tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82001925236179533932024-02-19T07:56:08.280-08:00ActionDirectionAction & Direction: 2 requirements for an adventurous life; specifically regards NYC history and spectacle.iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-58833188750430987292009-10-09T06:29:00.000-07:002009-10-09T08:07:09.781-07:00Lost in History vol. 83: MASSTRANSISCOPE MYSTERY REMATERIALIZES!<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvG2_HXU7kfAScy485LZmqmlj8lTSywywLOVoSEuOYs5oegMfOvfgnc8HAaToXVCWaiIQnfA8EnVe3cpiXNfSdErGThEBqsN997JSaRshOcyw_uW8vPbJZLi0Yuu5nMOjT6n6unFa9FHI/s1600-h/img_53337.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvG2_HXU7kfAScy485LZmqmlj8lTSywywLOVoSEuOYs5oegMfOvfgnc8HAaToXVCWaiIQnfA8EnVe3cpiXNfSdErGThEBqsN997JSaRshOcyw_uW8vPbJZLi0Yuu5nMOjT6n6unFa9FHI/s320/img_53337.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390607735425617010" border="0" /></a>Imagine you're a precocious, loudmouthed 10 year old, enamored with the city that you live in and its myriad mysteries. The never-ending speed of its citizens, the spray-painted scarred walls of the subway (this was in 1990 mind you), and the subway itself, with its electronic beeps and boops and its tunnel hugging, bridge chugging path from Brooklyn to Manhattan. Now imagine that in the middle of a routine trip to Grandma's apartment, taking the <a href="http://www.echonyc.com/%7Ejkarpf/q.html">Q Diamond (RIP)</a> from Ditmas Park, Flatbush to the Upper West Side (with a <a href="http://www.nycsubway.org/perl/caption.pl?/img/maps/system_1987.gif">transfer at Herald Square to the D</a>) all of a sudden there's a flash of light, a burst of imagination, and a brightly colored cartoon strip, coming out of nowhere, bursts onto the walls of a subway station that isn't even there. You're enamored, even though it last less than 30 seconds before it disappears and you're climbing the Manhattan Bridge towards the original burst of imagination that is New York City.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZitQQ2796o7en2Ko61yWAUEMh2dcb50_koqUruKeDUnnV54liy5cvZl_ZTLJN6Z8kIYUogdR_NqZS9d6nDPFaV4QxVyfWMyd5WCNUwvvZOuk8cApLrPtty1K56Dq6r3KMPbbMZDpa-38/s1600-h/mtteressa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZitQQ2796o7en2Ko61yWAUEMh2dcb50_koqUruKeDUnnV54liy5cvZl_ZTLJN6Z8kIYUogdR_NqZS9d6nDPFaV4QxVyfWMyd5WCNUwvvZOuk8cApLrPtty1K56Dq6r3KMPbbMZDpa-38/s320/mtteressa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390610302557467922" border="0" /></a>You're 10 years old, you just saw an awesome animated cartoon-strip </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >thing while on the subway</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> and then its over, and gone again. You look for it on next month's trip to Gramma's apartment, but its gone. You can't even remember which windows it showed up on - the left or the right side - or between which stops on the train. Years go by, you wonder if it ever really existed, or was just a catnap-powered dream while holding Mom's hand on the subway. A decade goes by and you can't even describe it successfully, further removing this phantom vision from the possibility of reality.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_GhdMX6pfBcAFqigvm6gbmB13ozIC0GprB0dL8g1DjIE-H-JmuLSgg4GuOGIZ-yZkFeKa4mapjrRAz0ivn4ug3V9h2_UF9rMc9XxBueIb1h6IO29Gf_zgLDyW-e0LkOOFARgDVxbW1o/s1600-h/IMG_0291.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_GhdMX6pfBcAFqigvm6gbmB13ozIC0GprB0dL8g1DjIE-H-JmuLSgg4GuOGIZ-yZkFeKa4mapjrRAz0ivn4ug3V9h2_UF9rMc9XxBueIb1h6IO29Gf_zgLDyW-e0LkOOFARgDVxbW1o/s320/IMG_0291.