You’ve met the type – the answer to “How are you doing?” is invariably a serious “Busy busy,” always said with a very serious sense of self-importance, akin to the demanding schedule of the CEO of a multinational corporation. Often, these types of individuals find idleness to be frightful and sinful. Constant motion and activity provides great comfort and obviates the need to feel, play, or further explain one’s life. I grew up like that.
In Devil’s Playground, I wrote: “And then there is the busy busy ethic, a defining characteristic of our culture and particularly a place like New York, an ethic that basically says any and all busyness is good and is sufficient to justify one’s existence.”
For those who hold this ethic dear and need validation that others share their compulsion, a trip to Times Square will satisfy nicely. Here, day or night, 24/7/365, we will find all manner of activity and industry. A place where everyone is Busy Busy 🙂
I was tipped off by a friend that I might want to hurry to see this group of musicians from New Orleans. He referred to them as a “crusty” band. They certainly have the signature attendant dog, and there is a vagabond character to the group which is hard to define in many ways. The group is a moving target with a non-specific stable of individual members. However, regardless of any nomadic similarities, Up Up We Go did not appear to me to embrace the hapless, nihilistic lifestyle of the crust punks.
The core member of Up Up We Go is Salvatore Geloso, originally from Brooklyn, New York. His unique, impassioned style of delivery with highly animated facial expressions is what prompted my friend to bring them to my attention.
My first encounter with them was in Washington Square Park. A full ensemble was playing with an acoustic upright bass, accordion, violin, guitar, and a saw. Salvatore plays guitar, kazoo, and provides the lead vocals. I have seen saw players before, but they always seemed to be more of a novelty or curiosity. Here, in Up Up We Go, the saw was truly used melodically, adding a wonderful musical element to the melange. I was entranced by the music and must say that this was one of the most entertaining music ensembles I have seen on the streets of New York City. Their music, original or that of fellow musicians, was very catchy – I have been listening to The Pony Song for over 3 weeks.
Unfortunately, the group is hard to nail down, as they are not based in New York. Being the magnet that this city is means that this is a place where talent comes and goes. The group’s name is an apt metaphor for the vanishing act we will see soon. I hope it applies as well to future success for Salvatore and the band members of Up Up We Go 🙂
This is the 6th year I have attended and photographed the annual Mermaid Parade on the boardwalk by the ocean at Coney Island. Every year it is becoming larger and a little more difficult to negotiate through. I spent my time at the exit area for paraders, as you can see in my attached video. An entire city block is closed off, and with paraders milling about, it is much easier to mingle with and photograph parade participants. My favorite parade – highly recommended.
The weather was beautiful and there was lots of creativity as usual, but in Part 2, I will reveal this year’s Pièce de Résistance…
I had read that it was the dream of many Parisians to retire in Aix-en-Provence in the south of France, sometimes referred to as the city of a thousand fountains. It is also a city known for its many educational institutions. Its idyllic Mediterranean climate befits the Cours Mirabeau, the central artery running through the town. The wide street is beautifully shaded with double rows of plane-trees and flanked by elegant mansions built by nobility in the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries.
This tunnel of greenery is accented by fountains and lined with cafes. It was here, on one visit to France, that I witnessed what I told was a tradition in town among students. A group of recent grads was cavorting along the Cours near a fountain. Soon it became a virtual water park, with boys grabbing girls, shrieking and writhing, and dowsing them in the fountain pool. I had mixed feelings about the entire happening, which tasted a bit like involuntary fraternity hazing. Were they really having fun or bending to peer pressure? But I make an effort to be as non-critical as I can of cultural differences when traveling, lest I become another ugly American, like the man I featured in So Where’s David?
The last two days have been intolerably hot, with daytime temperatures near 100 degrees. There is little escape from summer heat in the city – New Yorkers find themselves shopping or staying indoors until the heat passes. Many, whether owing to lack of air conditioning or cabin fever, take to the streets and parks, invariably gravitating towards water. Such was the case last night in Washington Square Park.
