• Category Archives Slings and Arrows of NYC
  • Titillation of the Day

    Recently, one of my employees had her wallet stolen by a pickpocket in the subway system (she concluded it was not lost by the various details concerning her bag). She called and had to rendezvous with me to borrow money to return home. She is now in the process of canceling and replacing her credit cards, drivers license, and other critically important documents and cards.
    To lose things of importance is a tremendous inconvenience, not to mention replacement cost. Anyone who has lost a wallet can attest to this. And unfortunately, the prospect of return is grim – where is one to look?

    I don’t trust others to handle finding the owner of a lost article in a timely fashion. By timely, I mean with a sense of real urgency. After all, the person losing an article, particularly ID and credit cards, needs to know the status as soon as possible. Otherwise, unnecessary efforts will be made. Nearly all will make the assumption that anything lost, is lost forever. This is why, on a number of occasions, I have turned the return of a lost item into a minor obsession – you can read my story about a lost, found, and returned driver’s license and the owner, Nicole Dubuc. See Area Code 714, Part 1 here and Area Code 714, Part 2 here.

    On December 26, 2008, in a story called Lost and Found, I told of my experience in Paris, where lost articles were often repositioned prominently in near where it was found, in hopes the original owner will return via that route and find it. Since that time, I have noticed this practice on the streets of New York City. It may come as somewhat surprising, but the more aware you are of this practice, the more likely you will notice it.

    I wish there was a better way to handle lost and found articles – a definitive, universally known and utilized place and system. There are a number of New York City lost and found websites and also labeling systems, which, of course, require advance preventive action. However, unless the whole endeavor is centralized and reaches critical mass, most will never use any lost and found.

    On Monday, March 14th, at the Astor Place train station, I was very surprised and pleased to see one high heel shoe prominently placed in the window of the token booth. I assumed this was a lost shoe being displayed for its owner and not the New York City Transit Authority’s foray into a new program – Titillation of the Day 🙂


  • Listen to the Birds

    Posted on by Brian Dubé

    The range of housing options in New York City is truly staggering – railroad flats in tenements, prewar high rises, modern towers, single and two family houses, mini-mansions, historic 19th century brownstones.

    However, the cost of housing is so extraordinarily high that for most, neighborhood choice, housing, and lifestyle is severely compromised by financial concerns. Where as in the suburbs, most working individuals own their own home at a relatively young age, in New York City, many share apartments with roommates, even into retirement years. Others may continue to live with an ex-spouse while one or both date and cohabit with others. In the case where parents live in New York City, many live with their family through college and beyond, often until marriage. It is also common for younger people to move to neighborhoods completely alien to them, often as outsiders in ethnic enclaves such as Astoria.

    The equation is simple – housing cost is a function of distance from Manhattan, a park or other desirability, and safety/crime. When the lack of positives and a plethora of negatives conspire against a neighborhood, it then becomes a reasonably priced option. There still are some hinterlands, such as Far Rockaway, which have yet to appear in the media as the new SoHo.

    The equation, when viewed with Einsteinian relativity, still applies at all income and wealth levels. On the Upper East Side, proximity to Fifth Avenue and Central Park will determine cost. For residents in the Village, undesirable will mean too close to 14th Street or 6th Avenue. In Park Slope, Brooklyn, the formula is simple – the closer to Prospect Park, the better.

    Downtown Brooklyn along Flatbush Avenue was never considered particularly desirable, certainly not for residential use. I have been through this area thousands of times by car. Recently, I have noticed a cluster of four towers on/near Flatbush Avenue close to the Manhattan Bridge. All of these are new residential projects – Oro, Avalon Fort Greene, DKLB BKYN, and Toren (seen in today’s photo). I am not a fan of modern high rise apartment buildings, but I find this tower quite beautiful architecturally and it has attracted my attention on every passing.

    I personally live in a landmark townhouse. In spite of its tremendous charm and ambiance (which, along with below market rent, is what keeps me here), I do have to tolerate a litany of antiquated services and living conditions – poor ventilation, excessive heat, poor windows, poor heating and cooling, plumbing leaks, roof leaks, no elevator, and things that don’t work.

    Looking at the floor plans and list of amenities in a project like the Toren can make one envious. The 35 story property has an indoor heated swimming pool, a fitness center, tiered two story roof decks, a library, outdoor movie theater/screening room, on site parking, storage, elegant kitchens, large living spaces with high ceilings, curtain walls of glass, doorman, 24 hour concierge, Pilates studio room, saunas, and laundry facilities. The interiors are exquisitely appointed with high quality cabinetry, appliances, flooring etc. And of course there are extraordinary vistas of the city. The building was designed by Skidmore, Owings and Merrill LLP (SOM), the award winning, one of the world’s largest architectural firms.

