brooklyn, ny
i have never heard an unqualified endorsement of williamsburg. i have never heard "williamsburg? i love it!" one single time in my life, be it from a visitor or a resident of the former german village in northern brooklyn. i have never heard the same sentiment about kearney, nebraska or any place in oklahoma, but i never expect to. this is not for reasons of typical east coast disdain of "flyover states", but it's a curious observation when williamsburg is teeming with restaurants, coffee shops, independent clothing stores, bars, eccentric nightlife, art galleries, tattoo parlors, delicious and efficient vietnamese sandwich shops (at least one, but it counts), $1 slice pizza places, taco trucks, music venues, a choice of decent waterfront parks, streetside vendors of ephemera, a waterfront stretch of post-industrial monuments scintillating like topless bars to the urbanist, and enough purveyor's of absurdity to shock anyone exiting ripley's believe it or not. and people. did i mention people? besides the moving vans full of futons and big city dreams coming in from all points north american and global, the streets are always resonant with the buzz of adults in varying stages of their obstinate eternal youth. still, the neighborhood gets no love.
why? a good deal of the reason is that the neighborhood is arguably the epicenter for irony. i will try to dodge the stereotypes that i will inevitably reinforce, but the prevailing notion radiating from bedford avenue is that one is meant to engage in a continuum of pursuits of self-actualization, be that form artistic, hedonistic, outwardly spiritual, drug-induced, or vehemently contrarian, and to project no enjoyment of that whatsoever. exceptions abound and i am not saying that people in williamsburg do not enjoy their lives or are not happy, in fact, i think they might be happier than the average citizen. i'm just saying that at a macrosocial level, the environment is more conducive to criticism than creation. one could be well-advisted to not go into a williamsburg bar, hear a song, and then say "i enjoy this song". because to some of your fellow patrons, the song is either inferior to the artists' earlier work, inferior to another artists' work, or else just so 2007. can you say, "i enjoy this film"? in a private conversation, yes. but to a wider audience, that film cannot compare to some obscure romanian avant-garde project that is no more than 30 minutes of screeching soundtrack to a dangling canister of dental floss bouncing along the cobbled streets of bucharest. do you like barack obama? he's far too conservative for much of this crowd, many of whom share views a lot closer to rand paul than they are openly aware of.
does this bother me? not necessarily. i am not bothered by the irony or the firing squad of opinions. i may even partake in a little bit of both, but never more than the doctor's recommended daily allowance. am i bothered by the prevailing aesthetic? not necessarily. despite its lack of visual appeal, i'm somewhat delighted that people feel comfortable enough to wear jean shorts, neon visors, ironic mustaches, massive sunglasses, mohawks, army boots, or serve as a canvass for as many tattoos as possible. if i'm part curious why so many seem to go so far to make themselves less sexually attractive, then i'm also glad that they feel free enough to express themselves however they please.
are there things that unequivocally bother me about williamsburg? yes. [am i going to continue asking myself questions for the formatting of this blog? maybe just for this post] a nighttime walk along bedford avenue is disgusting. one time i passed three consecutive blocks in which the trash cans at all four corners were overturned, their contents spilled onto the street and sidewalk. every bar has a mountain of cigarette butts outside its front door. grease-stained paper plates lead a trail on the sidewalks to the various pizza vendors. i agree that people should push back against authority to a healthy degree, but there becomes a point at which your disestablishmentarianism is no more than disgusting, thoughtless behavior.
this plays out at a higher level than the street as well. williamsburg is known to quantifiably certified to have very low levels of civic participation. voting is very low and it is expected that many census forms will go blank. i hold nothing against people who want to move in and play for a few years before heeding their clarion call to more sober climes, but there are people who live there, attend these schools, visit these hospitals, and are dependent on public services. at the end of the day, these people are the ones who get the spurned by the thoughtlessness of those passing through. if suggest that if young people are looking for disregarding, selfish debauchery and a quick exit, the las vegas strip is a better option.
i guess i am another to add an equivocal endorsement of williamsburg, but it is an endorsement nonetheless. i owe countless memories of delicious meals, mellifluous music, hearty laughs, bewildering spectacles, and, most importantly, friendships made and solidified to this curious pocket of the city. so while i recommend that the circus be a little more cognizant of the mess it makes, i wish it continue to be a circus all the same.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
the weather
brooklyn, ny
conventional wisdom has it that weather is the least interesting topic of conversation. it is thought to be a crutch against silence and ever since the people who announced it on local telecasts became more and more perky, attractive, and for some reason, prominent, the phenomenon has lost much of its luster. i put one foot in the weather-as-digested-trope camp until realizing that i do not agree with this viewpoint. at all. the climate and atmospheric conditions have dictated world history and have their footprint in everything from natural selection to skin pigmentation to the formidableness of playoff home field advantage for the green bay packers. it is anything and everything, at least to the extent that anything could be everything.