I was taken by surprise to see an enormous group of teenagers replaying the Aix tradition. Although cavorting in the fountain in Washington Square Park becomes de rigueur during heat waves, I have rarely seen instances of forced dunking and certainly not like Thursday night. Soon, dunked or not, virtually everyone was soaking wet. I was also surprised that in 2012, it was still a guy-gets-girl thing, owing perhaps to France’s greater tenacity to customs rather than cultural change.
I was intrigued at the grouping and asked a number where they were from. I was told Monaco. I learned, however, that this was said as a matter of convenience, since they expected few to know the smaller town they were actually from. I met Christophe Boule, a teacher of English, who was one of the four adults supervising this group of high school students. The students had finished their academic year and were on a class trip to New York City – an annual tradition for their school. They were staying at the youth hostel in Manhattan on the Upper West Side. They were in fact not from Monaco but from Menton, near the Italian border. Menton is a delightful small city on the coast which boasts the warmest climate in France. I had passed through it once and always wished to attend their annual lemon festival.
When I initially approached Christophe and the other adults, they were understandably reticent and suspect of a stranger in New York City asking many questions. Their fears became slowly assuaged – my business card did a lot to establish credibility as a writer and photographer. After all, these things are often claimed by miscreants looking to get over on the innocent. One adult noticed that my last name was French. I confirmed that heritage. Now the attitude was rapidly changing.Our discussion turned to my enthusiasms about France, particularly my obsessions with medieval perched villages in the south. Now I appeared to be sérieux and truly interested in French culture.
Soon, all was well. The Cours Mirabeau in Aix, the customary fountain dunkings, my passion for all things French, my obsession with French villages, my visit to Menton. How serendipitous and fortuitous. New York City is such a befitting set for a remake of The French Connection 🙂
If you’re looking for that small, quaint, authentic, great place known only to neighborhood regulars in New York City, most likely you are not going to find it. The nature of communication as well as print and electronic media makes it nearly certain that such a place would be discovered quickly both by patrons. And, savvy owners/management will learn all too quickly about the value of buzz and will market and promote it to near death. Or at least develop an attitude and arrogance, fueled by the lines to get in.
This is the unfortunate reality. Nonetheless, I, like many, do seek out the “secret” New York and the special places that may have at least some of the old world charm that many of us love. Places at least not overrun by tourists. Admittedly, most of these quests are driven more by nostalgia and the belief that things were Better When.
In a world of instant gratification and a city of endless eateries, snacking on the go, particularly ice cream, has become the norm. There are numerous high-quality artisanal makers of ice cream in New York City, many of whom I have written about – Cones, Van Leeuwen Ice Cream Truck, Amorino, etc. Most business is takeout or from trucks.
Old-fashioned ice cream parlors are another matter altogether. Here, a number of factors conspire against their survival – trends, competition, a more mobile populace, escalating rents and costs, and high-quality packaged products available at stores everywhere.
Most searches to find old and authentic business establishments will take you out of Manhattan into the outer boroughs. A recent journey to Brooklyn for a birthday celebration led me to search for an after-dinner dessert place. Ironically, unbeknownst to me or my dinner companions, the place I located online, Anopoli Ice Cream Parlor and Family Restaurant at 6290 Third Avenue, turned out to be the very same place they had frequented 40 years before, around the corner from where they had lived in Bay Ridge. It was quite the walk down Memory Lane for them – I love expeditions with NYC natives to the places of their youth. It’s a window to a world gone by.
Anopoli was not just a restaurant or cafe, it was an old-fashioned ice cream parlor, which suited all of us quite fine – after all, who does not like ice cream? Searching for an old-fashioned ice cream parlor in New York City is nearly an exercise in futility – nearly all have disappeared. Only a handful survive in all five boroughs (including Eddie’s in Forest Hills, Queens), and this is one of them.