    The Toren does look so beautiful, inside and out. I do love vistas. But I don’t want to look out to a bejeweled cityscape from behind a floor to ceiling glass window, in a climate controlled apartment. Spring is around the corner – soon I will want to throw open my windows, look out to green and budding flowers, and walk the tree lined crooked little streets of the West Village. And listen to the birds 🙂

    Posted on by Brian Dubé

  • Urban Elephants and Hydraulic Tusks

    We have many many sounds in the city, some unique and some we share with our suburban and country brethren. For those whose apartments face the street, there is the unabated sound of street traffic, less or more depending on where one faces and the time of day. There are also birds, dogs barking, or the occasional screams and shouts of children at play. At night, there is the sound of taxis dropping off passengers – usually identifiable by the longer time between opening and closing of doors and the conversations that sometimes ensue between passengers and driver. There is the walk of the lone and confident woman with every step of her hard heels clearly audible. 

    Then there is the occasional late night revelry, screaming, or fighting of the severely inebriated. The sounds of these individuals getting into vehicles is not a pleasant prospect. The vehicle often jettisons away with squealing tires.

    In the early morning we have the trumpeting of urban Elephants, i.e. garbage trucks, and the crunching and groaning of debris caught in their hydraulic tusks.
    In the case of new, substantial snow, there are giveaway sounds – the reduced frequency of cars, the telltale echo of snow shovels, and the unmistakable grind of the snowplow against the pavement. In the event of rain, I can hear the spray of water against tires and the roadway.

    I have windows facing a park which I have featured in the four seasons: Spring (Enchanted April), Signs of Summer, Fall (Wood, Glass, Brass and Trees), and Winter (White By Design 2). In the mornings, however, I often rise before sunrise and immediately go to my laptop, typically without even looking out the window. Instead I rely on the sounds of the city. – perhaps for any number of reasons, including a growing reliance on the Internet and also being out of tune with the outdoors and nature from living in such a high urbanized environment. This morning, I had no idea we had another in a series of snowstorms until I heard a snow shovel.

    On an Apple computer, the F4 key immediately displays the dashboard, a group of widgets which can be custom configured. I currently have mine to include the weather which displays the current conditions and the week’s weather forecast. I can see if the sun is shining without turning around.

    But not everything can be experienced through the Internet, the F4 key, or even the sounds of the city. You’ve got to look out your window if you want to see the snow, and you have to step into the streets and follow the trumpeting if you want to see Urban Elephants and their Hydraulic Tusks 🙂


  • Pure Chocolate

    My family members are savers – the classic, thrifty New Englanders who waste nothing, where the third R of the waste management triangle, Recycle, was virtually unknown because the first two (Reduce, Reuse) were maximized as much as humanly possible. We wear shoes too small or keep them in the closet in perpetuity (see One Size Too Small here.)
    My father grew up picking potatoes and cutting wood in Maine, often in subzero temperatures. Even to this day, everything he does is defined by an extreme sense of survival. I have seen him scrape burnt toast and clean and fold aluminum foil for reuse.

    In our home, for chocolate milk, we had Nestle’s Quik, not Bosco or Nutella. I have a suspicion that this choice was driven both by compulsive neatness, another hallmark of many a spartan, Shaker-like New England household and the idea that it is easier to extract every last gram of powder from a can than syrup from a bottle. My father would watch our Nestle’s Quik mixing ritual with a very keen eye. Regardless of how vigorously we stirred, there would always be some residue at the bottom of the glass. He would shake his head and in the most disapproving tone would say, “Look at that. Pure chocolate.”

    To this day, on the occasions that I may have some dessert or beverage with chocolate sauce, memories of Nestle’s Quik give me some agita, even in New York City where there is enormous waste. If every citizen practiced the most careful, frugal lifestyle, the sheer size of this metropolis still turns everything into a big thing, be it snow removal, traffic, or the volume of trash. New York City produces an extraordinary 12,000 tons of garbage daily.

    Seeing all the goods in this city, along with all the trash, does give the sense that to be in New York is to live in the horn of plenty. Even the underprivileged or homeless will do better here than in a less populated environment. There are outreach programs, soup kitchens, shelters, and just lots for the picking in the streets of the city. When offered food, I have seen many homeless ask what it is before accepting. On Wednesday nights in Washington Square Park, a Christian group brings free food. But I have seen many homeless turn down food offers from them, saying that they were either full or did not appear interested in the selection. I am not extolling the benefits of the homeless life nor diminishing its hardships. But opportunity is much greater in New York to get by.

