*Oh boy: Who wants to read TV foodie Giada De Laurentiis' playlist? (That is not a euphemism. Well, not exactly.) Radiohead? [opp]

*Propaganda: Shepard Fairey speaks out. I'd listen to this guy. Might even go so far as to obey.

*Ideas: Musinaut allows wannabe turntablists to DJ with their minds? WHAA?? (I'm thinking about some serious scratching right now. IS IT WORKING??) [psfk]

*Music sharing: SoundCloud lets artists upload large files, then distribute them to whomever they wish.

*Twitter: Michael Bay says "Took a meeting about Armageddon 2: Armageddoner. It's a Go." Also, Californication's Mia Cross. Also, Penn Jillette.

*Loser: What does it say about me that seeing the headline Crane vs. Brooklyn Bridge, I was expecting something totally different.

Why propping up banks will not rescue a debauched financial system

Confession time. As 228 Representatives in Congress voted against Hank Paulson’s bail-out plan on Monday, I was cheering them on.

At last, there were public figures prepared to reject the political and financial blackmail of a debased White House-Wall Street elite.

This is an unfashionable view; it runs counter to The Daily Telegraph’s editorial line. But the hard-sell of President Bush and the US Treasury Secretary felt too much like the pressure patter of a door-to-door hawker. Their message was crude: “Trust us. You are in a terrible place. Only we can get you out of this mess. No need to check the details. Hurry now, or it will be too late. Here’s a pen. There’s the dotted line. Just sign.” Full story: http://tinyurl.com/3jab86

Stop Blaming the Shorts! SEC's Ban Hurts Market and Didn't Help WaMu, Wachovia

The SEC is under pressure to extend its "temporary" ban on short selling, which is set to expire tomorrow. By design, the ban has reduced the level of short interest -but has it really helped? full read: http://tinyurl.com/44855v

Is Tuition the Next Bubble to Pop?

Remember that queasy feeling you got whenever you heard someone advise you that, "In 20 years, the cost of a four-year private college education will be a half-million dollars, so start saving aggressively!"?

Those scary predictions weren't pulled from thin air. Between 1989 and 2005, college costs increased at double the rate of inflation, according to American magazine. At that rate (about 6%), compounded over 20 years, annual tuition at private institutions George Washington University and Sarah Lawrence College, for instance, would end up being $129,543 and $126,521, respectively, by 2028. Full read: http://tinyurl.com/3oybzw

Stocks on Watch: CORS, HKBV, SIL , C , LCC, FSLR , APWR

Tread carefully!

InternetPlays.com
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http://www.myspace.com/internetplays

http://twitter.com/internetplays
http://internetplays.wordpress.com
Facebook: http://tinyurl.com/29fqep

I'll start off by saying that I live in New York City, an amazing city, full of life and energy.  Everybody should visit it at least once in their lifetime if they have not done so yet.  Pictures and videos don't do it justice because you can't really feel the vibes.  It's like a pulsing, living thing. 

So far I'm not impressed with myself with this but I promise I'll try to do better next time :)  I just woke up and I'm not all there yet.  Just wanted to say hello.  Ok, bye!

Carmela.

http://www.endex.com/gf/buildings/bbridge/bbridgefacts.htm

8:50 sun salutations 3 rounds interrupted by toddler wanting breakfast. 1 more round and one set of pushups about 20 minutes later.

Pedometer: 6,700 steps

Later: another approximately 3000 steps

Arches and Angles
Brooklyn Bridge, NYC
Nikon D50, nikkor 18-55mm lens

This week's Thematic Photographic theme is Angles.

I think the last time I did that much walking was while I studied abroad in Spain. I walked about a gazillion miles a week.

Yeah - so, Patrick and Emily 1 came to visit Adam and I, and it was good times. As stated earlier, we did a whole lot of walking. Lots. For hours and hours.

Unfortunately, they only spent around 36 hours here, so we had a lot of places to visit in a very limited amount of time. We didn't get everything done, but we sure as hell crammed a lot of into those 36 hours.

The picture version of the weekend:

Then:

And:

Eventually, after walking into and out of a couple of weird shops and eating dinner at an Indian place with terrible service, we made it here:

I apologize for the blurriness of my pictures. Unfortunately, you have to be perfectly still to use the night shots on my camera - except the bridge wouldn't stop shaking.

That was all on Saturday.

Sunday we slept a little later, had some brunch, then walked through about 1/7th of Central Park. At 2:30pm, we left Patrick and Emily 1 at Penn Station to return to VA/MD.

All in all, it was a successful weekend. Emily 1 visited NYC for the first time, everyone went to the Bronx for the first time (except for me - I lived there until I was 7), Patrick tried eggs benedict for the first time (and liked it), Emily 1, Patrick and I "discovered" a mouse in Adam and Ryan's kitchen cabinet while trying to fall asleep, and the weather was great.

