Archive for the 'Know Your City' Category

Off with their heads! …Okay, so Bastille Day isn’t actually about decapitating people. On July 14, 1789, the citizens of France had had enough of Louis the 16th’s tyrany. They stormed the Bastille, a prison that held people who were outspoken enough to oppose the French monarchy. (Imagine all the American citizens that would go to jail today for criticizing Bush….) As it turned out, there were only seven people in the jail at that time, and none of them were famous. Still, it was a symbolic gesture that marked the start of the French Revolution.

Bastille Day celebrations were held around the world this past weekend, and New York got in on the action with a “Street Fair with French Flair” on Sunday. Unfortunately, that’s about all it was. Held on Sixtieth Street from Fifth to Lexington Avenue, it was your typical ethnic street fair. The main draw seemed to be the food tents, which had long lines. They served up typical French fare, typified by crepes and pastries, including the decadent and pricey chocolates by Payard.
There were also a few French bands — The Penelopes, Poni Hoax, and Frustration – along with DJ sets. The acts that were playing whenever I walked by were really unimpressive. They were loud and looked very indie — not the cool, we’re signed to Saddle Creek or French Kiss type of indie, but the “will play for food” type of indie. They looked cool from their promotional photos, though, so maybe I’ll check them out on MySpace next time I get bored.
There were also some sports things, which I ignored. If you’re interested in soccer and cycling, check it out on your own time.
The radical, activist spirit of Bastille and the beautiful culture of France were missing from the street fair.

Anyone else attend the Bastille Day street fair? Were the bands any better when you saw them? Did you see the Cancan dancers? What was the best crepe?

There was also a celebration in Brooklyn? Any feedback on that one?

And what a night it was! Hosted by Lolita Bar in the NEW Lower East Side, all the classies and the flashies, the Vera Wangs and Chanel Diors of the City on Broome st. and Allen, where 250 Russian Jewish immigrants probably stuffed themselves into a Bell Jar tenements with a single air shaft and no bathrooms.

DAMN YOU, COOL KIDS!! AND ALL THE CONSPICUOUS WEALTH THAT THAT THERIN IMPLY!!

But this past Wednesday night was weighted heavily, or perhaps uplifted by a geekitude of absolutely honor and respectability: Urban Lore, and Knowledge of your City.

And with multi-colored, custom silk-screened T-shirts (thank you, Ad Hoc Arts.) the NYC Titans of Trivia All Stars were ready to take home the crown: A group of hotshot mostly NYC Tour Guides, helmed by The Levy family of Levy’s Unique New York. Their secret weapon, A living NYC Encyleopedia named Andy Sydor aka The RedMenace; both for his politics and fo the color of his head when he’s riled up.

(He’s the Union Shop Steward of Grey Line (The Red Buses) and if you ever want to get deluged with emailed articles about NYC by the DOZEN, email him: RedMenace@aol.com)

At a table in the back, surrounded by Wheat Beers (brought to New York by German Immigrants, mostly in Bushwick) and Pale Ale (from the Colonial Day, of course) and got going on the questions.

And BOY there were some stumpers. . . 6 categories, including

Old Names: (6th avenue used to be known as the West Road.)

It Happened Here: (The Hot Dog, invented in Coney Island in 1904)

On this date: ( Dec 8, 1980: John Lennon shot and killed. May 25, 1883: Opening of the Brooklyn Bridge)

and. . . lots of other very obscure stuff. . . The beer was flowing pretty heavily by then. Some very apocriphal stuff (I heard it this way!) and the occassional reference to something outside the city got the crowd into an uproar. But, when trivia geeks get fired up about something, the gloves are off. I should know. . .

(Triviacrats: RIP [for now]. . . SOB SOB SOB. . .)

The photo round was frustrating, as they were small, grainy photo-copys from the City Lore book in a dark bar when people were drinking.

But after Craig Finn of the excellent band The Hold Steady read off the 60th questions, the scores were tallied and the

NYC TITANS OF TRIVIA ALL-STARS CAME IN. . .

2nd place. . .

