FEELING NO BERN

Posted on April 14, 2016 by xaviertrevino

 

bernie

Oh, no, politics again! Well, not really. More like almost apathy.
This morning after getting to work late again courtesy of NYC transit (Thanks again!) I was doing my daily get to work ritual of running into the bathroom to relieve my bladder, my BPH you know, and if you didn’t you do now; well I went to the bathroom and sat (just in case) and scrolled through my emails.
There was one from Songkick, a website that lets you know when your favorite bands are performing and it was about Vampire Weekend.
I’ve liked Vampire Weekend since I first heard them (10?) years ago. They were my very first digital music purchase, from Other Music on 3rd Street.
It felt really weird to pay for a little slip of paper with a redemption code on it, that was it-three or four bucks for a code that let me download three songs, Oxford Coma, Cape Cod Kassawa, and something else I can’t remember.
I love those boys, have the first three albums but have never seen them. I missed them when they were young and new and playing for peanuts in Williamsburg, and I actually lived in Williamsburg at the time. Oh, well.

VampireWeekend_Tox12.article_x4
But here was my chance, so I clicked on “Buy Tickets” and was redirected to the Bernie Sanders campaign website. Hmm.
Vampire Weekend, for free, if you can sit (stand actually) for a speech from Bernie Sanders first.
When I first heard of Bernie Sanders last summer I was intrigued, he sounded smart and caring. I even attended a volunteer for Bernie meeting in Washington Heights, I was bored and unemployed and it sounded like a fun thing to do one evening since the wife was out of town. Better than sitting home by myself.
The crowd that was there was a mix, young and middle aged, mostly white, mostly middle class. There were a couple of women in their 60’s festooned with campaign buttons and wore Crocs who can only be described as Red Diaper babies. I didn’t even know what a Red Diaper baby was until I dated one accidentally quite a while back.
Which was I realized was what was wrong with Bernie for me. And probably for most of the serious electorate.
The Socialist word.
I’m not so crazy about Hillary either; she’s about the most inaccessible person in the world, on a par with Al Gore. But she’s a more electable candidate, in my view. I shudder to think of a world with The Donald in the White House, what will he do? Fire everybody?
So the invitation to attend the Bernie Rally and see Vampire Weekend was free, and they were throwing Spike Lee into the mix. Though if I were Bernie, I’d think twice about having Spike around, wasn’t he at all of those games the Knicks lost? I like Spike, but I would think twice about his mojo.

spikelee-570x325
I RSVP’d and was sent an electronic permission to enter Washington Square park at 5 PM. God, isn’t digital technology wonderful?

This wouldn’t be the first time I attended a presidential race rally. In 1984, when I worked in a shoe store in Kew Gardens, Queens I found myself at a lunchtime rally for Walter Mondale and Geraldine Ferraro. There they were, large as life, along with Mario Cuomo (Who introduced them after saying a few words) and Mayor Koch. How am I doin Ed.
I can’t remember what anyone said, I just remember it wasn’t an earth-shattering crowd, if I could just wade in and didn’t have to wait for hours they way I would have waited if I’d gone to tonight’s rally.
I used to buy liquor for my then boss at the shoe store across the street at the liquor store on Queens Blvd., and one day a year or so after the election I was in there one day and in walks Geraldine Ferraro. She was placing her order, similar to my boss’s order “two Stoli’s and two Johnny Blacks…” She looked like she could do some drinking, and she smelled of cigarettes, too.

ferraro

During lunch I announced my plans for after work, which prompted, guesses as to how many people could fit into Washington Square Park.
“I think like 14 thousand people,” said Slava, a politically incorrect guy to the bone. “You wouldn’t find me there with that many people,” he added.
“24 thousand, actually,” said Jack after a quick Google check. The 24 thousand number really provoked some dismay. I thought back to the hours I spent waiting to see the Pope last fall, and how I wasn’t able to pee for hours. That’s a scary thought for a man with BPH. My resolve weakened.
If I went to the rally I wouldn’t be able to take home the two green juices I had in the fridge. No liquids, backpacks or packages allowed.
I should go, do something different, I told myself.
Ah, but the pain and discomfort, I thought as well.
My wife Danusia was going to pass on it. If she had said yes, I would have gone.
So, the thought of being in a crowd of thousands of people, alone, and not being able to pee really tilted the scales. I did it for the Pope, but I really like this Pope, shit, I Love this Pope!
I love Vampire Weekend, but the old guy in the bad suit, nah. He should be able to buy a nice suit. And the Larry David bit about the one pair of boxers that he dries on the radiator, well that’s something I will never forget, and I always think of when I see Mr. Sanders in his baggy undetermined color suit.
When I left work I took my two green juices, (one was from yesterday) and made the reservation in my head- if they let me in with the juices, I stay. If they say I can’t bring in my juice, I go. They made Danusia throw away a very nice water bottle I’d gotten for free in Union Square park last summer when we went to see the Pope. An empty water bottle, for Christsakes. So I was going to be defiant, no juice, no Xavier.
When I got to 23rd Street I said fuck it, I’m going home. I’m too old to stand in line and then in a huge crowd. Even to see Vampire Weekend for free. I can watch it on the news tonight.
I will however, be voting on Tuesday. After all, the polling place is right across the street from my house.