i remember one year ago when i was in mopti, mali, just south of the sahara. we hiked and biked our way into dogon country and settled into a restaurant just shy of noon and before the large spike in the day's temperature when you would kill for it to only be 100 degrees. my host directed me to a mattress and told me that we would leave around 4:00 pm, 4 hours later. i thought that he was just being considerate on my behalf, that he did not want to exhaust the white foreigner, until i saw that he and all the other locals were resting as well. july in new york has not been as hot as it was in mali, but it has sometimes not felt too far off. still, the city's reaction to it has been the entire opposite as that of my hosts.
for those that do not live here, the temperature may read less than it does in arizona or texas, but that does not take into account the urban heat island effect. greater human density equals higher temperatures than those reported on the blue screen. vertical buildings provide more surfaces to capture and absorb heat. asphalt and concrete do not respire the same as an open field. when you factor in that the area has high humidity, these are not the ideal conditions for natural human living.
the city that never sleeps, appropriately, does not siesta. rain or shine, with the mercury at zero or one hundred, there is work to be done. it is natural to see the suits strolling about amid the skyscrapers and office buildings, but there is nothing natural about homo sapien wearing more clothing when the big burning star is imposing its fiercest wrath of the year. people are hot, people are sweaty, people are working, people are miserable. the fact that it is business as usual is suggestive of the diligent character that has built this city to be the behemoth that it is. it also suggests that we are all entirely stupid. i see some shirt-and-tie wearing individuals and can't help but pity them until i think about how these are the very individuals whose greed has ruined the lives of so many. i still don't think the trade fair: they overheat through unseasonable dress in exhange for profiting from toxic assets that have a negative economic impact on billions. but i suppose it's a start.
so i find myself at least glad that my neck can breathe while summer does its damage. i have a fan trained on me at all times while i work from home and do what i can to get myself into one of the city's beautiful parks as frequently as possible. hydrate and avoid the sun by day, find myself a nice cold beverage to wash it all away by night.
so i hope you didn't mind the brief detour into the heavily traversed topic. maybe you might even have a bit more patience next time the topic turns climactic. maybe you might even find it as fascinating as i do. i leave you with one inarguable tenet: it was in this past or at least a very recent year that weather no longer became the most boring topic of conversation. the indisputable heir is anything pertaining to cell phones. if you want to show me your latest application or complain to me about your carrier's coverage, don't be offended if i turn and walk away. or do be offended. i don't care, i'm just gone.
conventional wisdom has it that weather is the least interesting topic of conversation. it is thought to be a crutch against silence and ever since the people who announced it on local telecasts became more and more perky, attractive, and for some reason, prominent, the phenomenon has lost much of its luster. i put one foot in the weather-as-digested-trope camp until realizing that i do not agree with this viewpoint. at all. the climate and atmospheric conditions have dictated world history and have their footprint in everything from natural selection to skin pigmentation to the formidableness of playoff home field advantage for the green bay packers. it is anything and everything, at least to the extent that anything could be everything.
i remember one year ago when i was in mopti, mali, just south of the sahara. we hiked and biked our way into dogon country and settled into a restaurant just shy of noon and before the large spike in the day's temperature when you would kill for it to only be 100 degrees. my host directed me to a mattress and told me that we would leave around 4:00 pm, 4 hours later. i thought that he was just being considerate on my behalf, that he did not want to exhaust the white foreigner, until i saw that he and all the other locals were resting as well. july in new york has not been as hot as it was in mali, but it has sometimes not felt too far off. still, the city's reaction to it has been the entire opposite as that of my hosts.
for those that do not live here, the temperature may read less than it does in arizona or texas, but that does not take into account the urban heat island effect. greater human density equals higher temperatures than those reported on the blue screen. vertical buildings provide more surfaces to capture and absorb heat. asphalt and concrete do not respire the same as an open field. when you factor in that the area has high humidity, these are not the ideal conditions for natural human living.