As a topping, the owner, Manny, was on hand. Manny Saviolakis took over the place with his father Steve in 1995. Anopoli celebrates 115 years in business in 2012 – the business still has some elements of the original decor. Anopoli has not succumbed to the ill effects of being a living legend or enjoying iconic status. The atmosphere is decidedly casual and old-school. The prices and portion sizes are a great value, particularly by Manhattan standards. The service was good, and we were not rushed – unlike a trendy place, where one feels a tremendous pressure to vacate and make room for the masses of patrons waiting to get in. Here, I chatted with Manny and our waitress, who was a family friend.
It was a very pleasant way to spend an evening. Everywhere you looked, whether frozen, whipped, or as wall decor, There Was Cream 🙂
In New Yorkers Gone Wild, I wrote of my high school English teacher, an extremely iconoclastic, outspoken, and controversial figure. He was, in many ways, our version of Dead Poets Society’s John Keating. He made a number of observations and recommended readings, all of which I took to heart, some more poignant and relevant in my life than others. Upon reading the Secret Life of Walter Mitty by James Thurber, he pointed out the value of becoming familiar with the character, telling us that we would encounter references to Walter Mitty later in life.
This turned out to be one of the things of lesser value in my life – I never recall anyone referencing Walter Mitty. I have, however, met many New Yorkers who do have a secret life, an alternate persona, or a cover that does not reflect the book’s contents. These individuals were the inspiration for a series of stories I have written entitled Abandon All Preconceived Notions Ye Who Enter here.
I have attended the annual HOWL! festival for a number of years. You can read more about it in my 2007 posting on the festival. Invariably I find something of interest, whether a band playing live music, a performance, a work of art, or an interesting character.
It was at this year’s festival that I encountered a Mittyesque character exhibiting his work at the festival’s Art Around the Park. Exhibiting is the appropriate word to describe Rolando Vega, an attendee of the festival since its inception. Rolando’s getup was certainly flamboyant, reminiscent of André Johnson, aka André J., a man I wrote about in Out There and Fashion Forward.
Rolando, however, is not in the fashion business, nor does he live an “artsy” lifestyle. He holds a high-level position in the corporate world and is a family man with two children. Rolando told me that he has worked since he was 14 and is a native New Yorker, having grown up in the projects of Red Hook, Brooklyn. Here, in today’s photos, you can see him as his alter ego, Chickinman, aka Walter Mitty 🙂
As I stood late night in Washington Square Park, the very faint sounds of violins began wafting over me and friends. Had I heard perhaps Ashokan Farewell, the haunting melody chosen by Ken Burns as the musical theme for his award-winning Civil War film series? I spotted two violinists across the park plaza and walked briskly in their direction. Here, late at night, one must strike while the music is hot. There are no guarantees how long anyone has played or will continue to play. If you like what you hear, better run and enjoy.
It was apparent that these were no ordinary musicians. I suspected that they were accomplished interlopers, on some mission in New York City, and, given some down time, had decided to grace us with their notes, as visitors are often apt to do. I was right, and I learned that the couple were a brother and sister who were in town to do a commercial recording gig. They had not played together in 20 years, so we were also privy to a family reunion.
I arrived as they were completing a song, and I asked if they knew Ashokan Farewell. Of course, they replied, and that they had just played it a moment before. They were, however, quite happy to play it again. I recorded a video:
I spoke to them and was surprised to learn that both were professional classically trained musicians and were in New York City only for some days for the recording session. They were leaving the next day. I learned their names, John and Rebecca Patek, and took their contact information. From John’s website:
John began playing the violin when he was two years old and hasn’t stopped since. Born and raised in Mequon, Wisconsin (a suburb of Milwaukee), John learned the art of performance at a young age through his involvement with both the Milwaukee Youth Symphony and the Homestead High School Orchestra.
John continues to perform actively in Switzerland, Italy and in the Midwestern United States. He also teaches several group and private lessons.