Hooray.

Next weekend: my parents come to visit. More good times to come.

That's me.

That's me and my feet at the Brooklyn Bridge.

It was one heck of a vacation.  It was pretty darn hot and humid for the first part of the trip.  Dad and I went to Canajoharie to see the Arkell Museum.  It's a small little museum but it has a nice collection of American art.  On the way back from Canajoharie, we stopped at Kateri Tekawitha Shrine.  Now, I remember going here when I was a little kid.  I feel like I was in grade school, but it might have been with mom and dad to see Father Pat, a friend of the family.  From what my dad tells me, Father Thomas Grassman had quite a lot of american indian artifacts.  Unfortunately, the little museum that they have is in disrepair.  It's kind of sad to see.  But it was a beautiful day and I was hanging out with dad.

I went to NYC to visit some friends from college.  I had a blast.  I forgot how much I missed them.  We had some of the best food I've ever had.  We ate at Lil' Frankie's Pizza.  The food was amazing.  I can't even begin to describe how good the food was.  After Lil' Frankie's, we went over to Pianos and grabbed a drink.  Unfortunately we had just missed Arj Barker and we also just missed the Rock Trivia.  We had a drink or two and watch one of the former contestants from America's Next Top Model sing something... I'm not sure what it was.  I'm not sure if it was the booze or I am just so out of the touch with what the cool kids listen to.  After that we headed over to Spitzer's Corner.  I have never seen a beer menu that large before.  In any case, we had a drink and listened into the conversation that the bartender (a perky gal, who just got a part in something) talking to a nice gay guy about how straight guys are never named Brent.  Yeah... it was a real deep conversation.  Everyone was beautiful and I had frizzy, big, it's humid out curly gal hair.  I had this funny flash of the bartender as Koco in Fame. After that we called it a night.

The next morning I met up with my one friend and grabbed breakfast at Clinton Street Baking Company. We must have got there at just the right time because we were able to get a table and eat without having to wait for hours.  It was one of the best breakfast joints I have ever been to.  Please forgive me Geraldines.  After that we grabbed a coffee at this teeny little spot.  The coffee reminded me of Caffe Vita coffee or Caffe Trieste coffee.  That got me going and I was off and running for the rest of the day.  I made it to Purl in Soho.  Those ladies were so nice and that store was soooo small.  They had to go outside and down the basement via the basement door on the sidewalk to get my yarn (Habu textiles - the yarn for the Kusha Kusha scarf).  I didn't make it to their fabric store because I knew I would spend way too much money on fabric I have no idea what I would use it for.  After that I hit Pearl River and then I was off to Ground Zero.  It was strange as the last time I was in NYC was in the early 90s.  So I will always picture the New York skyline with the twin towers.  It was a little strange.  I guess so much time had passed, that while, people still remember what happened, it still felt like someone was putting in a new condo development or something.  I went to St. Paul's Chapel and took some pictures of all the old gravestones.  I'm facsinated by old gravestones.  I think it all goes back to the time I took an archeology class at Helderburg workshop and we did some gravestone rubbings.  Kinda morbid but pretty interesting.  After that I headed to Brooklyn and went to the Lomographic Society and picked up a Diana camera with a flash and a telephoto lens.  I have to say I was soooo excited about this.  I'm such a huge Lomo dork.  I took many pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge.  I wanted to walk across it but I I couldn't figure out where I needed to go to to get to the walking path across it.  Then I headed back into Manahattan.  I went to the Muji store for a friend and picked up some stuff for her and it was back to homebase before heading out for the night.

We ended up going to Peppe Rosso.  Again, another dang fine meal.  Then we headed over to a bar called Louis 649.  I believe it was there 4 year anniversary party.  We had a few drinks - a Pisco Sour and an Averna flip, and then a couple of guys walked in.  I knew I knew then from somewhere.  It took me a minute, but I realized that they were a couple of the guys on Make Me a Supermodel.  It was 2 days of reality tv models for me.  Then we went for one more final drink over at the Sunburnt Cow. We had something called Moo Juice.  Not as bad as it sounds.  I promise.  Then it was off to bed.

The next morning I got up and went back to the Clinton Street Bakery for breakfast and then headed back upstate to hear the news of mom's biopsy.