All images have been downloaded from the internet.

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IT SHOULD BE A CRIME

Posted on April 9, 2016 by xaviertrevino

crime1.1

When Mayor De Blasio was running for mayor, his opponents said crime would return to the heyday of David Dinkins’s wild west New York. Of course, this in itself is a sort of racist implication, but more about that later.
According to commissioner William Bratton and his much heralded CompStat program, (we are up to CompStat 2.0, incidentally) crime in NY has dropped dramatically since he took over from Ray Kelly.
Mayor De Blasio recently touted how crime YTD is down 1.7% from the same period last year, but further added that crime is down a whopping 5.8% since 2014, his first year as mayor.
Never mind that almost every day now there is a report of a slashing on the subway. Last week there was 2 in one day.
Tuesday morning I was on my way to work, I take the D or B train to 34th Street and transfer to an F or M train to get to 23rd Street. The second I got off the train around 8:20 or so an announcement was made:
“Due to an investigation at 21st Street Queensbridge there is no downtown F or M train service.” I immediately headed for the escalator, so I could jump on a downtown R train. But as I was about to get on the escalator, there was a new announcement:
“D and B trains will be making local stops between 34th Street and West 4th Street.” I waited.
When a D train finally came in, after waiting outside the station for a full 5 minutes (I could see it stopped there) I hopped on, only to discover after the doors had closed that despite the announcement, the next stop would be West 4th Street. I guess the train operator didn’t get the word.
Getting conflicting or just plain wrong information from NYC Transit is nothing new, I think it’s their stock in trade with employees sitting in a room somewhere snickering at sucker New Yorkers waiting for phantom trains.

crime1
I only mention this incident because I found out THREE DAYS LATER that the reason for the delay was that a young man had snatched a cell phone from an even younger woman on a subway platform somewhere in Queens and then tried to escape by jumping down onto the tracks and attempting to run through the tunnel. Another train hit him, and though he survived I was a half hour late to work and the service interruption lasted upwards of two and a half hours. Way to go, NYC transit.
So it was a crime, one that occurred at the height of the morning rush hour.
I am watching TV as I write this, and I just saw for the umpteenth time a video of a man struggling with his victim at an exit of the 6 Train Bleecker Street station early this morning. He slashed his victim as well as robbing him.
Yesterday I rode home from a meeting downtown on the C train, and at 42nd Street five police officers got on the train. Four were white and one was African American, or perhaps a dark-skinned Latino. We rode together all the way to 145th Street where the five of them got off together. During the entire 12-minute or so ride, the four white officers engaged in banter and interacted with each other. Not once did any of them address the officer of color, and neither did he interact with them. That is the state of our police department in a nutshell.
Last Saturday I went to get the paper after starting the laundry at my regular Laundromat down the block, on the corner of 152nd Street and Broadway. As I walked downtown on the block between 152nd and 151st Street I noticed the ladder to one of the fire escapes was down. Then I further noticed crime scene tape everywhere, in front of that building, on the tree in front, and across the downtown lane of Broadway at the corner of 151st.
I looked up, and there was a whole window missing from one of the 3rd floor apartments facing the fire escape.

crime2
Of course whatever happened never made the news, as most of the crime in my precinct, the 30th.
Just for kicks I looked up the CompStat figures for the 30th Precinct for this year, and here’s what they are:
No murders.
5 rapes.
45 robberies.
41 felonious assaults.
13 burglaries.
3 shooting victims.

window
We’ve been here 18 months, and though I was a little leery at first, I feel pretty comfortable walking the streets, despite all of the sidewalk memorials I’ve seen on Broadway (most crime happens on Broadway it seems) for shooting and stabbing victims. Most of those crimes are personal, and since I don’t know anyone around here I don’t worry too much. But it shouldn’t be that way. Those involved shouldn’t need to worry that if something happens to them their assailant will probably never be caught or prosecuted.
There was a mugging at my subway stop on February 1st. A man was slashed for refusing to give up his cell phone to his attacker around 8:30 PM.
Again trains were delayed (I wondered why the C was not stopping at 155th that night) and an assailant got away. The next day there was another slashing on the C line at 110th Street, a dispute over an illegal metro card swipe.
I have to say I don’t feel too safe on the subway. A week ago I rode a downtown C train with a homeless man who spent most of the ride throwing garbage against the car wall opposite of where he sat. He was in very good physical shape and angry. I would not want to have had to fight him.
I felt much safer when Mayor Mike was in charge and Ray Kelly was running the department. However bad his reputation with the minority community was, he really cared about making the streets safe, instead of about numbers.
I did not vote for De Blasio, and I for sure won’t vote for him when he runs for a second term. I just hope someone with more sense comes along.