Rebecca Patek, from Wisconsin, began studying violin since she was 2 years old when she saw Itzhak Perlman playing violin on Sesame Street. She grew up playing classical violin and at 10 was playing with the Milwaukee Youth Symphony Orchestra. She became hooked on old time and bluegrass in middle school when her mom took her to a bluegrass jam at a local bar. Patek went on to study jazz violin and has won the Wisconsin state fiddle championship several times.
From a recent correspondence with John:
I was born in Milwaukee, WI in 1981 and grew up just north of Milwaukee in Thiensville, WI.
I am lucky to be a musician. I have my own private studio in Mequon, WI with about 15 students and I also teach at Milwaukee Montessori School. Currently I am a freelance musician based in Milwaukee but I was a member of the Madison symphony, I work as violinist with two different orchestras in Switzerland and am an active recording artist. I have worked with television, film scores and various bands contributing violin and cello tracks. I have worked quite a few non musical jobs but they only make me appreciate my life as violinist even more. I suppose this is the story for so many musicians but whenever I get to play the violin in know I am one of the luckiest people in the world.
I did my bachelors degree at the University of Wisconsin as a student of the late Vartan Manoogian, and did my masters degree at the Conservatory of Neuchatel in Switzerland studying under Stefan Muhmenthaler.
I split my time between Milwaukee and Switzerland. I have not lived anywhere else. I have gotten to travel throughout Europe because of the violin touring with orchestras and studying.
My Mom and Dad made sure that I had the best teachers, an amazing violin that I still play and was able to attend any summer festival i ever wanted. They love music and art and made sure that my sister and I were able to develop our talents and have a great time. They took us to lessons before school, drove us across the summer camps across the country, to and from youth symphony rehearsals, got us on flights to Europe and made sure we practiced before we wasted time like we wanted to.
Joan Rooney, one of my first violin teachers and Vartan and Stefan my teachers in College really made me realize how challenging and amazing playing the violin can be. I have had great teachers in music and my other academic classes and I know that because of them I do a better job teaching. I am able to combine all of their great guidance and ideas and share them with my students. I only hope that I can inspire my students the way my great teachers inspired me.
I was so glad to have made their acquaintance and heard some of their playing. On the streets of New York City, things are in flux, whimsical and temporal. To experiences those serendipitous pockets of joy, don’t deliberate, but Strike While the Music is Hot 🙂
Every year, I miss or almost miss my favorite street fair. It is located arguably in the most bucolic setting in Manhattan – in the West Village, occupying Commerce, Barrow, and Bedford Streets between 7th Avenue South and Hudson Street. There are hundreds of street fairs annually in New York City. However, most of these are run by corporate entities. In 2007, I wrote about these fairs:
This is the typical NYC street fair. To the uninitiated, it looks like fun. However, after doing a few of them, they are very boring. The problem is that you see the same vendors at virtually every fair, most of them of little interest – socks, gyros, small tools, bedding, Peruvian sweaters, imported crafts, CDs, smoothies, T-shirts, etc. The residents I know mostly ignore them, perhaps getting an occasional snack. A recent research group put it perfectly: “The fairs had lost all sense of novelty, catered too heavily to out-of-town vendors and failed to showcase the work of entrepreneurs and artists based in the five boroughs…The worst part is that they are uniformly bland.”
Nothing much has changed. I typically avoid these fairs, yearning for something of quality.
On Saturday, May 19th, I attended the 19th Annual BBC Village Crafts Fair and the 38th “Ye Olde Village Fair” – it was just the antidote to the street fair blues.
The fair is sponsored by the Bedford Barrow Commerce Block Association (BBC), the oldest and largest block association in Manhattan. It has over 300 members and is easily one of the most active community organizations in New York City. Their efforts include tree plantings, historic building plaques, and the Annual Hudson River Boat Ride.
One of the keys to the quality of merchandise sold at the fair is that participants are juried, something that New York City fairs could use more of. Left unchecked, street fairs end up pandering to the lowest common denominator – fast and easy money selling schlock.
