sheep." She suggested, "Let's do something different," as if difference, in and of itself, insured a better experience. I vaguely recall her quoting some French philosopher, a role model of hers I imagine, to substantiate her negative views of humankind and extemporaneous living as the only antidote.

Had it been 2010, her life would be considerably more difficult, if not near impossible. She would be a very unhappy camper for sure. Flash mobs, Twitter, email, texting, Facebook, satellite TV, blogs, ezines - everything conspires to disseminate information, literally at the speed of light. Whether it's the latest, greatest neighborhood, product or event, no stones are left unturned. Nothing of any interest to anyone remains secret for very long.

In 2007, when I first heard about the biannual solar event coined Manhattanhenge by astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson, I really felt privy to a very special near-secret event. And although I was not the lone photographer my first time seeing this spectacular New York City occurence, the experience I had in midtown Manhattan did not have the flavor of a feeding frenzy fueled by electronic networking or the feeling that one was part of a flock of sheep.

I created a photo triptych which I posted along with my article on this blog on May 21, 2007. The photo collage was picked up and featured by Gothamist online. This year, I see a massive amount of imaging online - it is doubtful now that any given photo would be easily singled out for a media feature as mine was in 2007. B & H Photo now organizes an annual Manhattanhenge Gathering for photographers. On the photosharing website Flickr.com, there are two special photogroups for Manhattanhenge alone (2009 and 2010), and a search of images returns over 3000 results. Websites abound with stories, photos, and information about this natural occurrence.

I have, of late, become very enamored of sheep - they are wonderful animals that do really appear to love the company of people. They may not be known as independent thinkers, but perhaps they are the new paradigm for our fast moving world. I have not given up completely on creative or independent work, but I am preparing for the future and learning as much as I can now about the world of sheep :)

Photo Note: I stumbled across this year's Manhattanhenge unknowingly. The photo was taken just before sunset, looking west down 23rd Street.

Cup Runneth Over

When it comes to a celebratory occasion, nothing seems to do the job like a good dousing. And when it comes to a good dousing, nothing does the job like a fountain. So it was natural that post-World Cup revelers would take their revelry to the fountain in Washington Square Park.

There is something a little gratuitous about a public water fountain, which suits a post championship triumph just fine, since, inevitably, something as monumental as Spain's first victory in the World Cup will necessitate some over-the-top behavior.

This celebration caught me by surprise, since I was not aware of the final championship game results. A group worked their way from Fifth Avenue into the park and were joined by others. Soon the park's central plaza became a sea of red and yellow, with chanting, flag waving and water play. See my photo gallery here.
There are celebrations which are primarily excuses to party - often the completely disinterested find it a perfect opportunity to engage in orgiastic debauchery with intoxication at its core. This was not one of those times. Extreme inebriation was the exception, not the rule, and the focus on the meaning of this event was obvious to all.

Outside the United States, winning a soccer cup takes on a significance unparalleled here - these are international championships in the world's most popular sport that take place only once every four years. It has been said that winning a cup can uplift the spirits and even boost the economy of an entire nation.
It is a joyous time for the victors, and here in our fountain, there and everywhere, Spain's cup runneth over :)

Fire Island

With only one exception, all the photos on this website were taken in one of the five boroughs in New York City. I do not vacation or travel out of the city or post photos and stories of my exurban adventures or vacations.

But Fire Island is a special case, and if you don't include it in your discussions about New York City, then you do not have a complete picture of this city. Like the Hamptons and Montauk, Fire Island is a summer playground dominated by New Yorkers, particularly Manhattanites. There is a level of urbane sophistication - if you spend time there, you quickly get a real sense that this is a virtual microcosm of New York City.

Fire Island is a barrier island, only half a mile wide and 31 miles long, off the south shore of Long Island. It is accessible by bridge at either end with public beaches - Robert Moses State Park at the western end and Smith Point County Park at the eastern end.

However, the real allure are the 22 some odd private communities that dot the interior of the island, which are only accessible by ferry from Long Island. These communities span an entire range of environments and people, from conservative to wild. Point of Woods has the character of a New England town, Fire Island Pines has roller coaster boardwalks tunneling through trees. Cherry Grove is dominated by the gay community, with a party atmosphere. Seaview is sedate. Ocean Bay Park sees many vacationers sharing homes. Water Island has the character of a remote outpost. See my photo gallery here.

My romantic love affair with Fire Island started on a day trip in the early 1970s. I immediately was swept away. There are many charms to Fire Island - the pristine beach and dunes, protected as Fire Island National Seashore, Sailors Haven, the Sunken Forest, and Fire Island Lighthouse. But there is one big factor that defines everything - there are no automobiles.

This is an extraordinary world where streets are often wooden walkways, transportation is by foot or bicycle, and goods are frequently carted by wagons left in town. Here, you can find the occasional little girl with a stand selling shells. Deer roam freely and can be easily hand fed. Less than 40 miles from New York City and the quiet is just shocking.