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MEDITATION WITH CAT

Posted on March 16, 2016 by xaviertrevino

 

 

cat 1Last night my wife Danusia and I went to a guided meditation at Tibet house.
That was nothing new; we’ve been there before. My friend Ezra turned me on to the meditation at Tibet house a couple of months ago.
I’ve recently found myself in urgent need of some kind of spirituality, I didn’t even notice it was lacking until something hit me in the face. More about that some other time.
For now, I just want to talk about meditation in general, and Tibet House specifically.
There are other places to meditate, or you can meditate alone if you wish in the comfort of your own home, but there’s something special about the quiet you feel in a roomful of strangers. It’s heartening to know we can all settle down even if for a short while. Gives me hope for the rest of the world.

three animals

Part of the current exhibit at Tibet House.

So the first time I went to Tibet house some six weeks ago I got there late, I was to meet my friend Ezra who’d advised me to get there at least a half hour before 7 if I wanted to get a seat. Unfortunately I was talking to his lady friend Jenny, explaining my sudden need for a spiritual awakening.
I got there late and was lucky enough to stake out a three square foot section of cold concrete floor. The place was packed.
The featured meditation leader (is that what you call them?) was a woman by the name of Sharon Salzberg. She is obviously very big in the meditation game judging by the crowd and the amount of books she said she’s written.
I have to say that all of her patter and stories aside, I was able to lose myself for two 15-minute periods that evening, and I vowed to return. The second “sit,” as a meditation period is called was a little easier, a volunteer came around distributing cushions to the latecomers.
I came back the following week with Danusia, an hour early. We got good seats near the front, I could actually see all of Susan Salzberg rather than just a portion of her legs and feet and an occasional hand as she gesticulated as I had the previous week. Again the room was packed. And again, I left feeling very light, cleansed in a way. I wanted more.
I looked at the schedule, and Ms. Salzberg was done for the foreseeable future.
Desperate for some more meditation, we went to a Japanese place on 4th Avenue near 12th Street one week, but that Japanese lady who led the meditation talked too much during the sit for my taste.
We started doing meditation at home, the two of us, sometimes with our singing bowl. But like I said, there’s something special about group meditation.
I found out there was a session at Tibet house for last evening, and the same woman, Mary Riley Nichols will be there till April.
I got there at 6, but Danusia texted me she would be late. I got good seats in the front row, right behind the two rows of cushions in front of the teacher’s platform.
While I waited I visited with the Dalai Lama in the special little room off to the side of the open gallery.

dahli lama
I sat cross-legged in front of his picture on a meditation cushion and closed my eyes.
I’ll do a hundred breaths, I told myself. By the time I got to ten I amended it to fifty.
“Fifty breaths, that should do it.” Fifty breaths took about six minutes, so a hundred would have taken me close to the target fifteen.
Danusia showed up, and we were surprised that by 7pm the room was still relatively empty. I should say not packed, because there were people there. Nobody was on the cushions in front of the platform.
“Please, if you can, come sit here in front on the cushions,” Ms. Nichols said. She sat in a cross-legged yoga pose on a cushion on the platform, a sharp contrast to Ms. Salzberg, who sits in a big easy chair. We and a few of the more daring attendees took seats. Danusia and I were right in front.
She had a totally different style, using yoga techniques and breathing for our meditation, and even passing around some pictures. We stood and did some easy poses, opening up our hearts and perineum’s. (It’s tantric, she’d say.)
There were three sits, the last one with OM, and I’ve never felt so good saying OM. She did a lot of explaining, and made me feel comfortable and even entertained.
At some point a ginger cat made an appearance, weaving through the people on the floor. That was entertaining too.
The cat jumped up on the platform with Mary, at one point trying to sit in her lap. He was unneutered and looking for spiritual awareness.

cat
Danusia managed to pick him up.
And then we were done. She asked for questions or comments, and when there were none, I offered up an “it was fun.”
It was. Two hours went by quickly, I didn’t even think of going to the bathroom once.

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INVASION OF THE SEAT HOGS

Posted on February 28, 2016 by xaviertrevino

seat hogs – Version 2

 

I have to thank my good friend Maureen Rice for the inspiration for today’s blog. She posted a picture of a guy doing some serious man-spreading on what looked like the F train, and it thought, “hey, I’ve got some seat hog pictures myself! And it’s one of my pet peeves!” So here we are.

I was on the M-5 bus last week on my way home, and there were THREE, that’s right THREE seat hogs within spitting distance of each other.
There was this guy:

sh1

He had two kids on one side and needed a seat for the kid’s backpacks on his other side. Good power of example for your kids, huh?
Then there was this lady, who needed a seat for her plastic shopping bag:

sh2

There was a gentleman right in front of her who needed a seat for his cane. They both sat on the aisle and made sure no one could get at that window seat. I debated asking one of them to scoot over so I could sit but instead played the martyr and stood and stewed.
A word about that- even though none of these people, all well to-do white Upper-West Siders would pull out a utility knife and slash me for saying something you never know with all of the crazy people who ride the subway. A man was slashed on the subway the other day just because he bumped into someone.
How can you avoid bumping into people on the subway?
It is a little scary.

sh3

Even if you could, would you sit next to this guy?