In past years, tables were set up for dining. Wine was served – a rare and extraordinary thing in New York, particularly to manage and prevent drunken revelry ala Duval Street in Key West, Florida. There is live music, fresh lemonade, and homemade ice cream. Vendors of quality crafts line the tree-shaded streets. This year’s festival was also blessed with absolutely perfect weather. I was transported to Another Time 🙂
In the 20th and particularly the 21st century, one would expect concern over proper operation of heating systems to be a thing of the past. But, as I wrote in The Dark Ages, most steam heat systems work abominably in New York City, running too hot or too cold without indoor thermostats.
The spring and fall are particularly tricky times in or out of the heating season (October 1 through May 31). Even within the heating season, when outdoor temperatures rise, tenants find themselves in the situation where the outdoor temperature is not really warm enough to warrant no heat at all, yet none is provided and it is too cool indoors. For private homeowners outside the city, a little blast of heat in the morning is just what is needed to take the chill out. Here, however, in these transitional periods of late spring and late fall, whether one gets that welcome little bit of heat is subject to the discretion of the landlord and/or building staff. Often a complaint or two from those who are most intolerant will spur a supertendant to turn on the heat for a time.
Often, I have resorted to a small electric heater for early chilly mornings, but at best, these will only provide a very small area of comfort – nothing competes with a building’s steam system for getting the job done right.
So my nose and ears are typically piqued in hopes that I discern those unmistakable telltale sounds and smell of heat coming up. The characteristic squeals, hisses, spits, and clanking are all harbingers of good things to come. Perhaps perplexing to the urbanite how heating issues could be of such importance, the thing to understand is the tenant’s lack of control, regardless that someone maybe paying thousands of dollars per month.
Admittedly, city residents are typically spoiled by heat rising to the 80s indoors during prime heating season, so these cooler temperatures during late spring and fall may often be in the low 70s, certainly not “cold” by suburban or rural standards, where homeowners must pay for fuel themselves and are not spoiled by excessive heat.
But here, after a week of nippy mornings in mid-May, electric heaters, and heavy robes, I had all but given up hope for any steam heat this season. But then, at 6:24 AM, that familiar family of sounds began, at first nearly inaudible, teasing my senses whether it was my imagination, or was, as I had hoped, heat coming up. Soon, it was clear that someone in the building staff had made the decision to bless us with a much-needed shot of warmth. A quick check confirmed that, in fact, heat was coming up and that it was real, not imagined. The familiar orchestra of hisses and squeals became louder and to my ears was nothing less than The Sounds of Music 🙂
The outlaw spirit is alive and well in New York City. On my visit to Salerno Service Station on Saturday, April 28, 2012, a small group of bikers convened at the station. I brought it to Mario’s attention, and he informed me that there was a club house for the East Williamsburg chapter of the Unknown Bikers around the corner at 41 Maujer Street. I found them somewhat intimidating, but Mario assured me that the bikers had posed no problem to them at all over the years.
As I sauntered over to Maujer Street, I noticed that the street had been closed off with traffic cones to all but the motorcyclists. My timing was perfect – within seconds of my arrival, the street was filled with bikes and bikers.
Others were taking photos and filming, and I followed suit. I am always careful around bikers, not knowing what type of reaction I might get taking photos. I was scrutinized by numerous members, but it appeared that I had some type of tacit approval.
Certainly bikers come from all walks of life and, to some extent, are like the rest of us. But there has to be an element of iconoclasm for someone to ride a Harley, join a motorcycle club, and wear a jacket proclaiming membership. There is a defiance, a renegade outlaw free spirit that has surrounded motorcycles since their origins, and belonging to a motorcycle club and wearing a jacket certainly makes that statement.
It was clear that some type of event was underway. I asked the nature of the gathering, and I was introduced to the organizer who informed me that this was a charity effort, the 4th Annual Alie Run of Bikers Against Childhood Cancer Foundation. The final destination of the bikers would be the Brooklyn Hospital. Salerno Service Station is one of the sponsors of the event.