    Recently, I celebrated a friend’s birthday at Mud. The desserts are a little pricey but excellent. Three of us shared two desserts with chocolate sauce. As you can see from the photographic evidence, we did a respectable job of finishing what was served. However, looking at the finished plate with a scrutinizing eye, one can hear a haunting voice that says, “Look at that. Pure Chocolate” 🙂


  • Pickup Day

    There are few visible things that shout what is wrong about a city more than its visible trash. The 1970 film The Out of Towners, starring Jack Lemmon, is set in New York City. Lemmon, who is visiting the city from Ohio for a job interview in Manhattan, confronts every imaginable problem and setback in an unrelenting assault in New York City meets man and wife. One of the elements portrayed in the basket of city ills is a garbage strike in mid-summer, a common stereotypical theme particularly embraced by outsiders that are not city lovers. What better icons to represent all that is disgusting in an urban environment that rats or garbage?

    Technological progress moves on, yet the methods and means of trash pickup have fundamentally not changed. Pickups are typically made by the sanitation department in early morning, hence, trash is put out curbside the night before, adorning the city sidewalks even in the finest of neighborhoods.
    Many buildings have dedicated areas indoors so that garbage does not have to sit on the street. However, many do not, and it is not always possible to retrofit a small building with facilities. In neighborhoods with tenement-style buildings, there often is a small area in front where garbage cans are kept for use by tenants.

    None of these solutions are particularly attractive and, in all cases, passersby add their personal refuse, taking an unsightly situation and making it worse. There are also garbage pickers and the homeless, who often tear open bags of trash to examine the contents, leaving the sidewalk strewn with garbage. Snow mounds themselves are often used as trash receptacles, only to reveal its contents after melting (see Snow Temples here).

    The recent blizzard has left the city with mountains of curbside snow, making trash collection in many areas all but impossible, with the usual finger pointing and name calling as the garbage festers. In celebration of the scenario, I have rewritten the holiday classic song Silver Bells:

    City sidewalks, dirty sidewalks
    Dressed in post-snowstorm style
    In the air there’s a feeling
    Of Litter
    Children laughing, people gasping
    Meeting pile after pile
    And on every street corner you’ll see
    Bags of trash
    Bags of trash
    It’s Pickup time in the city
    One by one,
    Hear trucks come
    Soon it will be Pickup Day

    Related Posts: Rats Gone Wild, Trash and Treasure, Garbage a la Mode, Wildlife Control, Rats R Us, The Dark Ages


  • Slush Fun


    Right now, the New York City streets and landscape are defined by the aftermath of the recent snowstorm. Invariably, talk of snowstorms here will include the dreaded melting and slush, analogous to the Mud Season of northern New England. So, it is befitting to end this week of snow-related postings with the last phase of a snow accumulation now underway, with the “blessing” of warmer temperatures.

    At intersections across the city, pedestrians confront slush puddles, often large and deep enough to approach lake size and be quite daunting – it is common to see people standing in contemplation, paralyzed with indecision. There is jumping, pond skipping, circumnavigation while trying to locate firmer ground, or even abandoning a particular intersection and trying another. For those attired in tall rubber boots, there is just walking through without concern.

    However, extensive walking is the norm here, and sidewalks are largely navigable without waterproof shoes, so for many, lugging a pair of shoes to change into or the prospect of wearing boots all day at the office are all unappealing. So, many tread the streets with footwear that really is inadequate for a world of slush.

    As the slush to snow ratio becomes larger towards the end of a big melt, there is also the danger of heavy splashing as vehicles careen through slush. An unpleasant surprise, now you can enjoy the day looking like a mutant dalmatian. The seasoned native practices scanning and defensive walking and has learned long ago that there is no such thing as walking too far from the curb.

    For someone living in New York City, there is a building and adopting of many defensive strategies, whether it is where to keep your wallet, chaining bicycles, protecting against auto vandalism (as I wrote about in No Radio), window glass etching (see here), or how to navigate on slush days. To the native, these become second nature, automatic reflexes. To the visitor or outsider, this panoply of life strategies is unfathomable, and to many new residents, the aggregate number of inconveniences can be too much to endure, as I wrote in Dwanna.

    Even for the seasoned New Yorker, there is certainly a level of internalized stress that is often not recognized until one leaves, temporarily or permanently. A close friend who moved from the city described this period of readjustment as decompression.

    For those committed to being here, Happy New Year and join the Slush Fun 🙂


  • Blizzard

    In a city of extremes and superlatives and one that is a bit of a drama queen with a tremendous ego, a blizzard is one of many events that lets the world know – hey, we got that too. It’s a media bonanza with tales of the stranded and acts of stoicism in a city that is virtually shut down.