My mom has cancer.  It's strange to type that phrase.  You always think of your parents as invincible when you're a kid.  You tend to not question that until a phrase like, " I have breast cancer," is said.  the good news is, it's not a lump.  It's more of just a gang of cancer cells.  Kinda like a gang of bullies beating up the good cells for their lunch money.  On Thursday we met with the surgeon who will be doing my mom's lumpectomy.  Dad and I were with her when the surgeon gave her all her options.  the funny thing is, is that the surgeon is a knitter and a flyfisher.  So she would go back and forth between giving mom her options and explaining everything for us, to talking dad questions about fishing and talking to me about knitting.  Since my grandmother (my mom's mom) had ovarian cancer, that means my mom's risk of ovarian cancer is much larger now that she has breast cancer.  Mom decided to have the genetic test done to determine if she has the BRCA1 and BRCA2 gene.  If it turns out she does, then I will take that information to my doctor and I might need tohave the same genetic test done depending on what my doctor thinks.  It may just mean that I have to start having mammograms now instead of at 40.  Throughout all of this, we, as a family, could still laugh.  I think that is one of our best traits as a family.  Nothing is too awful that we can't make each other laugh. After meeting with the doctor, we all felt better about things and headed home.

The next day I went with dad to take Grandma to her the doctor for her pre-admission testing for her biopsy.  I can honestly say, after the past couple of months, if I never see another doctor or hospital again, I'll be thrilled.  I can probably tell you everything you ever wanted to know about biopsies.

Then on Saturday we headed to Coopertown to go to the Farmer's Museum, the Fenimore Museum and to the Baseball Hall of Fame.    I remember the Farmer's museum from when I was a little kid.  Maybe I'm taking after my dad, but I kinda enjoy going to museums.  We never went to Disneyland or Disneyworld when I was a kid.  And I think I'm better off for it.  Don't get me wrong, I'll get on a roller coaster and scream like a girl and I'll ride the teacups all day long, but I enjoy going to a museum just as much.  The Fenimore museum was great. It is such a beautiful estate.  It makes me wish I could live in some of those old estate houses.  By the time we got to the Baseball Hall of Fame it was almost closing time, so I headed to the gift shop to grab a few gifts for some friends.  I have to say I was somewhat disappointed.  Don't get me wrong, I'm a Red Sox fan, but there are several other teams besides the Red Sox and the Yankees.

The next day I was back on the plane and heading back to Seattle.  Today was kind of a rough day.  Things were slow at work and all I wanted to do was be back on vacation.  Oh well... I guess I'll just have to start planning the next vacation.

I'll try and post some more pictures from my vacation.  But right now I'm darn tired of typing and sitting in front of this computer.

Sure it was the House That Ruth Built and home to Major League Baseball's New York Yankees, but the legendary Yankee Stadium was also the site of numerous concerts over its storied 85 years.   The first concert ever held there was an R&B festival on June 21, 1969.  It was hosted by the Isley Brothers and included Tina Turner, Moms Mabley, the Edwin Hawkins Singers, Brooklyn Bridge, and Patti Austin on the bill.  On August 23, 1973, over 44,000 music fans converged on the site to experience one of the most culturally significant Latin music shows the US had ever seen.  What started out as a promotional concert by local Latin label, Farina Records to showcase their up-and-coming artists, turned out to be a symbol of the importance of Latin culture in New York City and the foundation of a Latin pride movement.  On June 22, 1990, Billy Joel brought his rock and roll show to the stadium.  Joel's "Live At Yankee Stadium" was released on video in 1990 and is considered by many to be his best live recording ever.  1992 saw U2 performing two sold-out concerts there, followed by two sold out Pink Floyd shows in 1994.

Idag har vi hur som helst utforskat den sodra delen av Manhattan. Vi var nere vid the financial district och kollade, sag Brooklyn Bridge fran South Street Seaport och at lunch i Little Italy. Vi var aven pa en utstallning som heter Bodies med installationer som forestaller den manskliga kroppen. Nar vi forst gick in var jag helt overtygad om att allt var vaxdockor eller nat liknande och hade darfor inga problem med att titta pa tarmar, lungor, muskler av alla dess slag, skelett, njurar, testiklar, ogon, you name it. Nar vi kom ut och fick hora att allt som fanns i utstallningen var riktiga kroppar blev jag genast tacksam for att jag inte hade hort det innan vi gick in. Kropparna som anvandes kom tydligen fran kinesiska fanglager och var alltsa fangar som avrattats och skickats till USA for att delta i en utstallning.

Undrar om de anhoriga fatt nagra royalties...

Nar vi gick genom Chinatown och trangdes med allt folk bland standen kom jag att tanka pa att Marten narmar sig hemma i Arvika, och jag blev plotsligt valdigt sugen pa att stanna har en vecka till.

/M

I'm fairly certain I can trace the beginnings of my interest in the Brooklyn Bridge back to a documentary on great feats of modern engineering, probably on TLC or the History Channel with, I think, Sam Waterston as the host/narrator.  As my fuzzy memories suggest, that was almost ten years ago. 

It wasn't until March 2005, when I met the bridge in person and crossed for the first time from Brooklyn into Manhattan, that my curiosity shifted to full obssession.  That first crossing was on a cold and windy Spring afternoon, not an ideal introduction to the structure or the sights it affords, but it was enough to whet my appetite.