The organizer assured me that the members were regular people just like everyone else. Admittedly, I was surprised that the nature of the meeting was a children’s charity event. Actually, motorcycle charity rides are common throughout the United States. I imagine some cynics may feel that these efforts are only bad boys trying to ingratiate themselves with the public. I will give them the benefit of the doubt. Here, in East Williamsburg, Brooklyn, it looks to me like goodwill, courtesy of the Unknown Bikers 🙂
Shortly after running Part 1, I received the following email:
Love jacked part 1 lol , I’m honored for you to put us on your site . I’m happy your happy with the work on your car. Whenever you need to come in for Anything e mail me here first and I’ll Be happy to help you . Enjoy your weekend . Thank you . – Sal A.
Later, his mother wrote to me. She included the photo*, seen above. Here a few of her comments regarding my story and the business:
Hi Brian, My name is Margaret Avallone, my son Sal of Salerno Service Station, gave me your email address-
The article on your website “Jacked, part 1” is beautifully written and we truly appreciate your kind words. All of your articles on your web site are extremely well written and very entertaining and I look forward to reading your future articles.
Believe it or not, that was probably a “quiet” day at the station, as there are many other characters who frequent the station on a daily basis just to socialize. We enjoyed your view of our business and welcome you back anytime.
I inquired about the name Salerno. Margaret responded:
Salerno is the town in Italy where my father in law came from. He would have told you many more stories himself, but unfortunately, suffered a stroke in October and is just not the same.
Yes, they have great work ethics and they have a passion for cars as well as a passion for the community. Many people seem to find the business and family quite entertaining. We were approached several times with the idea of a reality show and someone did actually do a demo tape- but we refused to go any further. We weren’t looking to gain fame and all the problems that comes along with that.
We own real estate in the neighborhood that my husband built from empty rodent infested lots. When that section of Williamsburg wasn’t considered the trendy neighborhood it is now, it was quite broken down. My husband always loved the neighborhood and bought empty lots where buildings used to be at city auctions with hopes of restoring the area close to the gas station. His father actually thought he was wasting his money, but the neighborhood real estate values jumped tremendously and his investments proved to be quite fruitful.
My husband truly has a passion for the neighborhood and helps out as much as possible, from our huge Christmas display we do every year, to donating toys at local schools & hospitals and sponsoring just about every local youth sports team.
There is a lot more to Salerno then meets the eye.
It was a great pleasure to meet the Avallone family, and I intend to go back soon. I suggest you do too, for any auto repair or maybe just feeling that you need to be Jacked 🙂
*The photo is from the local feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, which does a procession through the neighborhood each year. They sell holy bread and make it a point to visit the gas station each year. Mario Avallone is in the center, and his two sons, Mario and Salvatore, are next to him.
I do believe that one of the reasons that civic improvements are not made in a timely manner is that legislators do not suffer the slings and arrows on a daily basis. The comfort of insulation will do a lot for apathy, and mornings outside in January without a coat will do a lot to propel someone to light a fire.
Even for those who grew up poor or working class, once removed, the frustrations become distant memories for those in office. But if they, like their constituency, had to rely on mass transit for their daily commute and experienced delays, rerouting, and other abuses, they would likely be first at bat for change. To depend 100% on public transportation and suffer the anxiety, stresses, and horrors of the system on a long term basis will grind many down, even the seasoned, tolerant New Yorker with a cast-iron stomach. I have known many residents who have been driven to near wit’s end over a life time of transit travel. Some, as several of my employees, have sworn off subways entirely, opting for bicycle travel, even in winter.
Saturday, April 21, was a beautiful sunny day, and I was to visit a friend in Staten Island. My car was in disrepair, so this would be the first time in my life where I would travel to a destination within Staten Island using public transportation. The X1 express bus was the logical choice, providing nearly door-to-door service for $5.50 one way. My friend warned me that this was the only sensible option.