    We can however, only take credit for surviving it because, like it or not, this is mother nature’s call and we don’t control the weather yet. So the event does not go as planned. Today’s blizzard is a record breaker, the sixth largest in New York City history. We experienced high winds, 17 continuous hours of snow, heavy accumulations, 3-5 feet of drifts, and even thundersnow. Central Park reported 20 inches.

    For the first time in memory, none of my coworkers have been able to get to the office. Service on some subway and bus lines have been suspended. People have been stranded in trains and in cars on highways. Some cannot exit their homes because of snow drifts. Streets are not plowed. Sidewalks are not cleared. Some have spent hours getting to their workplace in Manhattan only to find them closed, then returning home.

    And, of course, there is the day off for many, an unexpected perk after a Christmas holiday and extending the weekend. For those not inconvenienced, and there are many who have been trapped in airports, trains, and cars, it is an opportunity to hole up at home.

    Once behind us and all is well again, it will be another feather in the cap of the New Yorker. That even here, we can survive a blizzard…


  • Area Code 714

    The Story of a thing Lost, Found and Nicole Dubuc. Part 2 (see Part 1 here)

    Of course it was Nicole. A very, very happy Nicole. At one juncture in her profusive thanks, she asserted that she owed me a lot. To which I responded that she would have a way to repay me in a way she would not expect. Her response was a concerned OK.
    I told her she could pick up her license at any time – at my office or elsewhere after work. Immediately is the time she chose and accompanied (with a male friend) is the way she came. I imagine my comment regarding repayment would concern anyone.

    On meeting me, Nicole seemed relieved to find I was not a psychopathic serial killer but a business owner surrounded by people and immersed in the throws of the holiday season. After a brief tour, I made my proposal: could I take a photo of her and do a story for this website? And would she agree to supplying some biographical details by email? She gave me her email address. I provided her with a biographical questionnaire. I imagine that all this was much more than she ever imagined, but she agreed:

    FROM NICOLE’S EMAIL:

    Thanks again for all your help with the license — seriously, you were a lifesaver. Thank you for sharing your blog with me! I’m humbled and honored to be invited to contribute.

    ABOUT HER EDUCATION:

    I was born in Huntington Beach, California. I went to Yale University. I have a BA in English and graduated with my pre-med requirements fulfilled. Which means I can recite poetry while I apply bandaids.

    Most of my work has been in the entertainment industry in one way or another — I started out as a child actress, and then after graduating college (with a six month stint in the world of dot coms), I became a writer, with most of my work in animated tv series.

    ANYTHING ELSE TO SHARE?

    Well, I can tell you a bit about animation — I love it. I watched cartoons as a kid and all through college. I knew the names of Pokemon way past the age where that is acceptable trivia. I’m very proud of some of the shows I worked on this year; “Young Justice,” a new DC/WB show about the sidekicks of the DC universe coming into their own, and “Transformers: Prime,” Hasbro’s new computer-animated show.

    WOW, SO I ASKED NICOLE IF SHE WAS A CELEBRITY:

    I wouldn’t classify myself as a celebrity, but when I was a child actress I was a regular on “Major Dad” and “Our House,” which still occasionally leads to people recognizing me. Apparently I look exactly the same. I acted for 11 years in commercials, TV and movies before finishing high school and calling it quits for college.

    WHY SHE WAS HERE AND HOW SHE FEELS ABOUT NEW YORK CITY:

    I was visiting New York for fun! I hadn’t been back this time of year since I was in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (many moons ago), and I wanted to see the city in holiday splendor. This trip I indulged my Christmas craving by skating at Rockefeller Center, seeing the Rockettes, and cruising the windows at Macy’s. I think I’ve been to New York over ten times (easy when you’re living in CT), and I love the constant current of excitement that seems to permeate the place.

    The biggest difference between the East Coast and the West Coast that I noted when I came here for college was that in California you got a free refill on your iced tea or Coke or whatever, and on the East Coast you were charged for it. To me, that can be extrapolated to say something about the cultures of the place: in NYC there’s less space, less time, and you have to EARN your place. In CA, it’s more laid back, more willing to accept you… But perhaps less sincere about it because it’s so easily achieved. Or, you know, maybe I’ve just been going to the wrong restaurants.

    HOW SHE LOST HER LICENSE:

    I lost my license coming back from Babbo. I LOVE Mario Batali, and I try to eat at his restaurant whenever I’m here. One thing I’m really unfamiliar with is wearing a coat/scarf/gloves/hat when I’m going out, so I think in juggling all my belongings, my license didn’t get as firmly placed in my back pocket as it should have. And, seeing as I skipped twenty blocks home from dinner because I was so happy with a belly full of boar papparadelle, it’s no wonder it fell out.