After Kevin Walsh and the Triborough Destroyers beat us by a single question. Ladies and Gentlement, Kevin Walsh is the Moby Dick of NYC Trivia. . .

Next time, Walsh. . .

Next time. . . . . . . .

Soon the season of picnicking on overpriced-but-irresistible Whole Foods lunches will be upon us. If you want to impress your picnicking pals with more than just your ability to pick out a ripe cantaloupe, choose a park that has some public art that will wow them. Here are some highlights of temporary public art currently on display in Manhattan.

Union Square Park

Union Square Park has something straight of a 70s horror flick–a looming bronze rabbit playing a drum.After a bit of investigating, we learned that it was not some silly rabbit, but Large Left Handed Drummer, one of the hares in Barry Flanagan’s famous series.

We won’t bore you with the details, but apparently rabbits and hares “differ quite radically.” We weren’t the only ones to mistakenly interchange the two lagomorphs; Parks & Recreation Commissioner Adrian Benepe praised Flanagan’s sculpture as a “whimsical rabbit.” The Parks & Recreation gave us a little background on the artist and his work:

The Freak show is alive and well in Brooklyn, really. At Sideshow by the Seashore lives the last bastion of the vaudeville scene that once defined Coney Island. It’s a classic venue offering mentalists, magicians, burly’q and an old fashioned 10 in 1 show.

I went for a visit on a Friday afternoon when they were holding an open casting call for anybody to come out and break world records. I was immediately won over by the congenial, good humored, fuck all attitude of the salt of the earth people who showed up.

Paul Nardizzi: A stand up comic and soccer player he holds two world records. The first is doing a standup routine that lasts 8 minutes and has 73 punch lines in it. The second is juggling a football with his feet, getting upwards of 40 bounces. Today he attempted to break his juggling record. He didn’t succeed, but was still met with warm applause and encouragement.

Paddy Doyle, “The World’s Fittest Endurance Athlete”: This dude holds over a hundred world records. Last week he broke ten records in an hour. Today he strapped a backpack filled with 40 pounds of sand to his back then did step ups using two cider blocks stacked up as his step. He did this for an hour! He beat his old record, of 716, by doing it 911 times. A true gentleman, he thanked everybody for coming and shook all our hands.

Pete Tino, “The Human Floor”: For this one the entire crowd had to go out to the street where Pete took off his shirt and lay down on his back. Then 15 people, collectively weighing 2,313 lbs, stood on him for ten seconds. Pete told me he’s very big in the S&M and B&D scenes. I totally want to party with this guy.

Jared: He is a Blockhead. A Blockhead is somebody who hammers long pointy items into their sinuses. He also dresses like a vampire. Jared took a tootsie roll pop, with a scary long stick, jammed the handle in his left nostril then touched the pop with his tongue.

Thomas Blacke: A magician looking to break his own world record of being the fastest man on the planet to tie a balloon into a poodle. Victory was his as he performed this feat in 4.18 seconds blowing the minds and winning the hearts of all in attendance.

The Great Throwdini: Attempted to break his own record of catching 25 knives thrown at him by International Knife Throwing Hall of Famer Dick Haines. Long story short: The ENTIRE audience fled the theater as Throwdini took a shot to the palm and disappeared backstage in a spray of blood. Good times!

Paul Carpenter: Attempted to regain his world record for the quickest escape from a strait jacket. It took him three attempts, but in the end he triumphed, setting a new record of 10.94 seconds.

Take the trip out to Coney Island and check this place out. It’s a chance to catch a rare glimpse at artistry that most people will never be lucky enough to experience. Also, it’s a blast.

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:

• Upcoming shows click HERE!
• Take the F, N, D or Q to the end of the earth
• This Weekend is Alumni Weekend - Adult Tickets ONLY $6
• Sign up for SIDESHOW SCHOOL or take a BURLESQUE WORKSHOP
• THEY SERVE BEER!

Dammit. I’m gonna be late.