However, I decided that given the weather, I would take the ferry and the SI Railway. I had never taken the SIR, and I was particularly excited to do so and document the trip. This means a three-legged trip: a subway to South Ferry, the ferry itself, and the Staten Island Rail to my final destination.
Descent to Hell
It started out innocently enough, with plenty of good cheer. It was, however, to become the ride from hell. Distracted with my cameras, iPad, and trip planning, my first mistake was getting on the subway on the uptown rather than downtown side. This was infuriating because at the Sheridan Square station, there is no underpass, so anyone making this mistake must leave the station, exit to the street, and reenter the other side, paying another fare – there is no provision for a free transfer under these circumstances. I was pissed as hell at my stupidity and even more so to give the NYC Transit Authority another $2.50 for no good reason.
As I descended the downtown stairway, I had just missed a train. Adding insult to injury, I was angrier yet, and my first leg to South Ferry was already delayed waiting for the next train. The change to the ferry at South Ferry went smoothly, and the ride at sea afforded ample opportunity for scenic photos and video. The Staten Island Ferry comes highly recommended – it is FREE and affords vistas of the East River bridges, the Manhattan skyline, Ellis Island, Brooklyn, New Jersey, the Verrazano Bridge, and the Statue of Liberty.
I had been warned by my friend that the travel option of choice was the X1 bus, not a three-legged workaround. I had told her that in this instance, I preferred the scenic route and, apart from my mishap taking the wrong train, it was looking like I would be heir to bragging rights for my decision to take the ferry. I was armed with photos and video to show her, which would just be further evidence that in NYC, there are different strokes for different folks. I had calmed down appreciably and was ready for my rail trip.
Hell Hath No Trains
When I arrived in Staten Island at the St. George terminal, I learned that due to construction, the SI Railway was not running from the ferry station. BIG disappointment. I was informed that there was a free shuttle bus to the first station on the line. This would make it a 4-legged trip. Additionally, no one could tell me where the shuttle bus was, including every driver of the local buses I could find. My patience had worn thin, and I decided to forgo the railway and take the local bus, the S79. Another big disappointment, and I was fed up.
Hell Hath No Buses
I was alone at the bus stop with one other passenger. It was desolate, and as I waited, time crawled by. I tried to ameliorate my anger, looking to my friend waiting at home for sympathy by making more and more frequent cellphone calls to her to complain. She was the perfect and willing shoulder to cry on, a classic New York cynic who hates all things New York City and has nothing good to say about public transportation. Of course, I got the obligatory “I told you sos,” but even she became incensed as the delay became nearly inexplicable. Over an hour had passed, and there was no S79 bus to be seen. The crowd of passengers had become large, but virtually no one appeared agitated at all.
All’s Hell That Starts and Ends Hell
The delay became extreme, and I paced like a wild animal. It was nearly ONE HOUR AND 30 MINUTES to wait for a local bus on a Saturday night! As I was to return that night and it was now after 9PM, I even considered getting back on the ferry and returning to Manhattan. My friend was not pleased with the prospect of an aborted visit, and neither was I. I continued to wait, and at last an S79 pulled up.
There was still little show of anger even amongst those who had waited for nearly as long as I had. There was neither an apology nor an explanation from the driver nor confrontations from the passengers as they silently boarded the bus. On board, I tried to recruit a sympathizer or two for what seemed to be an unconscionable act. In my conversation with one resident, I learned that delays like this are not uncommon, and he seemed resigned to his plight. He, as well as his fellow passengers, looked calm and collected. For them, it was business as usual for the ride home. For me, and I wish for a public servant, it was truly The Ride From Hell 🙁
People have different styles – I have always been a fan of openness and transparency. Privacy is not something which I embrace. In my writings, I have laid bare many stories involving my family members, my upbringing, my place of birth, my occupation, contact information, etc. So, it should come as no surprise that I am not a big fan of people who deliberately shroud themselves in mystery or speak of their work in concepts, vagaries, and generalities. The less specific, the more one can make assertions and personal claims which are difficult to challenge. This is the world of the self-proclaimed Creative Expert, of which I have previously written.