I was on the train this morning, a D train and at 59th Street some guy ranting about God and Jesus and hell got on. I considered putting in my earbuds, something I usually do when someone’s headphones (sometimes no headphones) are too loud, but I knew this would probably provoke the guy into more fire-and brimstone self-serving shouting. At the next stop there was another train going in the same direction and I ran across the platform silently praying, “Close the doors, close the doors,” as I watched the holy roller hollerer contemplating following me onto the E train. He chose to spew more dogma on the D train, just throwing out a few dire warnings about hell and damnation to people walking by on the platform. I’d love to tell those guys (or women) to shut the HELL up.
I’d like to ask some of the seat hogs clever things like,
“Is your bag comfortable?”
Or for the man-spreader,
“Are your balls swollen? Did you get kicked or something?”
One of my co-workers who was going on vacation mentioned at lunch the other day how he’d brought his big backpack and tent to work on the crowded subway that morning, he was leaving straight from work, and he said,
“I was ‘THAT GUY’ today.” Too bad more are not aware of their self-absorbed behavior.
Well, at least I am. If I carry a backpack I take it off and put it on the floor. I never, ever put a bag on the seat next to me, and I never eat on the subway. Hey, but eating on the subway can be the theme of another blog post, no? I’ve got to get some pictures. That shouldn’t be too hard.

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CHICKEN FOR LUNCH

Posted on February 22, 2016 by xaviertrevino

 

lunch1

A couple of weeks ago at work the boss handed me a menu and said, “The lunch girl isn’t here today, would you mind ordering?”

So like that I became the lunch girl for the day. It seemed simple, I’d seen her do it day in and day out, I know that we pass a menu around and each employee lists what they want from the designated menu, then there is a little space on the ordering page to order from Terri Vegan on 23rd street. We get most of our drinks and the occasional soup from Terri. I thought it would be a cinch.

num pang sandwich

The menu was from a place called Num Pang, just around the corner from us on Broadway. The boss told me to order on the phone and then go pick it up because it’s faster. He doesn’t like to wait for his lunch, we’ve had lost orders and late deliveries in the past.
Num Pang specializes in Vietnamese sandwiches, and just about everybody ordered pulled pork on gluten-free quinoa bread; there was one five-spiced glazed pork belly sandwich. I ordered the grilled steak salad.
Before calling Num Pang, I called Terri, and as I looked at what everyone had ordered I had to make some clarifications. Some one had put down “T.B. with R.P.”
I tracked him down and said, “What’s TB and RP?”
“Oh, you’re not down with the shop jargon, are you? I want a Terri Berri smoothie with rice protein.” Ah, TB with rp, I see.

Berry-Smoothie
So I called Terri, gave them our number and said no, this isn’t the girl, she’s out today and I’m doing the ordering. I always get a green juice from Terri and I asked for three green juices. Only one was for me, mind you.
“What kinda green juice would you like?” The girl on the phone said. That threw me a little.
“A green green juice, I said.”
“We got two kinds, which one you want?”
“What are the two kinds,” I asked, trying to imagine how many greens there can be in the world.
“We got Live Long and Green and we got…” I knew that one, that’s what it said on every green juice I’d ever gotten from Terri. I thought it was cute, a takeoff on Mr. Spock from Star Trek.
“Yeah, that’s the one, Live Long and Green, three of them.” I saw someone had put a couple of soups under the Terri headline and ordered those as well, along with the T.B with R.P. smoothie.

Then I called Num Pang.

“Hi, I’d like to place an order and come pick it up please.”

“You have to order from Seamless or Grub Hub.”
“Why can’t I order from you?”
“Sir, you have to order on line.” I didn’t know what to do; I’ve never ordered food on line before, so I hung up. I had an Idea. I re-dialed.
“Listen, I’m picking it up, why can’t I order from you and just come over and get it?”
Sir, we don’t take phone orders. You have to order from Seamless or Grub Hub. Then you can pick it up.”
“OK, what if I came down there and ordered at the counter and waited for it, can I do that?” I was beginning to think I was in the scene from Five Easy Pieces, where Jack Nicholson can’t get two pieces of toast unless he orders a whole chicken sandwich.
“Yeah, you could do that. Sir.” I hung up the phone and got ready to go. I told one of the guys and he said,
“I’ll show you how to order online.” We went to the young lady’s computer and with a click of the mouse, seamless came up. Our account is bookmarked. I should have known that, but being unfamiliar with Windows, I couldn’t figure out how to find the bookmarks.
We found Num Pang and the rest was easy, except I forgot to order the boss’s salad.
As it turned out, we ended up a salad short and a pulled pork sandwich extra. There was also a drink I hadn’t asked for. I went back to get the salad, they said to keep the drink and extra sandwich. Sorry about that.

horsecake
I forgot to order dessert.
I had to do the whole thing all over again the following Friday, this time we got Sushi and I was able to order direct from the Sushi place, and the only mistake I made was to get chicken in the boss’s fried rice.
I forgot the desert again, and the boss likes his dessert. I’m going to have to ask the lunch girl where she orders the dessert from, get it right the next time. Because I know there will always be a next time.