    AND WHY SHE BELIEVES IT WAS FOUND AND RETURNED TO HER:

    Whenever we lose something in my family, we say a prayer to St. Anthony. I picture him as a very harried monk-like guy who rolls his eyes and says, “really?! What did you lose NOW?” He waves you away and says, “I’ll see what I can do, alright?” So it was to the St. Anthony in my subconscious I turned to when I couldn’t find my license.

    A SMALL MIRACLE ON THE PHONES:

    And I didn’t realize it was missing until around 1 PM, since I was writing all morning. Earlier, I had called my mom, and during our conversation and my rundown on my amazing meal at Babbo, she noticed she was getting a call from New York. “Who else besides you would call me from New York?” she mused. We laughed it off and it went forgotten until she got my second call of the day, panicked and all thoughts of chianti banished from my mind. That’s when she remembered your call and finally listened to the message. She called me back and it basically went like this:

    Mom: I know where your license is.
    Me (wondering if my mom’s up-til-now-dormant psychic powers were suddenly making their appearance, and grateful they were): What?!
    Mom (dramatic, as though speaking with spirits beyond): It’s in SoHo.
    Me: How could you possibly know that? Is this like a Miss Cleo moment?
    Mom: This very nice man called. He said he found it. He’s so kind, said he knew you’d be worried sick. You should call him back. See if he’s single.
    Me: MOM!!!!
    Mom: You’re the one who dropped your license. And who am I to argue with fate?

    I’M GLAD YOU GOT YOUR LICENSE BACK. MERRY CHRISTMAS, NICOLE!

    See Nicole’s Internet Movie Database page here.
    See Nicole’s website here.


  • Area Code 714

    The Story of a thing Lost, Found and Nicole Dubuc. Part 1

    It was so obviously, cleanly, and squarely placed on the sidewalk, it was begging to be picked up. So much so, that my friend Bill, who spotted the license, was concerned that perhaps it had been planted there intentionally for some nefarious reason. We found it on Washington Square North on my way my home.
    I love the opportunity to do a good deed, but it was not clear what type of deed this would end up being. Undaunted as the the fool who rushes in where angels fear to tread, I picked up the driver’s license* and examined the identity of the owner.

    ‘Twas a Californian from Huntington Beach. I do love California, so this was not only an opportunity to do the right thing, but also to be an ambassador of good will and let it be known to those in the Sunshine State that New York is not a den of charlatans, thieves, and ne’er-do-wells.

    When arriving at my home my first priority was to do an online lookup. Nicole Dubuc was easy to find. However, in spite of an extensive website, Nicole had absolutely NO contact information whatsoever.
    A whitepages.com lookup produced a Nicole Dubuc with matching address. However, in what was becoming a common occurrence, a companion website was offering additional information, including the phone number, for a charge. However, many a New Yorker refuses to pay a toll and prides him or herself on taking the free alternate road. I was not going to pay for a phone number. At least not yet. And I am tenacious. But it was late. Off to bed. I would try searching again in the morning.

    On rising, I did a reverse lookup on the address instead of a name search and, voila, a phone number. I would wait a few hours until 10 AM Eastern Time before calling the California number. At 10 AM (7 AM Pacific Time), I made the call and was quite disappointed to get an answering machine. I left a detailed message, explaining that I had found the license and gave my cell phone and business numbers. I also explained that I would be carrying the license all day and would be at my office in SoHo where the owner could pick it up. Or she could arrange to pick it up after office hours.

    I hoped that I had sounded as honest as possible on my message – who would believe that anyone would go through all this trouble? Why not just throw the card in an envelope and mail it back, as all my coworkers suggested?
    But I wanted to let Nicole know NOW that her card had been found and make unnecessary any efforts on her part to start the process of replacing her license. Also, as a traveler away from home, I was sure that a driver’s license would be important. 

    As I ruminated during the day, an idea began to crystallize. I had visited Nicole’s website and she appeared to be quite interesting. Perhaps this tale of lost and found, depending on how it played out, might make a story.
    But by mid-afternoon, with no returned phone call, I was beginning to have my doubts about getting Nicole’s license back to her in New York City. The story was secondary. I was just ready to make a second and last phone call when, at 3:32 PM, my cellphone rang. A glance showed exactly what I was hoping for, a number with area code 714… (see part 2 here)

    *For Nicole’s privacy, some of the data on the license’s image has been deleted.


  • Sirens of Convenience

    I had a friend, Steve, with whom I shared the same sense of humor. Over time, we developed shtick that we enjoyed doing at every opportunity. One involved the creation of a character who did not care about money – a blowhard, someone like Ralph Cramden of the Honeymooners TV Series who has little but flaunts what he has to appear to be a big man.

    Any time we were together, Steve would typically bring out this character without warning for maximum effect. “Mr. Dubé, I don’t care about money. I throw it away. In fact, here’s some money now [Steve would take out a bill]. I’m throwing it away. [he would crumple it and throw it to the ground].” His delivery and style was superb, and we never tired of this bit.