Trains are fucked every weekend from now until who-knows-when and I’m on a street corner in Bed-Stuy. The rain is coming down at Fraternity-Pledge-Piss magnitude and I’ve got an hour and a half to get to the South Bronx.

Local livery cabs won’t take me there so I start hoofing it to Flatbush ave in black suit and fedora in the hopes that I’ll catch a yellow cab there, and all I can think is

God. What a perfect day for a funeral.

Ars Subterranea is a self described group of artists, historians, and urban explorers working to create an intersection between art and architectural relics in the New York City area. And coming from a New York City Tour Guide, they know volumes more about architecture throughout the Boroughs than I do.

The cab dropped me at the corner of 161st and 3rd ave and i looked around feeling, (perhaps a bit ashamed) rather lost. The invitation said this intersection at 3pm sharp. I was 20 minutes early, so I took a stroll.

As a Brooklyn native, the Bronx fascinates me as a doppleganger to my own land of heritage. The Bronx was middle-class when Brooklyn was still Blue-collar with wide swaths of ghetto. In the Bronx, the streets bend and coast with more freedom and ambition. The crackhouses are more graceful, built with a more grand design in mind.

I wander past Chinese food joints and check-cashing spots in the rain, wondering what grand spectacle is going to make itself known when the clock strikes 3.

Then, like an idiot, I turn around and see it. the 6-story solid block of Marble, planted on the odd-shaped sidewalk island like it had been there since the days of the Leni-Lenape Tribe. Inside the slightly open gate, I see two men and a woman in dark formalwear standing at the entrance and I knew:

This is the House of the Marble Mistress.

Picture from Satans Laundromat

Which is the sentimental name that Ars Subterranea had given to the former Bronx County Courthouse built by Oscar Bluemner and Michael J. Garvin from 1905-1915

What followed was a hokie, but mindfully planned and very faithfully executed wake for another piece of New York’s architectural ephemera.

And ephemera is right. Search Google. Search Flickr. Wikipedia. None of them have anything on the former Bronx County Criminal Courthouse. There are images of the hideous modern monstrosity that was built to replace it in 1977, but the Marble Mistress. Well, if it weren’t for folks like Ars Subterranea, perhaps it would be lost to New York for everyone except those who wandered the streets of the Bronx Hub.

My good friend S.D. who runs his own urban explorators site greeted me and asked if I knew the building well.

Not at all, actually

She’s qutie lovely, isn’t she? he replied.

We were kept in the entry to play parlor games, such as Murder and Trivia until they were ready. 4 at a time, we were blindfolded and led to a dark, dank room, lit only by votives. We were made to wait for 15 minutes or so with only the sound of rain-water gushing through the gutters, and the musky chill in the air to accompay us.

We were then led into the main room. A somber guitar player strummed a somber tune with a soprano singing something heart-breaking beside him. The guests were all introduced as we walked in one by one and then. . . the casket.

A full-size chrome (i think) casket was carried in by six pallbearers. Inside: Concrete and steel. And from the stairs in the corner, our theatrical Master of Ceremonies told us the story of the old Courthouse and Prison.

I wish I could relay some of this story to you, but I cannot. I couldn’t hear him over the rainwater and grew bored after ten or so minutes.

BAH! These urban sentimentalists! I thought They weep and moan for things long after their use has been exhausted. Would you stand in the way of all progress?? I wish to say, but hold my tongue. This is a somber occassion.

I took the opportunity to wander the cracked and crumbling stairwells of the majestic old Courthouse with my friend M.G. and caught a sneak-peek of the celebration room, where a birthday cake lay in waiting! And some sort of strange contraption consisting of a razor-scooter-powered light and music projector

What’s this? I thought. . .

As urban planning would have it, the majestic Marble Mistress, was not being torn down, but renovated! Into what we don’t know, (Hmph! Probably Condos! one guest grumped cynically) but this is not a death, but a renaissance. And thus, we celebrated.

Ars Subterranea, in it’s many branched-out forms through New York and other cities around the world are a necessary collective:. To remember, to preserve, and to explore abandoned urban sites, for it’s intrinsic stories, memories and ghosts. For many involved, it becomes a passion. (Some say, an addiction. . .)