Imagine my joy at discovering that historian David McCullough had written a biography of the bridge -- a fairly massive tome suggesting the heft and importance of the bridge itself.  It's senseless to recount details of the story behind the bridge here.  Suffice it to say that the planning and construction of the bridge, with John A. Roebling and later his son and daughter-in-law Washington and Emily Roebling supplying the vision and drive, is an important story in American civil architecture.

I think what I admire most about the bridge is that it didn't need to be so beautifully constructed.  A bridge needs only connect two land terminals to do its job.  But Roebling knew that with its prominent location in the most important city in the world, the bridge could (and should) serve as more than a mere utility, but also as an inspiration and a point of pride.

Rien de plus classique, des vues que l'on verra mille fois, à chaque fois différentes... mais quel régal pour l'oeil ! Pour vous faire une idée, nous avons mis plus de 2 heures pour traverser le pont à pieds, armés de notre appareil photo et de bonnes chaussures. La cadence n'était que sur le déclencheur. Je vous laisse admirer en image, je n'ai pas grand chose à ajouter, si ce n'est que la ballade se révèle un incontournable de votre prochaine visite à Manhattan !

Comme j'avais du mal à choisir les photos, voici une première galerie ... Enjoy !

Photos © Themariga'Zbulle, Brooklyn bridge, Manhattan septembre 2008 (Cliquez sur les vignettes pour agrandir !)

Il faudrait toutefois que je vous parle de ce pont ? Bon, je reprends ma doc et promis pour le volet # 2, vous méritez bien un petit historique pour ce monument qui fête cette années ses 125 printemps et aussi parce que j'ai encore plein de photos... Bon week-end ;o)

***

Admirez également les photos prises par Catherine lors de son trip au mois de juin , mais aussi mes photos de Manhattan à contre jour (trip 2005), dont une du pont vue de bateau !

By Tina Kelley, City Room

New York Times

The Tribeca Tavern was one of life’s small and affecting gifts, the kind you can still come across in New York City, although they are becoming fewer and more far between. It was an overcast February afternoon in 2003, my twenty-seventh birthday, and for lack of anything better to do that day I decided to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. I had begrudgingly moved to Brooklyn two years earlier (an understatement if ever there was one), missing terribly my best friend at the time, who had moved to Berlin, and slowly developing an abusive relationship with alcohol that would color and shape my next several years. Solitude was becoming a constant in my life, so I figured I might as well get some exercise in the bargain. I’d been doing a lot of walking around Brooklyn, normally from my apartment in Crown Heights to the foot of the bridge, which was about a three-and-a-half-mile trek, but never seemed to get up the gumption to make it across. Perhaps the events of 9/11 were still too fresh in my mind, or maybe I was just exhausted by the time I reached the bridge (I was still pretty hefty and out of shape then – 3 ½ miles is a lot of wear and tear on the hooves when you’re not used to it). That particular day I had the radio on as I walked, some easy-listening station that provided a pleasantly non-thinky backdrop to the city scenery, and just as I reached the foot of the bridge, Bon Jovi’s song “It’s My Life,” came on.

This is for the ones who stood their ground
For Tommy and Gina who never backed down
Tomorrow's getting harder make no mistake
Luck ain't even lucky
Got to make your own breaks

It's my life
And it's now or never
I ain't gonna live forever
I just want to live while I'm alive
It's my life
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said
I did it my way
I just want to live while I'm alive
'Cause it's my life

In retrospect it does seem like such an insignificant thing, walking the bridge, something so many people do every day, but trust me, it wasn’t. We were just about to go to war. People were still so goddamned scared and confused. I was so goddamned scared and confused. The Brooklyn Bridge is high, and a juicy target for a bombing. But I thought, whatever misguided reasons those soldiers are going to war for, they certainly aren’t going so I can stand at the foot of this bridge like a chickenshit. So I took a small breath and kept going myself. And it was beautiful, overcast day, droplets of rain and all. It was quiet up there, and the swishing sounds of tires across the damp pavement became soothing and hypnotic after a while. The American flags at the top of the bridge were whipping fiercely in the wind, and I concentrated on them, and let them ferry me across. It’s the small things, the meaningful moments that add up in this life, I think, and give you the strength to pull off the major victories.

I was feeling rather euphoric by the time I got to the other side, and decided a drink was in order (naturally). Unfortunately, bars in Tribeca seem to be mostly divided into two camps – nose-in-the-air joints that blithely charge $16 for a martini, or real buckets of blood with crime scene tape on the front door. I had to hike to North Moore Street, only a couple of blocks from the Hudson, before I saw the comforting, old-school sign advertising the Tribeca Tavern. By then it was starting to rain in earnest, and I gratefully ducked inside.