    Although this character was not based specifically on any New Yorker, it is not too far from how many New Yorkers appear to treat money. The incredibly high cost of business rents in tandem with incomes that are typically higher and the incredible convenience of services and goods all conspire to develop a very cavalier attitude by many New Yorkers concerning money. This leads to outrageous statements like “Their food is ridiculously cheap. Salad is only $7.95 a pound,” or paying more for a product because you are too lazy to cross the street and go to a supermarket.

    Recently, a friend and I noticed small pieces of Divine Organics Raw Chocolate Brittle for $10.89 each in a local natural foods store. We are never daunted by prices in the city, and extreme examples abound and surround us. Nonetheless, we found this product at $10.89 for a 1.6 ounce piece so outrageous (that’s $108.90 per pound), it has become a source of amusement whenever we see it.

    I’ve been to places, and perhaps you have also, where the value of money is taken very seriously, where even a dollar or 50 cents means something. I once ate at a diner in rural Maine where I asked for a substitution in a dinner platter. Since something of lesser cost replaced something of greater cost, the waitress actually volunteered a price reduction of some cents. I can’t dream of such a scenario in New York City.

    New York City is a seductress, with the sirens of convenience ready to lure you in. If you crash upon our shores, the easiest way to spare your life is with money. Just tell the sirens, “I don’t care about money. I throw it away. In fact, here’s some money now. I’m throwing it away.” 🙂


  • Not Moving to Florida

    I recall an uncle extolling the virtues of living on Eagle Lake in Maine in the winter, telling me how wonderful it was, about ice fishing, and how you had the entire lake to yourself. Not to offend and retort aloud, I thought to myself – of course you have it to yourself, who would want Eagle Lake in the winter?

    Although not as extreme, the seasons of New York City are never pleasing to me (see Weather Means Whether). I look forward to the spring, the harbinger of all good things to come, but it is always a disappointment. It is often too wet, colder, and windier than I would like. Flying kites or trying to sit on a park bench seems to be an exercise in hand rubbing.

    But not to worry, summer is on the way, certainly the season we wait for and celebrate. Until we have a few unseasonably warm days in late spring and I realize that summer in the city will be oppressive and crowded with tourists and that there is no respite from the heat without leaving – autumn and winter look very appealing now. After all, the solution to cold is quite simple, is it not? Just add more clothing. Summer arrives, and all my worst fears and memories are realized. The teaming masses mixed with high humidity and relentless sun make New York City in the summer virtually unbearable. But summer is actually quite short, and autumn is just over the horizon.

    Autumn, however, is just a tease for what a perfect world might feel like (see Quito here) and a clear reminder that what nature giveth, it also taketh away. Days are often too cool to spend extended periods outdoors, and we now have more of the hand rubbing of spring. Leaves are falling, things are dying, and I am already fearful of the death grip of winter, which is fast arriving.

    Winter arrives, and although we are blessed with little snow in the city, it is more uncomfortable than I remembered. The respite from the heat I wished for in July and August looks foolish now – what was I thinking? The holidays do provide a much needed distraction before the bleak stretch of winter starting in January. Soon I am looking to spring again, only to reflect and reprimand myself for not enjoying what I had last year.

    As winter closes in and I realize that every season in New York City has its shortcomings, the thought of other, perhaps better, places, rather than other seasons, rears its head. But I am a little wiser now. I have been down that road too. No, best I enjoy images of a foliated New York in summer, because, at least for now*, I’m not moving to Florida 🙂

    *Interestingly, my aforementioned uncle, steadfast in his commitment to Maine and its hard winters, eventually became a snowbird and moved to Florida late in life where he lived out his life.

    Photo Notes: Top – The Dakota as seen from the Lake in Central Park. Center – West 4th Street. Bottom – the Ramble in Central Park.


  • Because It’s Not

    With luggage in hand, I always walk by or through Washington Square Park on Thanksgiving day as I journey to New England to visit my family. On a bleak, gray morning, I find it particularly saddening, as invariably I see people alone in a deserted space, knowing that for many, this will be how they spend their day.

    When I was much younger, many of us espoused how a holiday or birthday was “just another day” and really meant nothing. Foolish to me now – on the occasions I did have to spend a holiday away from family, I worked hard to dismiss my sadness – who can really swim against a tide of a major national holiday that is defined by the family meal and is so emotionally charged with signs and reminders at every turn? Not I.