And of course, When Google fails you, there’s always someone on the underground to take those photos you’re looking for. Thanks for the heads up, S.D.!

The Forbes Museum is a wet dream for 8 year old boys and future billionaires with aspirations of world domination. It’s also a testament to the vanity and self- centeredness that lies at the disgusting rotted core of capitalism run amok.

TOY BOATS!

According to a sign all of the boats on display are toy boats, not models. The sign tells us models are, “precision made” duplicates while toys are actually working objects that are meant to be played with.

So what does Mr. Forbes do with these wonderful relics from the Golden Age of toy boats?

He locks them behind plexiglass where he can show them off to the public, far from where any child will ever get to lay their grubby little hands on them-Bastard!

One of the toy boats was the size of Gary Coleman and has a real working gasoline engine. I wonder if it has a soul.

MINIATURE ARMIES!

There are soldiers recreating Cortez crushing the Aztecs on a three foot high temple. There are lil’ Union soldiers slaughtering lil’ Confederate soldiers. There are itsy- bitsy Greeks destroying an itsy- bitsy Troy.

There are even miniature cowboys committing genocide on miniature Indians. It is an awe inspiring display of murderous war throughout history as recreated by children’s toys.

MONOPOLY!

A room dedicated to a game that in order to you win you must screw over every other player until you have destroyed them financially.

According to Mr. Forbes it helped him and his siblings, “whet their capitalist appetites.” I’m sure that for dessert they feasted on the hopes and dreams of the middle class.

WHAT THE FUCK?

This is a trophy room with a hysterical twist. They’re trophies NOT won by anyone in the Forbes family, but shit that they bought at yard sales. For example they have a piece of wreckage from the Hindenburg, and some dead dude’s swinning trophy.

I gotta be honest with you; I have no idea what the hell this room is all about.

Why the ENTIRE World HATES Us!

Finally there’s an exhibit called Silver of the Stars. This is a room of silver goblets, bowls, spoons and other gaudy displays of wealth owned by famous pompous jack offs.

One such object is a teapot owned by geriatric assbag and famed wife beater: Sir Sean Connery. I was less than impressed.

In Conclusion…

This is a museum filled with toys that will never be played with, and trophies displayed by a man who didn’t earn them, but could afford to buy them.

It’s a fantasyland where toy soldiers depict historic scenes of barbaric butchery, and filled with displays of such ostentatious gluttony that even Michael Jackson would blush, if he is still physically able to. But on the plus side: It’s free.

So if you can forget about the obvious horror inherent in this type of display I think you’ll have a good time- but you won’t be able to sleep at night.

Come See What’s Wrong With America:

60 Fifth Avenue
at 12th Street
New York, NY 10011
212-206-5548

Hours
Tues-Wed 10am-4pm
Fri-Sat 10am-4pm

There is no planned closing date for this museum. In fact it will probalby outlive us all!
p.s.: I swear I’m not a bitter person, I’m actually a republican, but this museum really pissed me off- also, I was sober.

In the dog-eat-dog streets of New York, we eat our low-carb bagels on the go as we dodge taxis, strollers, suits, and madmen. We live the lyrics, “If you can make it here, you’ll make it anywhere,” and discard the sentimental idea that “life’s about the journey, not the destination.” We’re on the clock. Of course, it’s about the destination. We’ve got places to be, people to see, and if we’re not there, someone else will elbow our opportunity. John D. Rockefeller, Jr., once said, “I believe in the dignity of labor, whether with head or hand; that the world owes no man a living but that it owes every man an opportunity to make a living.” And so, at 6:20 in the morning, I woke up to the opportunity to make a living in the very place Rockefeller’s words are displayed: Rockefeller Plaza.

At 6:21 my head was back on the pillow. Battling a cold and an onslaught of assignments that have kept me out late, my body waged a war against my will. I walk the streets of New York every day. Did I really need to see New York from the Top of the Rock? More out of duty than desire, I grudgingly brushed my teeth (but not my hair) and got on the bus.