the city that never sleeps, appropriately, does not siesta. rain or shine, with the mercury at zero or one hundred, there is work to be done. it is natural to see the suits strolling about amid the skyscrapers and office buildings, but there is nothing natural about homo sapien wearing more clothing when the big burning star is imposing its fiercest wrath of the year. people are hot, people are sweaty, people are working, people are miserable. the fact that it is business as usual is suggestive of the diligent character that has built this city to be the behemoth that it is. it also suggests that we are all entirely stupid. i see some shirt-and-tie wearing individuals and can't help but pity them until i think about how these are the very individuals whose greed has ruined the lives of so many. i still don't think the trade fair: they overheat through unseasonable dress in exhange for profiting from toxic assets that have a negative economic impact on billions. but i suppose it's a start.
so i find myself at least glad that my neck can breathe while summer does its damage. i have a fan trained on me at all times while i work from home and do what i can to get myself into one of the city's beautiful parks as frequently as possible. hydrate and avoid the sun by day, find myself a nice cold beverage to wash it all away by night.
so i hope you didn't mind the brief detour into the heavily traversed topic. maybe you might even have a bit more patience next time the topic turns climactic. maybe you might even find it as fascinating as i do. i leave you with one inarguable tenet: it was in this past or at least a very recent year that weather no longer became the most boring topic of conversation. the indisputable heir is anything pertaining to cell phones. if you want to show me your latest application or complain to me about your carrier's coverage, don't be offended if i turn and walk away. or do be offended. i don't care, i'm just gone.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
union square
brooklyn, ny
in a city full of contradictions, there are few that stand more stark yet undetectable as union square. it takes a while for the parallel to sink in, but invariably one who beholds the public space north of 14th street can't help but think of a mall in suburban u.s. america. where else do you have businesses catering to the aspiring bourgeoisie surrounding throngs of loitering skateboarders, exhibitionists, sidewalk poets/musicians/dreamers and the benevolently deranged? to circumambulate the square on the opposite sidewalk would be to pass storefronts for petco, american eagle apparel, two starbucks, staples, vitamin shoppe, and tgi fridays. to walk through the actual square would be to see a multitude of people who would never patronize those businesses.
so then why do so many oddballs and wild cards gather in union square? what intangible pull or process attracts the social lint to this bizarre broadway redoubt? honestly, i have no idea. it is the paris hilton of public spaces: famous for being famous. the subway station hosts several connecting lines, but that is all below ground and the whole point of tranferring from train to train is to stay under ground, no? maybe union square is the poor man's airport lounge, where the unsophisticated traveler bides his time while waiting for his connection from the 4/5/6 to the n/q/r/w. union square is close to several interesting places, but why wouldn't people forsake the hub for the destination? i leave these questions for those wiser than myself.
so i marvel at union square, if incredulously. i am also enthusiastic about its existence. for those who have never been, 14th street serves as the mason-dixon line of new york city. below the line (we will consider brooklyn to be geographically south for our purposes), the restaurants, bars, clubs, and people have that extra little extra pinch of paprika, that chopped existential jalapeno that piques our human interest. above 14th street, the city is a heartless grid teeming with duane reade's, office supply stores, and the offices that need those supplies. maybe i exaggerate. maybe.
so it is perfect that our 38th parallel [14th parallel?] has a space that is so weird and defiant of explanation as union square. it is the city's bold announcement to the southern wayfarer of just what they're in for if they continue their travels. our way to freak out the squares, as it were.
at the hottest hour of a hot day
she was coming in the opposite direction on the same sidewalk through brooklyn's chinatown. i was the white man looking for dumplings, she was a white girl looking for god knows what. in and around us, a near majority of chinese pedestrians hid from the sun's wrath beneath decorous umbrellas. i made eye contact with the white girl, who then boldly announced in a brioche-thick long island accent, 'i love the sun! why are they all hiding from the sun?!' as if we were the only people in a room.
to my two (maybe three) followers
sorry for the delay. this blog is not on its dying legs, but the blogger has sought as much of a technology detox as possible. the exploration has not ceased, nor will it ever.
in a city full of contradictions, there are few that stand more stark yet undetectable as union square. it takes a while for the parallel to sink in, but invariably one who beholds the public space north of 14th street can't help but think of a mall in suburban u.s. america. where else do you have businesses catering to the aspiring bourgeoisie surrounding throngs of loitering skateboarders, exhibitionists, sidewalk poets/musicians/dreamers and the benevolently deranged? to circumambulate the square on the opposite sidewalk would be to pass storefronts for petco, american eagle apparel, two starbucks, staples, vitamin shoppe, and tgi fridays. to walk through the actual square would be to see a multitude of people who would never patronize those businesses.