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WAITING FOR THE BUS TRAIN

Posted on February 7, 2016 by xaviertrevino

 

tram

Every afternoon (or is it early evening?) around 5:20 pm there are three uptown M-3 buses traveling together up St. Nicholas Avenue near 147th Street. I have noticed this phenomenon almost every weekday that I look at my BUSES app downstairs at the 145th Street A, C, D, B train station, to decide whether I should get off on 145th or wait for the C to go the extra stop to 155th, which puts me two blocks closer to home. (I’m usually on a D or B train)

bus train 2

Well, here’s two at least.

I often miss all three of them, because they travel so close together one or the other keep going because the passengers all get on the first one that stops, and they sort of leap-frog each other. Too bad they aren’t staggered to arrive one every five or so minutes instead of all three at once. I like to call it the bus train.
It doesn’t just happen here, one block over on Amsterdam you can count on two M-100s followed by an M-101 to come in quick succession, miss those and you’ll be there another 20 minutes for the next three buses.
The BUSES app I have on my phone is tapped into the MTA GPS system, so you can get a real-time estimate of how long you have to wait for the next bus. The MTA themselves have an app, not as good, where you text the bus stop code, which is displayed on the little schedule/map/stop identifier at each stop, and you get a text back telling you how long till the next bus. Pretty cumbersome, considering that third party app I mentioned.

bus train

The best thing about the app is that if I know the next bus is a half hour away I can just walk home; it’s a ten-minute walk. If it wasn’t uphill I wouldn’t care so much, but seven long blocks uphill is no fun at all, especially when you are carrying groceries. The food store situation up here in Hamilton Heights is deplorable. It’s more expensive to shop at the local Key Food or C-Town than it is to shop at Whole Foods, believe it or not. So I wait for the bus if possible.
Mayor Bill had a wonderful idea this week, to build a tram along the Brooklyn waterfront to connect Brooklyn and Queens. It would be even better to build more tram lines, but one is a good start.
When I was a child, I remember seeing half buried train tracks in the streets in downtown Brooklyn, where I first lived when coming to this country. I was fascinated, there were tracks but no trains.
“What are the tracks for, Mama?” I would ask my mother.
“Well, they were for the trams, but there are no more trams here. We have trams in Mexico.”
Yes, there used to be tram lines all over the city. And people would dodge the tramcars, which is how the Brooklyn Dodgers got their name.
There are trams in Poland, as I discovered last spring. They were fast, clean, and easy to navigate. Guess who’s backward now…

trolly

Wouldn’t you like to ride one of these?

Americans were sold on buses as a replacement for trams by the auto industry in the 1950s, and it was a big mistake, as far as I’m concerned. More congestion, more carbon emissions, more dead people. Bus drivers have a hard time seeing people when they make turns. Hell, they have a hard time seeing people waiting at the bus stop sometimes.

When I lived in Williamsburg I had occasion to take the B-39 bus across the bridge, and sometimes connecting to the B-46 that would take me up Broadway to my home near Graham Ave. The stop fro both of those buses are at the Bridge Plaza, a mini bus depot. There is a dispatcher’s shack, a bathroom, and I guess a lounge/locker room for drivers there. I would often eavesdrop on the bus driver’s conversations, most of which consisted of complaints against dispatchers and supervisors.
I heard one memorable conversation that went like this once:
“I like to wait for a few lights over by Ralph Avenue.”
“Oh, man, you shouldn’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“The GPS, they got you on the GPS, man. You gonna get your ass suspended!”
“They don’t know, maybe a truck was stuck in front of me or something.”
Or maybe he was waiting for a couple of more buses so they could leapfrog down Broadway. It must be fun.

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THE LAST JUNK STORE ON CANAL

Posted on February 1, 2016 by xaviertrevino

junk

 

I was on Canal Street one day ten days ago or so, before the big snowstorm, and came across a junk store:

junk store.jpg

There used to be dozens of these on Canal, before all of the handbag and perfume knock-off stores took over.
One of my favorites was a few blocks east of this one on Church Street, probably on Wooster. It was an actual hardware store where you could buy drills and other power tools as well as rummage through bins of dental drill accessories and dental picks.
In the ‘90s, when I was a rabid plastic model airplane builder I would spend hours rummaging through these bins for just the right bit to put on my rotating tool or the right pick to push or hold tiny plastic pieces into place. I even used the picks for actual tooth cleaning, scraping plaque off of my teeth wherever I could. Now that store is gone, along with all those other stores with used dishes, pots and pans, fans, motors, wire, and whatever other junk there was surplus of.
Canal Jeans started as an army surplus store.