    I have featured the classic New York City celebratory events on this website in the past – you can see them here: Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, the inflation ritual before the night of the parade (here and here), natural ornamentation found around the city, and displays of abundant foods. Retail promotions are everywhere to be seen, here in the city as elsewhere. Today, Macy’s opened at 4AM for what is now being called Black Thursday. The tree at Rockefeller Center has been installed, ready for the annual lighting ceremony. This is the New York City we see in the media and the one that visitors expect.

    But not everyone is enjoying the Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving family dinner.
    I left my home this morning at 6:50 AM with camera in hand to see and show a different side.
    A food vendor was already set up with his cart readied for the day. There were partially eaten containers of food and discarded clothing scattered about. Typical early morning sights before the park cleanup staff completes their rounds. I met Yusef, who was resting his feet, sitting alone on a park bench. He asked me about the time of the parade.

    I gave him my card. He noticed and identified the red-tailed hawk. I told him the story of how I came to get that photo. He was familiar with the famed hawks on Fifth Avenue overlooking Central Park. He asked what I was doing today, and I told him of my family and that I would be visiting in Connecticut.

    When I asked about his family, he told me he has only met his father twice and his mother was shot by her boyfriend some years ago. I did not ask what he was doing for Thanksgiving, and I was not going to insult him by telling him not to worry, it was just another day. Because it’s not…

    Note: Today, along with the good fortune I have had in my life, I would also like to thank all readers of this blog for your patronage and uplifting comments. Happy Thanksgiving to all.


  • Eternal Vigilance and Tenacity


    I know a man who has trained domestic cats that do an entire circus act, including jumping through hoops of fire*. Remarkable, really. I have had a number of cats in my lifetime, and as anyone can attest, they are extremely difficult to train or discipline. Much as it has been said that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance – it is also the price of having a disciplined feline. Cats are extraordinarily persistent, patient, and unrelenting in getting what they want and ultimately will wear an owner down the moment he or she relaxes.

    New York City is also quite unrelenting. Thieves never give up, new measures to secure property are foiled, drug dealers move back into areas cleaned up, and new variants on vandalism arise. Only massive diligence and constant attention have a permanent effect. Few areas of the city get that kind of attention. When things do improve, the tendency is to relax. And then that damn cat is back on the kitchen counter.

    There is a lot of whining and howling from bicyclers in New York City who want to see a more bike-friendly city. Understandable, since on the surface of it, bicycling would seem like a wonderful mode of transport, like it is elsewhere. Efficient, clean, lean, and green. I love bicycles and have always had one in the city, although I use it much less frequently now.

    However – and New York is the city of howevers – bicycling in New York has had a plethora of problems and roadblocks, daunting to all but the toughest and most tenacious. The dangers and deaths are realities (see the ghost bike of Derek Lake here). Two of my coworkers are regular bikers and commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan daily. One has pledged that she is essentially boycotting the city’s transit system due to cost. It requires the use of heavy locks, chains, and bravery to navigate the streets of New York.

    Bicycling has seen numerous setbacks and obstacles to progress. In other parts of the United States and Europe, we see many innovative and progressive ideas regarding bicycle use and storage. Hearing of things like The Yellow Bike Project of Portland Oregon or the BikeValet Automated parking system of Europe (there are plans to install this in NYC) just adds insult to injury for the New York cyclist who only aspires to getting from here to there safely and parking without their bike being stolen or vandalized.

    But the bike community in New York City is militant and relentless. Recently, a number of steps forward have been taken. Bike lanes have been more seriously implemented, and new legislation has been passed: buildings with freight elevators are required to allow employees to bring their bikes upstairs and parking garages of certain sizes are now required to offer parking for bicycles (see the NY times article here). Many question, though, whether $68.89 per month is progressive or draconian. Rates as high as $160 per month have been reported.

    Ultimately, improvements and positive change in New York City are incremental and arduous as we move two steps forward and one step back. Whether cats, freedom, crime, or bicycles in New York, the price is always eternal vigilance and tenacity…

    *The act is known as Dominique and his Flying House Cats. Dominique LeFort performs regularly at Westin Pier for Sunset Celebration adjacent to Mallory Square in Key West, Florida. Valery Tsoraev with Clyde Beatty-Cole Bros Circus has an act with trained house cats. Yuri Kuklachev, a clown with the Bolshoi Circus, created the Moscow Cats Theatre featuring 120 domestic cats. Gregory Popovich started Comedy Pet Theatre with 14 cats, eight dogs, three rats, and two pigeons.

    Other Bicycling Posts: Derek Lake (ghost bike), Orange You Glad, Get Well Curve, Jungle Gym, Left For Dead, Urban Bike Polo, Wild Crash, Art Bikes, Penny Farthing


  • I’ve Got a Feeling


    I looked for symbols and icons of the city, and they were everywhere to be found in people, places, and things. My business logo was inspired by the Bloomingdales typeface. Woody Allen’s films seemed to say everything I felt about New York. The Washington Square Arch was a gateway to bohemian life. There was Grand Central Station, the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, Fifth Avenue, Macy’s, Central Park, and Times Square.