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390610974182865266" border="0" /></a>Well guess what Virginia. It existed, and exists again, and has a name. Its called the <a href="http://www.bboptics.com/masstransiscope.html">Masstransiscope</a> and is the genius of an artist named Bill Brand. And last night, at the <a href="http://mta.info/mta/museum/index.html">NY Transit Museum</a>, Mr. Brand gave an enthralling lecture about the inspiration, creation, scientific explanation, destruction, and re-installation of one of the most whimsical, energetic, free pieces of public artwork in New York City. Free if you have an unlimited Metrocard, that is.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2UPGJ1zpUuVebCSvOGZ-R8lHR3y-z53MdB50tamuy_SEPIlFjWm4xCfDvAk2KFGygyoCWcnAWUec2zJN6Qh2PGtD0LfGSQa1jAbgUbekGED7lsQfuAa6P9FKxYbuesmHVleXWFsGxm1k/s1600-h/Yellow_Metrocard.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2UPGJ1zpUuVebCSvOGZ-R8lHR3y-z53MdB50tamuy_SEPIlFjWm4xCfDvAk2KFGygyoCWcnAWUec2zJN6Qh2PGtD0LfGSQa1jAbgUbekGED7lsQfuAa6P9FKxYbuesmHVleXWFsGxm1k/s320/Yellow_Metrocard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390611786541966962" border="0" /></a>Bill Brand, an experimental filmmaker and archivist, as well as professor of Film and Photography at <a href="http://www.hampshire.edu/">Hampshire College</a> was just another young, creative soul in New York City during the deep dark 1970s and early 80s. He became enamored with cartoons at an early age (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Lantz">Woody Woodpecker with Walter Lantz</a>) and how all films are "simply individual pictures that change from frame to frame". We're learning this as Mr. Brand lectures in the screening room of the NY Transit Museum, and hands out small pieces of 35 mm film, to explain the notion of how film works. Next up, a VHS tape, which Mr. Brand violently smashes against the corner of the podium, in order to rip up the tape and pass it over our heads in the audience. Then Mr. Brand kills all the lights and illuminates himself with a high-powered camera flash. We watch as the ghostly retina image of Bill hovers in the air for a second, then floats away - persistence of vision. Its all visceral, and slightly loopy, and does a good job of explaining early films, notably the zoetrope.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXr2_sIl8w7KckZsOH1xerPNdCpdEQoXZC0VuXmfo00WqH-qXc2OjoKCqChwxoo5TYRYPoyJWiZhtWBcKQeo7BwTwrAE_HUh5sIabp8yxwgo4Rr-3LD9AfLqhKeffppuuge_1jCHxV68/s1600-h/mtdiagram1.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXr2_sIl8w7KckZsOH1xerPNdCpdEQoXZC0VuXmfo00WqH-qXc2OjoKCqChwxoo5TYRYPoyJWiZhtWBcKQeo7BwTwrAE_HUh5sIabp8yxwgo4Rr-3LD9AfLqhKeffppuuge_1jCHxV68/s320/mtdiagram1.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390607736839037874" border="0" /></a>We go on learn how Mr. Brand approached <a href="http://www.creativetime.org/index.php">Creative Time, the arts organization</a>, with this wacky idea of installing a slow-motion stop-animation cartoon in the <a href="http://www.columbia.edu/%7Ebrennan/abandoned/myrtle.html">abandoned Myrtle Avenue </a>subway stop on the (nowadays) B & Q trains. To his amazement, they were on board from the get-go. In order to create this interactive film projection, a 300 foot installation, kind of a narrow square hallway had to be installed on the platform of the disused station, with narrow vertical slits in the wall closest to the trains rushing by, and with the painted panels on the back wall. Silkscreened panels, 228 in all, with each one showing a different stage of the animation. Protective graffiti-proof sheer coverings on top of each painting (more on this later). Two vertical fluorescent bulbs framing each of the slits, to light the art as the subway rushes by. Installed and "opened" to the public in 1980, and lasted for 5 years. It looks likes this:<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3IwVD5efXz0&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3IwVD5efXz0&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Then Mr. Brand had a family, moved away. Couldn't keep up the upkeep. "Public Funding for 'permanent art' in this country generally means five years" Mr Brand shrugged at us during the lecture. It briefly resurfaced for a few months in 1990, which is when I saw it on my way to Gramma's and it blew my mind. Again, covered in graffiti, vandalized, left for trash.