nets
I’ve been working on 25th Street in the Flatiron district since September, and have explored the area a bit owing to frequent trips to Whole Foods over on 7th Avenue and the FedEx store for my boss over on 7th also.
Whole Foods is housed in what used to be a Federal Building, I know that because I was on the V.A. methadone program in the ‘90s and it was on the 9th floor of that building.
On the block of 25th between 6th and 7th there are a bunch of specialty stores catering mostly to window display products, and for some reason a few cutlery and findings places.

scisors store
The findings place reminds me of National Shoe Findings on the Bowery where I used to go to buy leather and shoe repair supplies when I was a half-assed self taught shoe repairman in the ‘90s. Rubber cement by the gallon, for all you glue huffers out there…

findings
Seeing these stores made me nostalgic for the days when there were actual clothing factories near 7th Avenue in the ‘30s, the streets, not the decade.

display
There were sweatshops in Soho and Chinatown as well, where I would help myself to the scrap leather and fabric in the dumpsters to make stuff to sell on the street.
Old New York, it was a different world, more tactile, more vibrant than the slick steel and glass and digital displays of today.
Don’t get me wrong, I like slick technology, but sometimes I miss the feel of metal, leather, of fabric between my fingers, choosing which will fit in with whatever I was creating that day.

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THE REAL DEAL

Posted on January 23, 2016 by xaviertrevino

 

 

152ndThe big discussion at lunch where I work yesterday was the coming storm. Everyone wondered if it was going to be as bad as predicted.
“Nah,” I said. “They always make a big deal about it, and it always misses the city. Maybe upstate, New Jersey for sure, but I doubt we’ll get more than four or five inches…”
Well, I’m glad I don’t have to eat my hat or pay off any bets today, because I was wrong.
I was supposed to go out to Long Island City this morning to do a little job for a friend, but I texted him after I’d been out this morning and said, “maybe another day.”
Instead I did my laundry.
I left the house with my laundry bag and my little Whole Foods carryall, hoping the streets weren’t totally covered yet. I couldn’t see much from the window except that it was snowing, but when I got to the front door I was surprised to see that the stairs had snow on them. Our super, Pedro was already shoveling the frontage and spreading salt. I was able to make it 20 feet before I had to opt for walking in the street in a tire rut. I dragged my little two-wheeled carryall as best as I could down 152nd street.
I waited till almost 7:30 before leaving, normally this would be too late at the laundry because the machine hogs would already be there, but I didn’t put much stock in the machine hogs dragging a hundred pounds of laundry through the snow. My fifteen pounds was hard enough.
To my surprise, the roll-down gate was still down, and no sign of the laundry lady. I waited a few minutes, and I took my first snow picture, the one at the top of this post.
I gave up waiting and started down Broadway to the next laundry on 150th Street. They were open and I was the first one in. I started my machines and debated walking down to 148th Street to the Mexican products store to see if they had any of my favorite mineral water, Gütig or Mineragua.
I took one look outside and decided not to try. There is a C-Town across the street from the laundry and I figured if I want to bad enough I’ll get some overpriced Pellegrino there. Even walking an extra two blocks is tough in what looked like ten inches of snow already.
I read the Times that had miraculously been delivered to the bodega up the block while my machines ran (25 cents more per machine than the other laundry) and when they were done I put everything in a dryer and put an hour’s worth of quarters in. I grabbed my carryall and headed home. There are no chairs in this laundry, and the bathroom’s locked as well. Not a warm place to wash.
I do this anyway at my regular laundry, despite the chairs and unlocked bathroom; I live close enough to go home and eat something while the clothes dry. I set my iPhone timer to 45 minutes and set off up Broadway.

Broadway

Walking up a car-free Broadway reminded me of the blizzard of 1996, when I remember walking by cars abandoned in the middle of 10th Avenue on my way to make sure my dad had milk and food since I knew he wasn’t going out in the snow. That day it took me five hours to go from Greenpoint to Hell’s Kitchen and back. I had to walk up the middle of 47th Street to get to my dad’s place, and I remember the snow being almost up to my knees.
Not that bad this morning, but bad enough.
On my way home I noticed my street, 152nd, was till snow covered, not plowed yet despite my having spotted a plow truck parked on the corner on my way to the laundry. I went upstairs, ate something, told Danusia how bad the snow was and went back to get the laundry. I also discovered we were almost out of milk when I made some cereal for breakfast 152nd Street was still unplowed, and this being Harlem I had slim hope of that.
I folded my dry laundry and packed it up into the laundry bag. I’d left the carryall home, it would be useless anyway at this point as most of the corners were almost knee deep already because of the drifting. There were sudden gusts of blinding wind as well.