    I needed a bank account, and I was flying over the airport in San Juan, Puerto Rico. As we circled for our final approach, there was a giant Chase logo in the grass below. The geometric octagonal logo* seemed so bold and strong, like a bank should be. And, I thought, it must be a substantial enterprise to have a presence so far from New York City.

    My banking decision was made there on that final landing. On returning home, I opened my first small business account with Chase Manhattan. And my instincts and luck as an inexperienced man were good. Chase has weathered many economic storms and has fared quite well.
    But this is not a story about or a promotion for Chase.

    New York City is a place that you either get or you don’t. Or, perhaps better said, it gets you or it doesn’t. We can make lists of pros and cons. We can make charts and graphs, but like any affair of the heart, love is not about statistics or arguments for or against. New York should make you feel like the impassioned Paul McCartney in the Beatles concert of 1969, where he proclaimed I’ve Got A Feeling from the rooftop.

    When I moved to New York City in 1969, you certainly would be hard pressed to make much of a rational case for the Big Apple. Things were falling apart with the city teetering on bankruptcy. Crime was high, quality of life was low. Graffiti and garbage were everywhere. For myself and my college friends, all of this was just part of the fabric of the city. Shortcomings were only small hurdles to jump over or nuisances to slalom around, but nothing served as a deterrent to living here whatsoever.

    As a place to visit, New York City is certainly easier to sell now. But as a place to live, there are all the same inconveniences of any big city, with new hurdles and slalom poles. If you’re looking for sensible reasons to live here, look elsewhere. If you’re looking for a place to love and one that will love you back, welcome to our world. I hope to find you on a rooftop one day singing I’ve Got a Feeling 🙂

    *The Chase Logo was designed in 1960 by the firm of Chermayeff & Geismar Inc., whose portfolio of work shows an astonishing array of company logos.

    Photo Note: This is the Chase Building at Times Square.


  • White Birch Canoe

    I am disheartened to read “How the city hurts your brain” from the Boston Globe, January 2, 2009 (see it here). Many nature lovers both in and out of the city have, of course, long maintained that the city was injurious to mental health while nature was restorative. And city lovers have extolled the benefits of a stimulatory environment rich in culture and the deadening of suburban and rural life.

    However, there are now scientific studies which demonstrate that just being in an urban environment impairs our mental functions. The Boston Globe article cites these studies, including that of Marc Berman, a psychologist at the University of Michigan. “Just being in an urban environment, they have found, impairs our basic mental processes.” “This new research suggests that cities actually dull our thinking, sometimes dramatically so.” This is of increasing concern, since the number of people in cities now exceeds that in the country.

    And, although stimulation can be a good thing, there can always be too much of a good thing, and apparently New York City provides just that:

    “The mind is a limited machine,”says Marc Berman, a psychologist at the University of Michigan and lead author of a new study that measured the cognitive deficits caused by a short urban walk. “And we’re beginning to understand the different ways that a city can exceed those limitations.”
    Perhaps this was the reason that a friend and regular reader of this blog (Mary P) chose to feast her newly functioning eye1 on this lone white birch tree2 last night at dinner. As she described her fascination with the gentle motions of the branches in the wind, my mind traveled. The window was not just a clichéd metaphor, but it also provided a literal view of a tree which was for me, in turn, a vehicle to other times and places – my upbringing and frequent travel in New England and the birch forests there.

    I reflected on my love of white birch trees, their distinctive bark and the wood, influenced no doubt by my father’s occupation as a wood cutter in Maine with his love of fly fishing and birch bark canoes. We had discussed many times the beauty of the white bark. Its gracefulness with delicate branches and slender trunk were never spoken of, but I could see that now, contrasted with the concrete urbanity around it.

    I pledge to get out of the city more often – the Boston Globe article jogged what my subconscious mind must already know and desire. But until then, I’m going to take a ride in a birch bark canoe 🙂

    1) Mary P has has recently undergone laser eye surgery (one eye at a time) for her deteriorating eyesight. She is finding the new and vastly improved vision in one eye a new lease on life. Enjoy, Mary.

    2) The white birch is relatively rare in New York City. The 10 most common trees are: 1. London plane tree (15.3%) 2. Norway maple (14.1%), 3. Callery pear (10.9%), 4. Honey locust (8.9%), 5. Pin oak (7.5%), 6. Little leaf linden (4.7%), 7. Green ash (3.5%), 8. Red maple (3.5%), 9. Silver maple (3.2%), 10. Ginkgo (2.8%)



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