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1sysbjcYFzuQs3JkSt8svoTFzrPzUp8csuJHzWfYEQ9xu6Czp45H88wdRo3Fhed5q4NWwtwUt_-FUN05H0nQO2p3c4_l7ZWujmLVwqqG-NjGGtXupUaovb7y64iijmKVvyCeVvaRWbKI/s1600-h/DSCN5882.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1sysbjcYFzuQs3JkSt8svoTFzrPzUp8csuJHzWfYEQ9xu6Czp45H88wdRo3Fhed5q4NWwtwUt_-FUN05H0nQO2p3c4_l7ZWujmLVwqqG-NjGGtXupUaovb7y64iijmKVvyCeVvaRWbKI/s320/DSCN5882.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390610293318338082" border="0" /></a>Until 2008, when construction work on Flatbush Avenue at Myrtle unlocked a gate in the sidewalk which lead to the Myrtle Avenue station, and direct access to the installation. With help from <a href="http://www.mta.info/mta/aft/index.html">MTA Arts for Transit</a>, and other organizations, including ShelterExpress/MetroClean which helped strip away the years of accumulated paint that coated the panels (but thanks to the sheer coverings, left the animated paint works largely intact), the Masstransiscope was reinstalled.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEgR35meUqk_vsMmg7iEERU7zIsyEwowDg8GvAA58XQOY-sxdyMyV6pv20Ryjz2B6tERY2PNOj16W5uXlY5CmcAeR0LlozdyACvvJA2nsq4e0KDArqqB-SaZjVVKsxkm15OhVUbJEp6Y/s1600-h/IMG_0288.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEgR35meUqk_vsMmg7iEERU7zIsyEwowDg8GvAA58XQOY-sxdyMyV6pv20Ryjz2B6tERY2PNOj16W5uXlY5CmcAeR0LlozdyACvvJA2nsq4e0KDArqqB-SaZjVVKsxkm15OhVUbJEp6Y/s320/IMG_0288.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390608659566559762" border="0" /></a>After Q&A with the artist, the audience of 40 left the museum as a group, and went on a "ride-by" the Masstransiscope. Present in the tour group, Thersea DeSalvio, the artist who painted the original pieces in 1980, and her daughter. Ms. DeSalvio had left the country in 1985, missed the resurfacing of the piece in 1990, and returned to live in NJ. Therefore she hadn't seen her own artist creation since it was first installed in 1980. What a trip! We boarded the R train at Lawrence, rode into Brooklyn one stop and transferred across the platform for a city-bound B. In no time at all we were watching (and applauding) the piece as we whizzed by it (at 7 mph). You too can check out the Masstransiscope. Just swipe your card on a Manhattan-bound B or Q train, sit tight, and wait for the dream to begin. It'll be on your right, after Dekalb Avenue station and before the bridge.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Photographs and Youtube video thanks to Masstransiscope website and artist Bill Brand.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-51151476960985043052009-06-17T20:31:00.000-07:002009-06-18T20:34:25.205-07:00Lost in History vol. 82: Long bike rides, useless Queens forts, suburban hoods & delicious foods.<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht4oPxixTSVKjFYzk5uuq_w51-1qJbys8lk3VzXk40vbGrVt7lPGqdgFjA1CDJFA7kljtf4V9pCl_AnTAdoAHZbjCnnkOO0s4B1ejsi9tp_KqSqY5uPxlUYQmximPYwgHWr9rM4kDSKxI/s1600-h/DSC_0054.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 243px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht4oPxixTSVKjFYzk5uuq_w51-1qJbys8lk3VzXk40vbGrVt7lPGqdgFjA1CDJFA7kljtf4V9pCl_AnTAdoAHZbjCnnkOO0s4B1ejsi9tp_KqSqY5uPxlUYQmximPYwgHWr9rM4kDSKxI/s320/DSC_0054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348756139339236994" border="0" /></a>Every so often, one needs to forget the plans. drop the job, ignore the bills, get on a bicycle and ride off, into the horizon, like the superlative <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0081696/">urban cowboy</a>. No, not that type of urban cowboy, more like a two-wheeled adventurey explorer, armed with water bottle, bike map and camera, a little bit of spending cash and balanced atop a trusty steed, ready to take to the roads of eastern and suburban New York City. However, you'd be surprised how many friends found the notion of a long leisurely bike ride a no-go. My arguments fell on hungover ears.