so then why do so many oddballs and wild cards gather in union square? what intangible pull or process attracts the social lint to this bizarre broadway redoubt? honestly, i have no idea. it is the paris hilton of public spaces: famous for being famous. the subway station hosts several connecting lines, but that is all below ground and the whole point of tranferring from train to train is to stay under ground, no? maybe union square is the poor man's airport lounge, where the unsophisticated traveler bides his time while waiting for his connection from the 4/5/6 to the n/q/r/w. union square is close to several interesting places, but why wouldn't people forsake the hub for the destination? i leave these questions for those wiser than myself.
so i marvel at union square, if incredulously. i am also enthusiastic about its existence. for those who have never been, 14th street serves as the mason-dixon line of new york city. below the line (we will consider brooklyn to be geographically south for our purposes), the restaurants, bars, clubs, and people have that extra little extra pinch of paprika, that chopped existential jalapeno that piques our human interest. above 14th street, the city is a heartless grid teeming with duane reade's, office supply stores, and the offices that need those supplies. maybe i exaggerate. maybe.
so it is perfect that our 38th parallel [14th parallel?] has a space that is so weird and defiant of explanation as union square. it is the city's bold announcement to the southern wayfarer of just what they're in for if they continue their travels. our way to freak out the squares, as it were.
at the hottest hour of a hot day
she was coming in the opposite direction on the same sidewalk through brooklyn's chinatown. i was the white man looking for dumplings, she was a white girl looking for god knows what. in and around us, a near majority of chinese pedestrians hid from the sun's wrath beneath decorous umbrellas. i made eye contact with the white girl, who then boldly announced in a brioche-thick long island accent, 'i love the sun! why are they all hiding from the sun?!' as if we were the only people in a room.
to my two (maybe three) followers
sorry for the delay. this blog is not on its dying legs, but the blogger has sought as much of a technology detox as possible. the exploration has not ceased, nor will it ever.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
denver
centennial, co
i am proud to be from denver, even if i no longer necessarily want to live there. i may even embody the city far more than i'd care to admit. while i seek to avoid succumbing to the adage, i can't help but add that you can take the boy out of denver, but you can't.....you get the rest. denver is a city that talks about aspiring for greatness, but seems content enough to have solid sunsets and carefully crafted beers. denver is a city that tries to stand tall and handle its grace when the big folks come through, but still has its local news anchors as permanent fixtures in its gossip columns. denver is a city that wants to rival chicago in the big city department, but doesn't fully understand that the nation's eyes tend to go over its shoulder to the parks and ski resorts beyond. denver is like the cute enough sister who is friends with all the hottest guys, never fully realizing that they just want to get with its far more attractive sister and her beautiful, majestic mountains. denver thinks it gets thought about, but is really just like the innocent and benevolently ignored character from an 80s brat pack film. denver is like the junior high student who had been home-schooled through elementary: close enough geographically as to appear assimilated, yet so culturally removed as to be innocent where others would be insecure. nobody has yet informed denver of this status, and, frankly, i just don't have the heart to do it myself.
the fact is that denver is a fine place and is just shy of being wonderful. denver is a lot like portugal, that handsome stepchild of the european union: if it could accept the fact that it cannot compete with the big cities (or countries, for metaphor preservation sake) in their big city games and instead took ownership of its more natural attributes, it would have a real shot at an appearance on the international radar. i think that the biggest detraction to the city is that so many men walk around with cell phones attached to their blue jeans. seriously? as we all know that first impressions are so important, it would help to 86 the geriatrics who greet new arrivals at the airport wearing cowboy hats. on that note, why don't we just scrap the whole cowboy motif altogether? yes, i know, this was an integral part of the wild wild west and the setting for dr. quinn, medicine woman, but there are no cowboys here. people in denver drive suv's and their guns are stored in suburban dens, so it's time to at least move one century forward in accoutrements. this is not so much about redefining denver's image, but about releasing the city from the image that it (mistakenly) thinks others want it to hold. though i know it has already been mentioned, the severity of the situation bears repetition: chill out about the newscasters. no other city will take you seriously so long as you continue to focus on how poorly ron zappolo tips or where kathy sabine took her last shit.
all that being said, it need be stated that there is more to know and love about denver each time i go back. on this visit, i went back to the broadway that used to be strewn with trash and adorned with adult movie theaters (in a bad way) to find that it was populated with dive bars, drunks, and small dealers of gothic ephemera (in a good way). i nearly had to sneak a tear when i took the light rail from nine mile to downtown to catch a rockies game last night. was this my hometown, my denver, with its very own mass transit system? i could only ponder the difference to my high school and college days in the past imperfect subjunctive had this system been around. and then there's the latest green industry. medical marijuana has been legal in the state since 2000, but since the feds have no longer enforced its own archaic laws, dispensaries have grown like, well, weeds over the past couple years. in fact, dispensaries now outnumber starbucks by a ratio of 2-to-1 in the city of my birth. not only do the fair minded citizenry exhibit a tolerance for the latest growth industry, but it appears that its' flourishment will attract people of a 'fair-minded' persuasion. when you factor in that the mayor is great, the people are open and friendly, and the city has a healthy supply of mexican, vietnamese, and ethiopian immigrants (among others) and their cuisines, i feel comfortable ponying up for my hometown.