Crossing
I saw that the C-Town was open and went in to see if they had milk. I was in Fairway on 25th Street last night after work and it was bedlam, there were no carts and bare shelves, but maybe there was still some milk left in C-Town.
They did have a good stock, and I paid $6.79 for Stonyfield Farms organic milk.
Fairway and Whole Foods charge $5.49 for this, and that’s expensive, so this C-Town takes the cake as far as price gouging goes. And that’s what they always charge; they didn’t up it for the storm. Though I wonder what they’ll do as the day wears on…
I’m thinking about starting a blog called Price Gougers, and this C-Town at 3632 Broadway would be at the top of the list.
So I struggled back home with my laundry in one hand and my expensive milk in the other, this time on the sidewalk as there was more traffic on Broadway. With visibility being what it is, I didn’t want to take a chance on getting hit by a car or truck I can’t see or can’t see me.
When I got to my block, I was gratified to see the street had been plowed. Thank you Mayor Bill.

Plowed
I promptly made my way into the middle of 152nd Street and trudged home. The worst part was getting through the drifts to get back on the sidewalk in front of the building. The sidewalk that Pedro had so meticulously cleared not an hour and a half before had a good eight inches of snow on it, and the snow was covering the stairs leading up to the front door. And our stoop is covered; it’s like an alcove. That’s the power of the wind and the snow.
We’re going out to walk in the snow later on today. That ought to be fun.

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ENTITLED DOGS

Posted on January 18, 2016 by xaviertrevino

 

Amber+Heard+carries+pooch+leaves+Bowery+Hotel+dROmyIF9BwdlThere was a piece in December 31st’s NYT Thursday Styles section about rich people sneaking their dogs into places they shouldn’t be. It singled out the predicament of the actress Amber heard, wife of Johnny Depp for sneaking her two Yorkies into Australia on a chartered jet. She effectively bypassed customs, which in Australia dictate that dogs brought into the country be quarantined for 10 days. She left Australia with the dogs, but now if she goes back she faces charges.

I really don’t care about what rich, entitled actresses do; it doesn’t affect my life at all. I care more about the rank and file who feel they are not bound by the rules because they have social anxiety or a special need (or need to be special) or whatever which they feel entitles them to bring their dogs wherever they wish.
Actually, what Amber heard did probably does affect others, because it is a power of example, and I’m sure there are people who think, yes, I need to have my little babies with me at all times or I’ll die.
A number of years ago, when I was still a cigarette smoker I walked into a grocery store on the Upper West Side, I think I was there to buy water or a snack or something because I already had all the cigarettes I needed. As I walked into the store there stood a young woman chatting with the store clerk at the register.
She was young, white and pretty, in shorts and flip-flops. She also had a medium sized dog on a leash at her side, the dog sniffing idly at the gum and candy racks at the counter.
I waited with my stuff as they continued chatting and ignored me. Out of pure passive aggressive reaction, I lit a cigarette. That would get their attention.
Right away the girl turned to me and said,
“There’s no smoking in stores.”
“There’s no dogs allowed in stores either, but there you are with your dog.” I pointed at the NO DOGS ALOWED sign just above the clerk’s head for emphasis.
“Hey, mister, put that out or get out!” The compliant clerk shouted to me.
“What about the dog?” I asked.
“None of your business about the dog!”
“Why can she break the law and I can’t?” I asked, standing my ground.
At this point it was obvious to me, who would win if the cops came? Young pretty white girl in shorts or scraggly looking Latino man with tattoos and cigarette? It was time I cut my losses and I put my “stuff’ down somewhere and left, defiantly blowing smoke at the woman’s face as I left.
“Asshole!” She hissed as I pushed past her and her dog, which stared interestedly at the whole exchange. I was surprised the dog didn’t bark.

hipsters w dog

I attend a self-help group, a group that meets at various places all over the city. All of the places ask that you not bring pets, because of insurance concerns.
Yet despite this, and despite the announcements that members not bring their pets there is a constant stream of people who insist on bringing (mostly) dogs with them.
I’ve seen parakeets, cockatoos on shoulders, guinea pigs, cats in bags, a small marsupial in a custom-made sack on a girl’s chest, and an iguana. Yes, some guy had this huge lizard draped across his shoulders a couple of times. I can live with the small animals, but animals that may bite or make a lot of noise like dogs and cockatoos shouldn’t be there. I’ve seen disruptions caused by these animals.

Healesville_alpine_captive_breeding_6

This was the type of small marsupial I saw in a pouch.

There is one fellow who is a dog walker, and often speaks fondly of his love of dogs, and once I made a comment or a face and was called out on it. I responded I wasn’t fond of dogs, and besides, it’s the rules not to bring dogs here.
That statement, in turn, provoked a reaction from a woman at the meeting, a stylish woman close to my age that prides herself on her sophistication and propriety.
“You know, I have a dog, I love my dog, and I’ll bring her anywhere I please. She’s like a fashion accessory for me.”

dog
Well, shit, if you need a dog as a fashion accessory I don’t know what I can do for you. She started bringing her teacup Yorkies around after that. I should have kept my mouth shut.
I guess these are the same people who insist on bringing their dogs on the subway, or into Whole Foods. I once saw a woman stride into Whole Foods on the Bowery with a small dog on a leash in tow and just as the security guard started to open his mouth she snapped, “It’s a service dog.” That’s the new catchphrase, service dog. For me, if you are not legally blind there is no reason for you to bring your dog into a store or on the subway without putting them into a carrier first. But that’s for me; I guess entitled people are going to do whatever they want whenever they want no matter what. Just one more thing I need to get used to. But I had to get it out.