The bar is much longer than it looks from the front – it actually stretches all the way to the other side of the street. In addition to the long wood-paneled bar, there’s a pool table and plenty of dining space, a jukebox and a comfy, intimate corner with benches and plush chairs. When I walked in that day, I was the sole customer: Sal, the manager, was calmly wiping glasses, with one eye on the Knicks game, and seemed delighted to have some company. He mixed a perfect martini for me, in the traditional longstemmed glass (they have since graduated to stemless ones, which bother me in some fundamental way I can’t really articulate), and played a couple of tunes on the jukebox that made me smile. Just then, an older gentleman, who I assumed was the owner, emerged from the kitchen with a piping hot vegetable pizza (a Tavern trademark) cut it expertly into wedges and despite my half-hearted protestations, dished one up for me. We sat munching and chatting as the rain poured outside – when I told them it was my birthday, I was handed a second slice of pizza. It turned out to be a pretty great day.

The place hasn’t changed much since then, although Sal, with whom I shared quite a few pizzas, sadly passed away a couple of years ago. I dropped by with my friend Charles this past September 11^th to do some drinking and reminiscing, and found the mood inside lively and light. Besides the top-flight pizzas, their bar food is tasty and rib-sticking, hugely portioned and reasonably priced. Charles went for the grilled chicken sandwich, which was dwarfed by a mountain of french fries, and I had a vegetable quesadilla without cheese, (as I've recently decided to go vegan for three months) which surprisingly turned out to be just as good as the adorable and attentive waiter said it would be, despite my initial skepticism. We laughed a lot, enjoyed the evening, lived our lives and refused to get too pensive - the Tavern put us at ease. In the ever-changing Tribeca landscape, it still stands its ground, a comforting oasis dispensing small and appreciated kindnesses, and occupying one very major place in my heart.

The Tribeca Tavern, 247 W Broadway (between Beach St & Moore St); 1 to Franklin Street, A, C, or E to Canal-Church Sts, or J, M, Z, N, Q, R, W, 6 to Canal Street; 212- 941-7671

Anyways, I get home from a really fun day and at my door is a present. The movie "If Lucy Fell" with a little yellow sticky note that said "Happy Birthday [Cheeky]".

Random. I didn't recognize the handwriting as it was in a Sharpie marker. It's a very rare movie...with one of my favorite actresses- Sarah Jessica Parker...and it's set in one of my favorite places- NYC. Very good movie as most of the important parts takes place on the Brooklyn Bridge, which for some reason, I am obsessed with. SJP has my proposal...on the bridge.

On to the rest of my story- To this day, I have absolutely no idea who left it. I like to think that it's from someone who secretly wants to propose to me on the Brooklyn Bridge. I doubt it though. 

However, if you know anyone who leaves the movie "If Lucy Fell" on girls' doorsteps, please let me know. And thank you to whoever left it...I really heart that movie.

a trip to new york city characterizes my current life: running at a fevered pitch, going all the time.  people that know me well, know that i need an unusually high dose of alone time.  space and time to slow down, be quiet, breathe deep, and reflect.

however, i get the distinct impression that "alone time" is nearly impossible in new york.  i remember the story of a famous photographer in the sixties and seventies that became such a recluse, that he would only shoot people on the street below from his multi-story manhattan window.  i think he later became famous for this very reason.  but rarely leaving his apartment darkroom, he eventually went insane.  this makes sense to me.

from the moment i landed at laguardia, it was go go go.  

i caught a taxi, and had him take me straight to my hotel uptown.  the cab driver was a very nice egyptian.

"salam malakim," we exchanged.

we talked briefly about egypt and lebanon.  he was very busy though, and kept switching over to a conversation with a faceless man on the other end of his bluetooth.  it seemed to be super-glued to his ear.

an hour later, and only 3/4 of the way to my hotel on 53rd and 7th, he got into a shouting match with another taxi driver.  he ended the shouting with a sarcastic and defeated sounding, "salam malakim, brother, salam malakim!"

i asked him if he knew the man.  he said "no."

once at the hotel, i dropped my bags quickly in my room, and raced out of the lobby.  i've never felt so much raw energy.  and the noise...  my goodness, the sounds and smells all around.  it was a case of sensory overload from the first moment.  my hotel was at 7th avenue, just above times square.  this fact was lost somewhere in the shuffle when i booked my hotel days before.

i began walking north.  i could see masses of trees up ahead, so i knew i was headed in the right direction.

central park is the first place my eye found to be intriguing enough to take out my camera.  but i was quickly wisked away by the sirens of the city.  there was too much to see and do.  can't stay still for too long...