despite all its beauty and the fact that it is still home to the people closest to my heart, it still pains me to say that i cannot live in denver. dorothy said that there is no place like home and she was right. a small caveat that the tin man could have added was that some of us are not meant to live in our hometowns. some of us were born in nests thatched with and by infinite love, but with the knowledge that our destiny was flight. some of us have to spread our wings and fly, not away from a past, but towards something that may not necessarily be known and could certainly never be articulated. so i am proud to say that i was and am and always will be a colorado kid. nothing could ever change that. consider it a compliment to the soil that the roots have grown strong enough to support a plant that seeks and finds, not necessarily better, but certainly different atmospheres through the course of its sweet time on earth.
i am proud to be from denver, even if i no longer necessarily want to live there. i may even embody the city far more than i'd care to admit. while i seek to avoid succumbing to the adage, i can't help but add that you can take the boy out of denver, but you can't.....you get the rest. denver is a city that talks about aspiring for greatness, but seems content enough to have solid sunsets and carefully crafted beers. denver is a city that tries to stand tall and handle its grace when the big folks come through, but still has its local news anchors as permanent fixtures in its gossip columns. denver is a city that wants to rival chicago in the big city department, but doesn't fully understand that the nation's eyes tend to go over its shoulder to the parks and ski resorts beyond. denver is like the cute enough sister who is friends with all the hottest guys, never fully realizing that they just want to get with its far more attractive sister and her beautiful, majestic mountains. denver thinks it gets thought about, but is really just like the innocent and benevolently ignored character from an 80s brat pack film. denver is like the junior high student who had been home-schooled through elementary: close enough geographically as to appear assimilated, yet so culturally removed as to be innocent where others would be insecure. nobody has yet informed denver of this status, and, frankly, i just don't have the heart to do it myself.
the fact is that denver is a fine place and is just shy of being wonderful. denver is a lot like portugal, that handsome stepchild of the european union: if it could accept the fact that it cannot compete with the big cities (or countries, for metaphor preservation sake) in their big city games and instead took ownership of its more natural attributes, it would have a real shot at an appearance on the international radar. i think that the biggest detraction to the city is that so many men walk around with cell phones attached to their blue jeans. seriously? as we all know that first impressions are so important, it would help to 86 the geriatrics who greet new arrivals at the airport wearing cowboy hats. on that note, why don't we just scrap the whole cowboy motif altogether? yes, i know, this was an integral part of the wild wild west and the setting for dr. quinn, medicine woman, but there are no cowboys here. people in denver drive suv's and their guns are stored in suburban dens, so it's time to at least move one century forward in accoutrements. this is not so much about redefining denver's image, but about releasing the city from the image that it (mistakenly) thinks others want it to hold. though i know it has already been mentioned, the severity of the situation bears repetition: chill out about the newscasters. no other city will take you seriously so long as you continue to focus on how poorly ron zappolo tips or where kathy sabine took her last shit.
all that being said, it need be stated that there is more to know and love about denver each time i go back. on this visit, i went back to the broadway that used to be strewn with trash and adorned with adult movie theaters (in a bad way) to find that it was populated with dive bars, drunks, and small dealers of gothic ephemera (in a good way). i nearly had to sneak a tear when i took the light rail from nine mile to downtown to catch a rockies game last night. was this my hometown, my denver, with its very own mass transit system? i could only ponder the difference to my high school and college days in the past imperfect subjunctive had this system been around. and then there's the latest green industry. medical marijuana has been legal in the state since 2000, but since the feds have no longer enforced its own archaic laws, dispensaries have grown like, well, weeds over the past couple years. in fact, dispensaries now outnumber starbucks by a ratio of 2-to-1 in the city of my birth. not only do the fair minded citizenry exhibit a tolerance for the latest growth industry, but it appears that its' flourishment will attract people of a 'fair-minded' persuasion. when you factor in that the mayor is great, the people are open and friendly, and the city has a healthy supply of mexican, vietnamese, and ethiopian immigrants (among others) and their cuisines, i feel comfortable ponying up for my hometown.