As a bridge-and-tunnel kid, I get a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline twice a day. Ever since 9/11, I’ve instinctually turned by head toward the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building each time I round the bend from Jersey. I’m not sure if I do it out of paranoia that I’ll see a plane flying towards one of them, or if it’s out of appreciation of their beauty.

It therefore beguiles me that after twenty years of being closed, the Top of the Rock is once again open to the general public, particularly since you still can’t enter the Statue of Liberty’s crown. Needless to say, I freaked out when the elevator started shaking and rattling on its way up to the 67th floor. I was the only person on the elevator and was by no means expecting a Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure-esque ride that hurdled to the top of the skyscraper. I grabbed the side of the elevator as a frenetic display of “Saturday Night Live” scenes whipped through the portal.

I came out of the elevator as if in other world. All was serene. It was a sleepy 8:30 by then, and I was the only person on the tour. The whole city opened up to my eyes, as I stepped out onto the terrace. The sun glinted off of buildings, waking up the world. But for a little while, it seemed as if I had New York all to myself.

Top of the Rock is open from 8 AM till 11 PM, and while I’m sure it’s heartbreakingly beautiful at sunset or in the pitch black night, there is something special about being one of the first people to the top. The view, admittedly, isn’t all that grand during the day if you’ve ever done anything remotely similar. The Empire State Building commands sole attention, but no other building stands out. You can barely see the Chrysler Building and St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

Even 30 Rockefeller Plaza itself doesn’t seem to stand up to its legacy. The website boasts of architect Michael Gabellini’s reimagined observation desk. In reality, the observation deck’s modern look serves its purpose–unobstructed views of Manhattan–butcomes across as rather bland, particularly when you’ve heard about its 1933 look:

The Observation Deck’s original design was inspired by the decks of the great ocean liners of the era - complete with deck chairs, gooseneck fixtures and vents inspired by a ship’s stacks. A trip to the Observation Deck was like setting sail in the heart of the world’s most dynamic city.

Rockefeller Center has such a rich history, definitely worth researching and exploring. Spending the exhorbinant $17.50 to see the Top of the Rock isn’t really going to give you any more of a New York experience than you get from watching NBC’s sitcom “30 Rock.” Both place New York at an intangible distance. You need to get out and walk in the shadows of the skyscrapers to truly understand New York.

Booze & costumes, BOOZE & COSTUMES!

There’s gotta be more to the New York Art-Mob scene these days than booze and costumes. Well, booze, costumes and shopping carts in this scenario.

The 2007 Idiotarod was this past Saturday, the 3rd annual of such events when NYC Artsters of every stripe and color tie themselves to shopping carts, get drunk as a skunk-punk in a funk at a whiskey distillerty and haul ass through the city.

Based ironically (Kids these days LOVE the irony!) on the Alaskan Iditarod: A 1,151 mile dogsled race through Alaska which -for over a hundred years- has been proudly subjecting sleddogs and their mushers to brutal conditions such as blizzards, white-outs, gale-force winds, and wind-chill temperatures that drop to about -100 degrees F! (Heck, Disney made a movie about it, so it must be a good thing!)

If that sounds idiotic, you a’int been to the Idiotarod yet! The Idiotarod transfers this race down to the pavement of Gotham for all of us to enjoy. The Siberian Huskies have been replaced with Binge Drinking Idiots, and the dogsled with the ultimate symbol of transport for the nomadic derelicts of the city:

The Shopping Cart!

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Sunday is God’s day. If you’re a Christian of course. I’m Jewish, which means it should be Friday night thru Saturday, and if you’re a Jehovah’s Witness, there are no holidays because every day is God’s day, but that’s not the point. Sunday is supposed to be a day off. And if you work freelance, like I do, actually having Sunday off is a special blessing, so I decided I was going to make this one count.