i've never been one to enjoy being a tourist.  my idea of sight seeing is to slap on my chacos and hit the streets.  no map, no plan.  just see what i can see.  it's very freeing.  i've done this in many cities across the country, and it hasn't failed me yet.  

i am not opposed, however, to seeing all of the wonderful tourist destinations that people come from across the globe to see and take their picture in front of.  they are popular places for a reason.  i just prefer the method of "stumbling" upon these attractions, as though i'm merriwether lewis seeing the rockies for the first time.  it's much more exciting that way.

problem is, in a place like new york, there literally is never enough time to see everything.  so i decided not to beat myself up over it.  my friend elaine was coming in on a bus from philly, and at the moment, that's what had my attention.

elaine lived in the city a few years after college, and she knows it well.  and, as i'm sure any new yorker would tell you, it had a piece of her.  needless to say, it probably was just a good excuse that i was there.

we met at penn station, and headed straight for the village.  her friends andy and kara were waiting for us at joe's pub.  andy's girlfriend, sabrina, does the lighting for all of their musical acts, so she got us all in for free.  she's quite good at what she does.  so good, in fact, that even dustin hoffman has expressed his awe of her work...

the first act was very interesting.  an iraqi lute player, rahim alhaj, had the audience captivated.  the room was so quiet, the clicking of my shutter became annoying to those around me.  beautiful. 

elaine and kara had a laugh in between acts.

alhaj was profound and saddening, so it was a strange segue into the next band, the new standards - a jazz trio that covers pop tunes.  hey ya by outkast was the grand finale, and that aptly describes their act as a whole.  they were actually quite good, and very entertaining.  i have never heard better vibraphone solos in my life.

one of the things that i like about elaine is that when you're with her, dancing through the streets of manhattan seems pretty normal.  

after joe's pub, we weaved past crowds of nyu party kids and hipsters, through the village toward other parts of town where andy thought we might have a good time.  we talked about alan ginsberg and the beat poets.  we talked about dylan, and where the cover for the freewheelin' bob dylan, my favorite album, was shot.  we never did figure it out.  

i have to admit... with this crowd i felt as though we could have been in a turkish prison and still have the time of our lives.

it's never too late for the dessert truck!  notice elaine's clasped hands, as though she's praying to the dessert god(s) to make up her mind for her.  in elaine's defense, it was a difficult decision.

eventually we had to stop for a slice.  poor elaine had to wait a whole 2 minutes longer than the rest of us... it required documentation.

go read somethings?  i'm still trying to figure out if it was meant to be ironic, or...

the train ride home that night was quiet and reflective.  inspiring.

saturday morning, i woke early, got coffee, and strolled around the city a bit more.  it was overcast, almost monochromatic that day.  i hopped on the e and ventured back down to the village.  elaine met me on a corner and we walked a little more.  we talked about how morning is the only time of day that new yorkers aren't out and about.  it felt like a ghost town.  

we came across cafe angelique on bleecker, and decided to get breakfast.

she was in a bit of a hurry and needed to get home to philly.  we took the e up to 34th at penn station, said our goodbyes in the subway, and parted.  

again alone, i stared out the windows of the dingy subway car, and listened to the sharp clack of the train on its tracks.  it never got old watching the car in front of me through the doorway window as it seemed to move independently of the car i was in.  the people in the car ahead, moved in a strange first-person arcade game manner.  never staying steady enough for me to examine the people on the other side of the glass.

i took a walk into brooklyn.  my cousin, rachel, lives there.  it's also where i thought i might get an interesting view of manhattan.  and i did.  i imagined the shot i wanted before actually seeing it, and it looked much the same in my mind as it did in person.  too bad hurricane hannah had different plans for the sky than i would choose.  she would come just hours later with fury.  but for now, i was hungry form all the walking.

numerous people told me about a place called grimaldi's.  "the best pizza in brooklyn," everyone said.  so i thought i'd grab a slice.  it's just under the brooklyn bridge, and that's precisely where i was.  what i didn't know is that grimaldi's doesn't sell by the slice.  

i was already intrigued and i felt committed.  so i enjoyed every second of the whole pizza that i at... all by my lonesome.  the pie was amazing, it was reasonably priced, and the service was fantastic.

i caught the r to union street.  rachel was going to meet me at a pub for a drink.  after going the wrong way the first time, and going all the way back to manhattan, i eventually reached my stop.  this time when i emerged form the underworld, hannah's fury was in full force.  not really sure where i was going, i darted from awning to awning, asking friendly brooklynites where i might find fifth street pub.  everyone looked more confused than i was.  i had the name wrong.

one young man i asked had a warmth about him.  we connected immediately.  he had a mild west african accent, a personable grin, and a deep sorrow in his eyes.  i asked if he wanted to have a beer with my cousin and me.  he said his name was serigne (pronounced serene).