All images were downloaded from the internet.

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THE TABLE OF THE KINGS

Posted on January 17, 2016 by xaviertrevino

bowie

I only saw David Bowie perform once, and that was in September 2003 when he was on the Today Show.
I worked at night at the time, and got off of work at 7AM. The morning of the gig instead of heading to my apartment in Williamsburg from my job on the Upper West Side I headed to Rockefeller Plaza, to see David Bowie for free.
I got there around 7:30 and it was already packed. I was way in the back, but I still had a pretty good view of the stage.
I endured the usual antics of the Today Show cast, actually not being able to see what was going on in the open space in front of the stage where Katie Couric and the gang talked to people and read the weather and such. Eventually David Bowie was announced and he came on to the stage amid a lot of clapping and cheering. The crowd was excited.
He looked good, dressed very simply in a jean jacket. I don’t remember any of the band, I mean why would you when there’s David Bowie to look at? They played three or four songs, only one of which I recognized, Modern Love. I’d stopped keeping up with Bowie in 1980.
I first started listening to Bowie in 1972, when they started playing Ziggy Stardust on WNEW FM. But it wasn’t until after I’d seen the New York Dolls for the first time New Year’s Eve 1972 that I got into David Bowie. My discovery of glitter/glam rock was complete.
The first time I heard Jean Jeanie was in a friend’s room in the dorm at Pratt in early 1973. I’d gone to his room to see if he was interested in buying coke and he said he was. He wanted $10 worth.
“But I only have grams, it’s $100 for a gram.”
“So give me a tenth of it and I’ll give you ten bucks,” he said.
I had to lay it out on a piece of broken mirror he’d conveniently placed on a table and divide it into ten parts. He took his ten dollars worth and then produced a syringe, a spoon and a glass of water. But first, he put the 45rpm single of Jean Jeanie on the turntable and cranked it up. He mixed the cocaine with water in the spoon and drew it up through a cotton ball into the syringe. He shot it up.
“Give me another ten,” he said.
It went on like that until he’d spent the $100, and Jean Jeanie played at full blast incessantly, over and over again for probably an hour. I was fascinated by his shooting up and said I wanted to try it. He told me he didn’t have another syringe and wasn’t going to share his.
“Get one and I’ll show you how to do it.”
A few months later, sometime in late July we went to see The Stooges at Max’s Kansas City together. After the show there was an after party I wanted to crash, but my friend said he was tired and headed back to the dorm. I crashed the party, and learned to navigate a whole new world.

avid-bowie-iggy-pop-and-lou-reed-1972

This is not from that night, I don’t even think it’s Max’s but you get the idea.

Upstairs at Max’s there was a raised platform set back where there were tables as opposed to the chairs in rows that were set up in front of the stage. This was where the rock royalty sat with a good view of the stage over the heads of the hoi poloi. And this is where I saw David Bowie in person for the first time. He sat at a table with Iggy Pop flanked by Lou Reed and Todd Rundgren. I knew about Todd from high school, when “We gotta get you a woman” was a big hit and was one of the singles I owned. Now Todd had dyed green hair.
that night

Out of all the people at the table the only one I really wanted to talk to was my idol, Lou Reed. At a moment he was alone I walked over and sat across from his and just as I opened my mouth his personal bodyguard informed me “Mr. Reed doesn’t want to be disturbed.” I had to settle for following Iggy and Johnny Thunders around. They were up to some drug shenanigans in the bathroom.
Since I wasn’t so taken with David Bowie at the time, I didn’t invest a lot in stalking him. Alice Cooper was there as well, but he was always at Max’s, like he lived there. All of the New York Dolls were always hanging around as well, so they were nothing special to look at.
I did manage to get Alice Cooper to buy me a Heineken one night, though. I was a precocious kid at 18.
todd and alice cooper
A couple of years later I was in CBGB’s one night watching The Dead Boys. The friend I was with nudged man and yelled into my ear “You’re standing next to David Bowie.” I turned to look at the man standing with his shoulder pressed against mine. He looked like David Bowie, but he was just wearing a t-shirt and a jean jacket, so he couldn’t be the flamboyant David Bowie. I yelled in his ear, “Hey man, what’s your name?”
“My name’s Frank,” he replied. But he couldn’t hide that accent.
So now Bowie’s gone, along with Lou Reed, Johnny, Jerry, so many others. I just read a Facebook post comment under a picture of Iggy with Johnny Thunders where the commenter wrote, “Iggy turned Johnny on to heroin. If I ever meet him I’d kick him in the balls.”
iggy at max's

I wonder how Iggy feels about being one of the last kings at the table.

 

All of the photos were downloaded from the internet. Thanks, whomever you are.

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