I was going to bike across a bridge I’d never biked before, and go to a museum I’d never been to. I met up with my friend Marin, who has become my defacto Sunday biking buddy, as well as my closest friend in contrast to our height differences (6′ 5″ to 5′ 2″! Whoa.) and after tea at her house in Greenpoint, we decided it was time to saunter across the North Pole of Brooklyn to the strange, alien land of Queens via the Pulaski Bridge. That was easy pickins. Then came the Queensboro.

The Queensboro bridge is a long freakin’ bridge, and if you want to bike across, you have to enter from QB Plaza NORTH at about 27th ave. Plus side is, it’s much less steep than the Williamsburg.

Anyway, once on the Manhattan side, it was a harrowing trek through traffic to get ourselves to 38th and Madison where in classy, high-brow New York fashion, locked our bikes up to a sign-post and finagled a free admission (I love having an NYC Sightseeing License) into the

J.P. MORGAN LIBRARY.

For those unaware, J.P. Morgan was the richest man in the world for much of the late 19th century, through the early 20th. Inflation adjusted, richer than Bill Gates. Hyberbole adjusted, richer than GOD. In 1873 he saved the United States from bankruptcy with one really, really big loan. He was also a fatty with a big, honkin’ swollen red nose. Kind of like an evil capitalist Santa Claus with a big moustache and no beard.

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Everyone does freakin’ yoga. It’s more than just an NYC fad too, so considering how I want to be nice and healthy well into the age where I should just die and stop sucking up Social Security, I thought yoga would be a good hobby to dabble in. It’s supposed to help with balance, harmony, muscle-tone, and dating-life. I’m also a tall, clumsy oaf that still suffers from some balance problems relating to a 4-inch metal plate in my right foot (old performance-art injury) I decided to track down a good yoga studio.

Bikram offers yoga in rooms of over 100 degree temperature, so for those who enjoy an hour in the sauna, try augmenting that with holding complex and strenuous poses for 60 to 90 seconds at a time. Pass.

Vinyasa offers more basic routine stretches at a pace most of us only semi-athletic types can handle. Then I made the mistake of going into a 90 minute class in Williamsburg thinking it was only 60. After an exasperated 75, I gave up and sheepishly rolled up my mat and walked out with my downward dog-tail between my legs while all the other yogis were giving me upside-down looks of shame from their headstand positions.

Damn it! This is New York, and while we’d all like to think that we can turn ourselves into gorgeous, harmonious beings of light and balance, this is, as I said, New York freaking City. Home of compounded neuroses and 1 1/2 pound corned beef sandwiches, and in the span of my 10-item to-do list day, if you think I’m going to join a yoga studio at a discount monthly rate to financially guilt myself into perpetually carrying around a 24 inch wide mat and a spare set of clothes that stink of me-sweat for the rest of the day to keep up a four times a week yoga-habit, I got better things to do with my time that that involve salted snacks and a couch.

Where’s the studio-class version of Yoga for Dummies? Where I don’t need to pay $15 per session to desperately keep up with all the beautiful people, where I don’t need a strictly regimented fancy yoga outfit, where I can move from downward to upward dog to warrior pose to prayer twist in my own goofy, clumsy, stumbling, bumbling way? What we need is YOGA TO THE PEOPLE!

Oh, wait. Fortunately there’s “Yoga to the People“.

Right on St. Marks Place btwn 2nd and 3rd ave.

A friendly cast of yoga instructors invite practitioners of all skill level, from “doofus” to “better than you, but won’t brag about it” for a 60 minute long class of basic stretch routines that I’ve been gradually training myself to do without an instructor bearing down on me to hold that bicycle crunch for just a few more seconds. They ask very casually for a $10 suggested donation, into an empty kleenex box at the door of which I always give at least $5, and sometimes a generous $15.

A pair of shorts in my bag, a towel to wipe my buckets of sweat and a $10 mat I leave at the studio are all I need to keep up a once a week habit without any silly studio-member fees. 4-5 classes a day during the week and 2-3 on Sat & Sun make it easy to pass through betwixt my freelance work schedule or a day jam packed with errands. That is presuming I don’t ruin my focus on making the class by pigging-out on falafel or enjoying a happy hour brew or three right before class, but hey, priorities, priorities.