we ran up union to fifth in the rain, where we met rachel at union hall pub.  

it was great to see my cousin.  i don't see her nearly enough.  so we caught up a little, talked to serigne about his life, growing up in senegal, and his preferences in women.  it was a good combo to have a beer with rachel and serigne...  they are both caring, deep-thinking individuals.  i wish our time hadn't been so short.  that would remain a theme throughout this trip.  got to keep going!

i caught a train back uptown to get my bags.  hannah was relentless, still.

one of my best friends, and former roomie in wyoming when we both worked for the newspaper, anna, lives on long island with her husband emile.  she's still rocking the newspaper world with her brilliant reporting.  

anna and emile braved the storm, and drove in to the city saturday night.  i met back up with andy and sabrina in the village, and we waited for the other couple.

it was so nice to see my friends after such a long time.  anna was the same as always - high, goofy energy, pure joy, huge heart.  just the way i remembered her...

andy knew of a hummus cafe, and we all agreed.  

of course the hummus was great.  what blew me away though, was the grape leaves.  they were topped with a green curry cream sauce that was insanely tasty.  we all left satisfied.  now it was time for a drink. 

we casually walked and talked.  anna gave me a book, with wonderful inscriptions and drawings inside.  i was so busy looking at the book, head down, that i walked directly into a streetlight.  luckily, i used my thick skull to soften the blow.  it was incredibly painful, and embarrassing.  but we all laughed it off and kept on.

we found a bar eventually... it seemed suitable.  anna told me about emile's and her recent trip to spain and morocco.  she loves morocco.  she spent some time there during college, and i can tell, like elaine and new york, morocco has a piece of anna.  

i think anna and i are a lot alike in that way;  we both are easily attached emotionally to places.  i'm not sure i could even name all of the places that have a piece of me.  perhaps a better way of looking at this is that we carry these places with us.  forever.  i think they represent something that we like about ourselves, or maybe something that we want ourselves to be.  it's the same with the people we carry in our hearts.  for me, anna is one of those people.

it was hard to leave, but i had to get upstate to tarrytown, so i left the bar, and my four friends.  time was my cruel master.

i took the metro north, winding along the eastern bank of the hudson river.  it was about 1 o'clock in the morning though, so the train seemed to only be piercing a never ending darkness.  

i arrived at my new hotel in tarrytown sometime after 2 a.m.  i was staying in tarrytown because i had a shoot the next day, but i was already looking forward to monday.  luke and i would get to tour the city even more.

luke and i finished the shoot on sunday, got up early monday morning and took a taxi into manhattan.  we had no plan, but knew of a few key spots we wanted to see, so we dropped our bags at a hotel and headed out again.

luke tried to look like a true new yorker, hence the rude gesture.  in reality, i didn't meet one person that was not completely hospitable and downright kind to me the entire time.  new yorkers get a bad wrap for being impatient and discourteous.  couldn't be further from the truth, in my opinion.

luke and i had a great time being tourists.  staten island ferry, empire state building, ground zero, statue of liberty...  i can see why all are tourist hot-spots.

we made our way into the east village yet again, to see luke's friend marina.  she's a sweet macedonian girl that luke met when he lived in san francisco.  we lobbied for her to visit texas, but we'll see if that happens.

after a quick drink with marina, we traveled back uptown to see another friend of luke's, lindsey.  lindsey and luke go way back.  she took off work early, so we all headed back to her neck of the woods, brooklyn.

the train was packed.  lindsey and luke got on, i was left behind.  it didn't help that they were laughing at me as well, through the subway glass.

we had quite a time with lindsey.  we played pool, had a few beers, and luke and lindsey reminisced and told inside jokes that i didn't understand.  

but we had a flight to catch.  so we called a cab, and rush back to laguardia... from whence we came.

my last look at the city from the taxi.  it made me sad to leave.  i've never thought of new york city as a place that i'd enjoy and connect with as much as i did.  maybe it's because at this point in my life, i can relate to it;  fighting for truth and identity furiously, pressing on with reckless abandon.  i think it's a phase for me.  but it works for new york city.  and i respect, and in some ways admire it.  but i think more than that, it just comes down to the fact that i'm fascinated by it.

i think i'll be visiting again soon... 

author's note:

it's really weird how much i just felt like neil patrick harris at the end of an episode of "doogie howser, m.d." with that last paragraph.  oh well... let's make a long-time dream come true...

(marginally bad synthisized piano playing in the background)

March 21, 1993... I've spent the last nineteen years learning how to be Doogie Howser, M.D.  Now it's time to learn how to be just (dramatic pause) Doogie.  (cut to neil, with smile and look of accomplishment) (roll credits)

all images © andrew r. slaton | photographer 2008

Pedometer: 8302 Steps (3 foot step seems to be accurate for the runs.)