Sound like paradise? Yes it is. If you have a chance, visit Fire Island :)

Woody Was Right

Don't you see the rest of the country looks upon New York City like we're left-wing, communist, Jewish, homosexual pornographers? I think of us that way sometimes and I live here. -Woody Allen as Alvy Singer from his 1977 film Annie Hall

A 2008 study by the New York City health department found that more that one-fourth of adult New Yorkers are infected with Herpes Simplex Virus-2, the virus that causes genital herpes.

An estimated one million New Yorkers are Jewish - the largest Jewish population in the world, outside of Israel. That's 12% of our city population (8,363,710), 15% of the number in the United States and 7% of the world's total.

4.5% of New York City's population (272,493) is estimated to be gay.

The Communist Party USA headquarters is based in New York City at 235 W. 23rd Street.

A study found that over two-thirds of New York City residents regularly hear their neighbors having sex.

Look's to me like Woody was right :)

Photo Note: Sex and the City is a cable television series. Two films based on the series have been made. Sex and the City 2 was recently released - the photo was taken just before the release.

Blocks of Ice

Like a pediatric prescriptive for the parent and desperate to show empathy and concern, city officials have made the usual hot weather warnings and announcements with gestures such as mobile cooling stations with free drinking water.

But what can really be done about a crushing heat wave with temperatures over 100 degrees? Nothing. Just wait it out. You either have air conditioning and/or fans at home or not, and you either work in A/C or not. Plain and simple. The word that best describes New York City's recent record smashing temperatures is blistering. Direct sun on the skin feels like it is literally being cooked.

I empathize with those who must work outdoors in this heat. I had a brief conversation with New York City police detective Johnson, who was in Union Square in full uniform with temperatures hovering around 100 degrees. I asked how he could possibly tolerate the heat in full uniform - polyester, bullet proof vest, pants, heavy shoes. He replied that it isn't easy and he just tries to stay hydrated.

None of the solutions offered to the populace are particularly new or novel - wear light clothing, stay hydrated, keep your blinds drawn, etc. In a world with extraordinary technology, ubiquitous WiFi, video telephony, organ transplants and voice recognition, Mother Nature still shows a strong hand when it comes to heat. The drone of bulky, ugly, noisy, window air conditioners becomes our summer music. Looking over a number of historic photos of New York City from the early 20th century, we see the curbside water hydrant scene replayed 100 years later. And with all the suggestions, solutions and technology, the most refreshing solution to me looks like those street side blocks of ice :)

Photo note: The first two photos are New York City street scenes, circa 1910-15. The bottom photo is from my 2006 posting Heat Wave.

Let There Be Light

The New York City subway system is not the place you would associate with natural lighting, but according to a 2002 article by Christopher Gray of the New York Times:

John Tarantino, chief architect at New York City Transit, said the agency was working citywide to bring daylight back to the subway experience.

In February 1904, The New York Times noted that ''a speck of dirt would find a difficult resting place'' in the new subway stations, which were trimmed with oak, bronze, red granite and decorative tile. Instead of the bare bulbs now common to most stations, the original subway had simple but distinctive globes. Ventilation was closely considered, and an article in World's Work magazine described the air as ''dry and sweet'' and noted that ''glass roofs provide the stations with plenty of light.''

Vault lights were also heavily used - in 1904, 20 of the 34 underground stations had vault lights. See my posting, Sidewalk Vault Lights, here. In the same article, Gray quotes from the 1904 commemorative book The New York Subway:

At 20 of the underground stations it has been possible to use vault lights to such an extent that very little artificial light is needed.' Photographs of stations in those days show great banks of sidewalk vault lights casting natural light onto the platforms directly below; presumably the platforms sent a soft glow to the streets at night, when artificial lighting was used.

But not long after, most of the vault lights were removed. In 1938, an article by Laurence Bell in The American Mercury magazine entitled The Most Awful Ride in the World deplored the ''murky depths'' with ''concrete even filthier than the stairs, a filth that is accentuated by the dim lights whose sole reflectors are the stained walls of once-white tile.''

Street level station houses were not so well liked. The well known and heavily used station house at 72nd Street and Broadway is a particularly egregious example, with platforms and stairways that are unusually narrow. Until completion of the new control house, there was only one entrance to the station, access only via the middle of a traffic island, and no free transfer between the uptown and downtown sides of the station.

In 2002, construction began on a new control house. The design was a joint venture between architects Richard Dattner & Partners and Gruzen Samton. Inspired by the Crystal Palace at the London Exhibition of 1851, the new structure has lots of glass. See additional photo here. However, although vault lights had been planned, cost-cutting issues and maintenance concerns of the proposed vault lights resulted in their elimination.

Light is a precious thing, particularly in the New York City subway system, where natural illumination goes a long way to ameliorate the grim and grimy subterranean environment. I am sure I am not alone among New Yorkers when I ask of John Tarantino or any other NYC transit tsar, let there be light :)

Related Post: Sidewalk Vault Lights

Rocket Man

Note: Please click and play audio link to accompany your reading.