despite all its beauty and the fact that it is still home to the people closest to my heart, it still pains me to say that i cannot live in denver. dorothy said that there is no place like home and she was right. a small caveat that the tin man could have added was that some of us are not meant to live in our hometowns. some of us were born in nests thatched with and by infinite love, but with the knowledge that our destiny was flight. some of us have to spread our wings and fly, not away from a past, but towards something that may not necessarily be known and could certainly never be articulated. so i am proud to say that i was and am and always will be a colorado kid. nothing could ever change that. consider it a compliment to the soil that the roots have grown strong enough to support a plant that seeks and finds, not necessarily better, but certainly different atmospheres through the course of its sweet time on earth.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
the fourth of july
centennial, co
it couldn't even last through the morning. granted, i was tired from only a few hours sleep and laguardia has a way of crippling even the sturdiest of buzzes. but i thought that my contact high on american spirit had enough legs to get me through the week. it only took one man to bring it down.
it's not that this was a bad human being. still, the pilot who sat next to me on my flight this morning did not strike a favorable first impression with the gaudy american flag necktie, nor did he rectify his standing when he warned me not to change seats because that was the agents job (i fly on passes, it doesn't matter). he solidified his poor presentation by setting a paperback copy of a patriot's history of the united states on the unfurled tray table before him. for those that don't know, the book was written as a rebuttal to howard zinn's a people's history of the united states. the latter is a robust work of scholarship; the former is flammable (you are highly encouraged to test this hypothesis).
alright: i exaggerate. i would never condone the burning of any book. all individuals have the right to express their opinions and better luck to them if they find someone willing to print and distribute. that doesn't mean that they should be read. the patriot's history raises an interesting question: why do so many americans go to such great lengths to reenforce their own stupidity? this right wing phenomenon of saying that everything was and always is perfect in u.s. america and that any counterveiling notions are the product of the liberal conspiracy in the mainstream media should have been extinguished by now. we should have already moved on from the illusions that america is one giant cleaver household. we did not exterminate a continent's worth of native people's. we did not enslave generations worth of humans to toil in our fields. we have not had systematic discrimination based upon race, religion, gender, sexuality, or any other demographic. everything is perfect. everyone is happy.
the presentation, however, is like the sitcom about the happy family when we know that all of its child actors are destined for meth addictions. the problem with this thesis is that it forces anyone who acknowledges the stained sheets of our past to feel further and further alienated from the beautiful country that we live in. up until i had a groggy interaction with a pilot hell bent on fortifying his own castle of ignorance, i felt as if i had just been in that country.
my first fourth of july on u.s. american soil in seven years was spent with amazing people. i was a part of an impromptu four-on-four touch football game with black, hispanic, and white players on both teams. i watched a brilliant, albeit distant, fireworks display next to families of all the colors of the rainbow. people were smiling, the sun was shining, and the tranquil euphoria concomitant with days of tacitly permitted public alcohol consumption spread around and covered us like a warm blanket. it seemed that age, ethnicity, gender, and, to a reasonable extent, class were set aside and people just enjoyed themselves. it was, as i wish it could be, the real america.
so i suppose that's why they call it a holiday. we do not yet deserve the holiweek, -month, or -year. this country and the people it has produced and its riveting story are worth all the fireworks in china and all the watermelon in eden. but only in restrained binges. until we can all open our minds and extend our tolerance, or even just admit that our blind nationalism does us no favors, the calendar boxes surrounding our days of celebration and remembrance need be ones of construction. until we can tear down the walls of proto-national delusion and be cognizant of the work to be done, on an individual and national level, we do not deserve to self-congratulate every day of the year. we cannot point fingers outward. we cannot pompously puff up our chests and profess to be holier than thou. we cannot continue to behave unapologetically proud when there is much for which we need be repentant. so until that day when class, race, religion, sexual preference, age, or any other demographic truly do not matter in u.s. america, let's keep our nationalism confined to its appropriate postal holidays. and when that day comes, i promise to be the first to wear the gaudy necktie right beside my fellow passenger.
just a thought concerning fireworks
this year marks the 400th anniversary of henry hudson's exploration. hence, the decision to shoot the fireworks over his eponymous river rather than the east river, as is genuinely the custom. for one, it may be h.h.'s 400th anniversary, but a lot has happened in new york and i'm sure we can say that something pretty important happened near the east river 200 years ago. or in queens, 37 years ago. hell, i had a delicious bagel the other week, and that was over here. so why don't we keep the fireworks for new york city and let four boroughs have front row seats? the thought that people in jersey were given preferential viewing treatment to people from brooklyn is absolutely appalling. remember, new york, you need brooklyn a lot more than we need you. besides, having fireworks that close to jersey is dangerous: i'm pretty sure that chest wax and axe body spray are highly flammable.