8:10 am -- sun salutes

12:00 pm --legs up the wall relaxation (10 minutes) -- my legs really needed that after the mornings run.

2:35 pm --brisk walk/run to Fort Greene Park (I left the house late, so I needed to run) 

3:00-5:00 --played in park with Mateo

5:00-6:30 Walk from park to Lafayette and Fulton Streets, sit, bus ride, then walk from Fulton Landing to Bridge Street. 

Pedometer:18135 Steps

9:45 light stretches

What's out of place here is me, as in what was I thinking hanging my camera out the window of a moving cab?

~Sam

This week I want to focus on places that are a bit more out of the way.  They may or may not be "naturally" beautiful, but they nonetheless provide green contrast to the typical images of steel and concrete sprawl that are associated with New York.

The first image is still in Central Park, but it's from a section a bit further afield than those in my previous post: the lawn from Conservatory Garden, on the east side of the park around 105th Street.  It's the only formal garden in the park.

Going further north, I'm including two images from Fort Tyron Park, on the west side of Manhattan near 191st Street, facing the Hudson. I had always thought New York was completely flat until I discovered the crags and cliffs along Riverside Drive as far south as 130th in Harlem.

Part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Cloisters is an awe-inspiring collection of European religious art from the Middle Ages. While the art itself is overwhelming in its beauty and significance, viewing it in a composite structure of five medieval cloisters is an even more amazing experience.

The last image is a bit deceptive.  While the meadow-like green fills the frame and appears to continue, what you see is all that's really there.  It's the Irish Hunger Memorial, built on a slope of stone, standing alone on the shore of the Hudson near the World Trade Center site.

Next week, I'll follow up on my photo posting on the John A. Roebling Bridge in Cincinnati by focusing on his masterwork of functional and aesthetic architecture: the Brooklyn Bridge.

I remember when they were built. My dad talked about how tall they were.
I remember my grandpa telling me about how they swayed a bit on windy days, while he was delivering mail to the upper floors in the early '70s when they were brand new.
I remember the observation deck with my mom and brothers, when they still let you go outside. I thought my ponytails were going to blow off my head, but it was worth it just to be so high up.
I remember seeing them from the windows in college and again from the windows while I was teaching.
I remember the office for the travel agency there.
I remember visiting Val at some bank in the North Tower and meeting with Mr. Press in the art department of Port Authority.
I remember countless illustrations I did of the New York skyline, which of course, always included them.
I remember passing through every time I went to a meeting, when the Graphic Artists Guild had its offices on John Street.
I remember tearing like a madwoman through the deserted streets of the financial district, late at night, weighed down with sketchbooks and portfolios. I raced toward those beautiful, silvery monoliths (and the PATH trains) so I could make it to Newark before I missed the last train.
I remember seeing them from the train, at night, on Monday, September 10, 2001. I was on my way home from a board meeting.
I remember that following morning, when I was supposed to go back in for some more meetings. 

Everything changed.

The following week, classes resumed. In my classroom, with the great southern exposure, we kept the shades down. None of us could bear to look...

Oil on canvas. 20" x 24"

Painted for David Sommerville. A gift from his wife.

But first, a few images of John Roebling's minor masterpiece in Cincinnati, the Roebling Bridge, which many consider the "rough draft" for his much more expansive and beautiful creation that would eventually span the East River between Brooklyn and Manhattan.

Brooklyn piers have become a common sight in my life, caused mostly by the fact that Brooklyn Heights is my neighborhood of focus in class. That didn't stop me and the other Michigan-Columbia crossovers from testing the Hudson River waters from the Brooklyn side. Our targets: Ice Cream Factory and Grimaldies Pizza.

Contrary to popular wisdom, we started with a sweet helping of ice cream. The 'factory' sits facing the pier, masquerading as a old 'watchtower' or lighthouse. Their selling point of natural flavors is, however, not very unique in these days of '0g trans fat' and 'no calories.' I ordered vanilla with chocolate chunk, on the recommendation from Ed. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't a whole new finger-licking experience.

Whatever deflated expectations we had from then on, Grimaldies' pizza lifted them up again. Just a block away from the 'factory,' Grimaldies looks like a family business that just hasn't found the time to expand their seating area because of long, perennial lines waiting along the sidewalk for a place to sit inside. Our wait wasn't too bad — 20 minutes — but once inside we were sardined to fit around two small tables.

Surprisingly, prices weren't jacked up to exploit wandering tourists like us who rely on travel guides and top-ten lists. We split a large pizza among four, and though it wasn't a stomach-filler, the residing flavors were extraordinary. A big reason could be Grimaldies boasts coal-oven cooking, and since I'm no expert, I can only say it generates wildly different and robust tastes than what we're used to.

Give it a swing if you're in New York City. Don't just stick to Manhattan.