I recently discussed with my cousin the fireworks displays we saw as children in Pope Park, Hartford, Connecticut. These Fourth of July outings were all-night affairs - our families arrived early with blankets and picnics, staking out ground for a display which seemed like it lasted forever. Perhaps the childhood memory of this spectacular event looms larger than it really was for both of us, but we agreed that it lasted nearly one hour and was the best thing we had ever seen.

As I grew up, I was no stranger to the boyhood love of pyrotechnics. This followed me into high school, where I became involved in the rocketry club. In my early years in New York City, we managed to put on our own bottle rocket displays for the Fourth of July.

Of course, little compares to Fireworks by Grucci or Pyro Spectaculars by Souza, which has been putting on the annual Macy's fireworks display since 1982. Last night's display was beautiful as always, with many new pyrotechnic effects.

This year, my spectating experience was particularly pleasant. Rather than battle the masses on the west side of Manhattan for Hudson River views, I was invited by friends to the 26th floor rooftop deck of their apartment building. We were joined by a small number of building residents for a pleasant, trouble-free bird's-eye view.

In a extraordinary twist of fate, I learned today that Pope Park was designed by the Olmsted Brothers Landscape Architects in 1898. This company, the nation's first landscape architecture company, was founded by Frederick Law Olmsted, designer of Central Park and Prospect Park in New York City. Olmstead's sons, John Charles Olmsted and Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr. inherited the firm from their father. This company has an enormous portfolio of projects to their credit, including Pope Park. I have been unknowingly following the footsteps of the Olmstead Brothers.

I am pleased to have echos of pyrotechnics and the Olmstead legacy here in New York City, because leaving my home and childhood behind is the fate of any Rocket Man :)

Signs of Summer

Imagine the perfect summer day. If you find that difficult at all, please join me in looking out my window - today is that day.

Summer can be extremely unpleasant in the city - the grime and edge is exacerbated by the heat and humidity. Many areas look extremely unattractive. The impact of tourists, excess trash, and hot subway platforms does nothing to improve the experience.

The iconic sights, sounds and smells of summer are largely unavailable in New York - butterflies, open fields, lawn mowers, cookouts, crickets at night, cicadas.

Many prefer to leave the city on weekends, for extended vacations or for the entire summer. Neighborhoods like the Upper East Side are virtual ghost towns on a summer weekend. The well heeled have options, and spending the dog days of August in Manhattan is not high on their list. Not unique to New York, the summer exodus of urbanites has been replayed in cities around the world over history.

Those that remain in the city will find many things to do and enjoy - summer concerts, festivals, parades, programs, the parks, botanic gardens, community gardens, promenades, the rivers, beaches, sampling fabulous gourmet ice cream/gelato, and perhaps best, just strolling the city streets by day and night. Adjust and adapt to New York City's brand, and you will easily recognize our own signs of summer...

Photo Note: This is the fourth of a series of photos, one per season, taken from my window looking out to Washington Square Park. Today's photo completes the cycle of seasons. Here are the links for Spring (Enchanted April), Fall (Wood, Glass, Brass and Trees), and Winter (White By Design 2).

Sticky

Skip the exterior. It's the opulent interior, second only to that of Radio City Music Hall, that counts. Go in, even if you must attend a concert that deafens you - the interior is Greco-Deco-empire with a Tudor palette. -AIA Guide to New York City

In 1982, I saw the elite Japanese taiko drumming troup Kodo's first American performance in New York City. My group of friends was absolutely astounded. My last visit to the Beacon Theatre (prior to this Sunday) was a big mistake - to see Kodo a second time and to introduce a friend to the group.

The Beacon had taken a beating after decades of rock concerts. The balcony seats were filled with people talking, cell phones ringing, and, to add insult to injury, one heavy man repeatedly taking bathroom breaks. The floors were so laden with the sticky residue of spilled drinks that there was a loud ripping sound when lifting his foot after every step.

We noticed the same effect as we lifted our feet while seated. This whole phenomenon became a source of great amusement and an exercise in controlled laughter. However, the whole experience was extremely disappointing - Kodo requires a quiet listening environment and complete attention to their nuanced performance, not all manner of noise, hilarity and contained laughter.

On Sunday, I went to the final performance of Cirque du Soleil's Banana Shpeel. I was pleasantly shocked to see the Beacon Theatre's decor after a recent renovation. See more photos here.

I was able to enjoy the opulent interior in all its former glory without seeing a "concert that deafens you" or listening to feet ripping away from sticky stuff :)

Note about the Beacon Theater: The Beacon was designed by Walter Ahlschlager and opened in 1929. In 1979, the historic venue was designated a national landmark and is on the National Register of Historic Places. Many of the greatest names in music have played the Beacon including the Rolling Stones, Jerry Garcia, Aerosmith, Michael Jackson, James Taylor, Radiohead, and Queen. The Allman Brothers hold an annual rite of spring concert series at the Beacon Theatre known as "The Beacon Run." Since 1989, they have performed 173 shows at the Beacon.

Read more about the Beacon here and here.