it couldn't even last through the morning. granted, i was tired from only a few hours sleep and laguardia has a way of crippling even the sturdiest of buzzes. but i thought that my contact high on american spirit had enough legs to get me through the week. it only took one man to bring it down.
it's not that this was a bad human being. still, the pilot who sat next to me on my flight this morning did not strike a favorable first impression with the gaudy american flag necktie, nor did he rectify his standing when he warned me not to change seats because that was the agents job (i fly on passes, it doesn't matter). he solidified his poor presentation by setting a paperback copy of a patriot's history of the united states on the unfurled tray table before him. for those that don't know, the book was written as a rebuttal to howard zinn's a people's history of the united states. the latter is a robust work of scholarship; the former is flammable (you are highly encouraged to test this hypothesis).
alright: i exaggerate. i would never condone the burning of any book. all individuals have the right to express their opinions and better luck to them if they find someone willing to print and distribute. that doesn't mean that they should be read. the patriot's history raises an interesting question: why do so many americans go to such great lengths to reenforce their own stupidity? this right wing phenomenon of saying that everything was and always is perfect in u.s. america and that any counterveiling notions are the product of the liberal conspiracy in the mainstream media should have been extinguished by now. we should have already moved on from the illusions that america is one giant cleaver household. we did not exterminate a continent's worth of native people's. we did not enslave generations worth of humans to toil in our fields. we have not had systematic discrimination based upon race, religion, gender, sexuality, or any other demographic. everything is perfect. everyone is happy.
the presentation, however, is like the sitcom about the happy family when we know that all of its child actors are destined for meth addictions. the problem with this thesis is that it forces anyone who acknowledges the stained sheets of our past to feel further and further alienated from the beautiful country that we live in. up until i had a groggy interaction with a pilot hell bent on fortifying his own castle of ignorance, i felt as if i had just been in that country.
my first fourth of july on u.s. american soil in seven years was spent with amazing people. i was a part of an impromptu four-on-four touch football game with black, hispanic, and white players on both teams. i watched a brilliant, albeit distant, fireworks display next to families of all the colors of the rainbow. people were smiling, the sun was shining, and the tranquil euphoria concomitant with days of tacitly permitted public alcohol consumption spread around and covered us like a warm blanket. it seemed that age, ethnicity, gender, and, to a reasonable extent, class were set aside and people just enjoyed themselves. it was, as i wish it could be, the real america.
so i suppose that's why they call it a holiday. we do not yet deserve the holiweek, -month, or -year. this country and the people it has produced and its riveting story are worth all the fireworks in china and all the watermelon in eden. but only in restrained binges. until we can all open our minds and extend our tolerance, or even just admit that our blind nationalism does us no favors, the calendar boxes surrounding our days of celebration and remembrance need be ones of construction. until we can tear down the walls of proto-national delusion and be cognizant of the work to be done, on an individual and national level, we do not deserve to self-congratulate every day of the year. we cannot point fingers outward. we cannot pompously puff up our chests and profess to be holier than thou. we cannot continue to behave unapologetically proud when there is much for which we need be repentant. so until that day when class, race, religion, sexual preference, age, or any other demographic truly do not matter in u.s. america, let's keep our nationalism confined to its appropriate postal holidays. and when that day comes, i promise to be the first to wear the gaudy necktie right beside my fellow passenger.
just a thought concerning fireworks
this year marks the 400th anniversary of henry hudson's exploration. hence, the decision to shoot the fireworks over his eponymous river rather than the east river, as is genuinely the custom. for one, it may be h.h.'s 400th anniversary, but a lot has happened in new york and i'm sure we can say that something pretty important happened near the east river 200 years ago. or in queens, 37 years ago. hell, i had a delicious bagel the other week, and that was over here. so why don't we keep the fireworks for new york city and let four boroughs have front row seats? the thought that people in jersey were given preferential viewing treatment to people from brooklyn is absolutely appalling. remember, new york, you need brooklyn a lot more than we need you. besides, having fireworks that close to jersey is dangerous: i'm pretty sure that chest wax and axe body spray are highly flammable.