On Saturday, I met a couple promoting their wedding. When I asked their names, they identified themselves as Social Acceptance and Self Love. They heartily encouraged photos as they distributed postcard-sized invitations which said:
A New Era Has Begun…The Project J.U. Founder and Director cordially invite you to a wedding celebration for Social Acceptance and Self Love.
The location was listed as Bamboo 52 at 344 West 52nd Street, a sushi bar and lounge. I have no idea how many people this will accommodate or why our bride and groom would aggressively promote their wedding celebration to everyone on the streets of New York City.
I have no idea if Project J.U. exists in mind, cyberspace only, or whether there are real people and initiatives involved. According to the website:
Project J.U. is a nonprofit organization whose mission is to help individuals recognize the great potential they possess because of their uniqueness and personal values. Project J.U. is dedicated to all people with no regards to gender, weight, physical attributes, sexual orientation, ethnicity, etc. Project J.U. has a goal of providing empowerment, education and life skills to the community with a special dedication to at-risk students and adults. Project J.U. host an array of activities including workshops, forums, and special events. These events will utilize social networks and print media while advocating the organizational motif, “Just Unique.”
With a little digging, I learned that the groom is Julius Jones and that he has a BA in English and Mass Communications from North Carolina Central University and is currently working on an MBA at the Keller Graduate School of Business. He lists his skill sets as: motivational speaking, public speaking, product advocacy and branding, customer service, and corporate communication.
If you are going to market, brand, spin, or promote, there’s no better place to sell yourself and/or your ideas than New York City, particularly when Speaking in Tongues 🙂
One of the peculiar dilemmas of living in New York City is the compelling feeling that there is a world outside the city and simultaneously no desire to leave it. Often, particularly on a beautiful day, I have a strong desire to take a day trip and explore some rural hinterland to enjoy nature. Then, stepping out my door with a sincere intent to only briefly sample the city, I found myself shipwrecked again on the shores of Manhattan, having been lured by the Sirens of Culture. Often, I make it no further than steps from my home in Washington Square Park, a brewery of local and international talent.
I sit in cognitive dissonance, torn by the desire to broaden my horizons yet trapped by a menagerie of entertainers, the like of which is to be found nowhere else. Part of me feels that there must be more to life than this plot of 10 acres that landscape architect George Vellonakis referred to as America’s Piazza. Not an exaggeration at all, the park is a meeting place for every imaginable type of individual from sociopaths, lunatics, misfits, geniuses, budding and established artists, painters, chess players, writers, photographers, intellects, local residents, and visitors. It is a place where the conversationalist can meet and engage in conversations on any subject imaginable, both privately or in forums.
However, the biggest draw here is the music, and with some luck, on a good day, one can find a virtual festival of professional talent. So it was that on Saturday and Sunday, I was lured in by the music of Jessy Carolina and the Hot Mess. I found myself listening for hours along with a large steady crowd who found themselves so engaged that many resorted to Dancing in the Streets. From their website:
Jessy Carolina & The Hot Mess is a New York City-based ensemble specializing in early American roots and jazz music from the late 1800’s to the 1930’s. The group features Jessy Carolina on vocals and washboard, Jerron “Blind Boy” Paxton on piano, banjo, and vocals, Jordan Hyde on guitar, Jay Sanford on bass, Mario J. Maggio on clarinet and saxophone, and Satoru Ohashi on trumpet and trombone.
Jessy, who hails from Venezuela, grew up in North Dakota, and later moved to New York City, has a voice and singing style that ropes in passersby who find themselves entranced and engaged. The talent of all the members of the group is exceptional, and it comes as a huge treat to find such talent on the street – Jessy Carolina and the Hot Mess has performed in a variety of venues, both in and out of the city. Catch ’em when you can. I’ll see you in the parks and streets of New York City, lured by the Sirens of Culture 🙂