Friday, July 2, 2010
other people's memories: times square edition
brooklyn, ny
in the credit where credit is due department, a non-reader by the name of adam bedient must be attributed. that is not to say, selfishly, that the idea did not arise organically within my own head. a casual stroll through times square earlier this evening was enough to notice a certain trend. there may be no greater samaritan than the one who, seeing three of a family's four members striking a pose while the fourth tries to frame his/her loved ones just so, politely offers to use the camera to capture all. such acts of random kindness may occur in restaurants, beaches, and hiking trails in the developing world, but not in times square. the crowd density and anonymity is simply too great to offer a valuable possession such as a camera to a complete stranger, however well intentioned they may seem to be.
that does not mean that there may not be other ways. entonces, if you were in times square around six p.m. this afternoon, i may have captured your group. if you were not, then join me in sharing in some other people's memories.
golazo!
fifa reached agreements with various networks whereby they would be able to stream every single second of world cup action live over their websites. unfortunately, espn (the network) and time warner (my internet provider) got their panties in a bunch over something that must be of incredible importance with the result being that hundreds of thousands of households cannot access the games online. no big deal for most, right? bigger deal for me: world cup fanatic and television non-owner.
fortunately, i soon discovered that univision was streaming the games with crystal clear quality and unmistakably in español. over the past few weeks, i have caught as many games as possible at home, though occasionally had the opportunity to grab a burger and a beer at a bar before work. in the latter setting, the broadcast is invariably in ingles.
i must first say that i love my mother tongue, but i can see why it's harder for u.s. americans to get into the sport. the english language is a beautiful instrument to precisely describe fixed objects and fleeting moments. español, on the other mano, is much better at describing the flowing of a river. it would be reasonable to say that it is an overly florid and longwinded way of explaining something that is happening that may truly not be all that significant. but that is also what the game of futbol is. it is movement that does not necessarily lead anywhere. it is endless stretches of stagnant fluidity punctuated by sporadic spurts of exhilaration. so while the english speaker must endure ninety minutes of commentary in which we long for those sentences to be completed and those thoughts to be harnessed, the hispanohablante can settle back and listen to a commentary that flows just like the game. the difference is so distinct and one-sided that were the two monolithic corporations to decide to play nice for the remainder of the tournament, i would stick it out with my amigos from the south. it's simply a better broadcast. that being said, i would never opt for the mexican broadcast of the rose bowl. there is no ship like english for the airwaves above the gridiron.
in the credit where credit is due department, a non-reader by the name of adam bedient must be attributed. that is not to say, selfishly, that the idea did not arise organically within my own head. a casual stroll through times square earlier this evening was enough to notice a certain trend. there may be no greater samaritan than the one who, seeing three of a family's four members striking a pose while the fourth tries to frame his/her loved ones just so, politely offers to use the camera to capture all. such acts of random kindness may occur in restaurants, beaches, and hiking trails in the developing world, but not in times square. the crowd density and anonymity is simply too great to offer a valuable possession such as a camera to a complete stranger, however well intentioned they may seem to be.
that does not mean that there may not be other ways. entonces, if you were in times square around six p.m. this afternoon, i may have captured your group. if you were not, then join me in sharing in some other people's memories.
golazo!
fifa reached agreements with various networks whereby they would be able to stream every single second of world cup action live over their websites. unfortunately, espn (the network) and time warner (my internet provider) got their panties in a bunch over something that must be of incredible importance with the result being that hundreds of thousands of households cannot access the games online. no big deal for most, right? bigger deal for me: world cup fanatic and television non-owner.
fortunately, i soon discovered that univision was streaming the games with crystal clear quality and unmistakably in español. over the past few weeks, i have caught as many games as possible at home, though occasionally had the opportunity to grab a burger and a beer at a bar before work. in the latter setting, the broadcast is invariably in ingles.
i must first say that i love my mother tongue, but i can see why it's harder for u.s. americans to get into the sport. the english language is a beautiful instrument to precisely describe fixed objects and fleeting moments. español, on the other mano, is much better at describing the flowing of a river. it would be reasonable to say that it is an overly florid and longwinded way of explaining something that is happening that may truly not be all that significant. but that is also what the game of futbol is. it is movement that does not necessarily lead anywhere. it is endless stretches of stagnant fluidity punctuated by sporadic spurts of exhilaration. so while the english speaker must endure ninety minutes of commentary in which we long for those sentences to be completed and those thoughts to be harnessed, the hispanohablante can settle back and listen to a commentary that flows just like the game. the difference is so distinct and one-sided that were the two monolithic corporations to decide to play nice for the remainder of the tournament, i would stick it out with my amigos from the south. it's simply a better broadcast. that being said, i would never opt for the mexican broadcast of the rose bowl. there is no ship like english for the airwaves above the gridiron.
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