<iframe src="http://js.mapmyfitness.com/embed/blogview.html?r=4e0ffaff7a1d181c9f1e7c68d1543cb6&u=e&t=ride" width="550" frameborder="0" height="450">&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">lt</span>;a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">href</span>="http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-states/ny/massapequa/838124533226019113"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">iMapMyRide</span> Jun 18, 2009 9:37 AM&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">lt</span>;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">lt</span>;<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">br</span>/&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">lt</span>;a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">href</span>="http://www.mapmyride.com/find-ride/united-states/ny/massapequa"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Massapequa</span>, New York&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">lt</span>;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;a</iframe><br />30 miles round trip, to the northern-eastern end of Queens and back!<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >No.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />To see a historic Fort built during the Civil War but never used!<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >No.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Just us and bikes and the vast private driveways and detached houses of eastern Queens!<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Leave me alone.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-gQQcpLKNC1YeLxol3-bIxBUez8CA-LaA99XkvFl-XTEGs4-ggBmKKBJhyphenhyphen4liOL9rMLjZ5I2kutR8TycCGFdwbc4FamRPH2ubrQVCl95GZu8c2P-iYRdankK5Lfw5j2z8kcseW8qW-g/s1600-h/DSC_0056.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-gQQcpLKNC1YeLxol3-bIxBUez8CA-LaA99XkvFl-XTEGs4-ggBmKKBJhyphenhyphen4liOL9rMLjZ5I2kutR8TycCGFdwbc4FamRPH2ubrQVCl95GZu8c2P-iYRdankK5Lfw5j2z8kcseW8qW-g/s320/DSC_0056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348756143918385650" border="0" /></a>I almost had to roll by myself. Right up until t-minus one hour, when good buddy / <a href="http://mygutinstinct.wordpress.com/">food writer</a> / avid cyclist Josh Bernstein decided to tag along. Noon o'clock hit and we were off!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-1AL2GDhuoJ768Lh8Gnla-VCDsmEMRzQJfM7XQH7UrukRQSGb8P73oYPbUp5yqh67UWGNGIYnMNdQXdyPeKqzNTttMW36c3xTQIMRZGx65xPVYNdHfpX31P3k180T2kCs7EpnBvjAi4/s1600-h/DSC_0041.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-1AL2GDhuoJ768Lh8Gnla-VCDsmEMRzQJfM7XQH7UrukRQSGb8P73oYPbUp5yqh67UWGNGIYnMNdQXdyPeKqzNTttMW36c3xTQIMRZGx65xPVYNdHfpX31P3k180T2kCs7EpnBvjAi4/s320/DSC_0041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348756123904815026" border="0" /></a>We took a circuitous route, that started us zipping through subway-accessible 'nabes, like Ridgewood and Glendale (the M train); Forrest Hills Gardens (the G, R and V trains); and North Jamaica Hills (the F and E trains), which is where we found this </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >awesome</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> art deco power station, across from the Queens Hospital Center, on Goethals Blvd, related in name only to the <a href="http://www.panynj.gov/commutingtravel/bridges/html/goethals.html">Goethals Bridge</a>, in Staten Island.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPQcST2ESRL2hubqBfV8PyGBVtaYNjP9jUWKcdd8M9eikfVplArCqmvxcrhg8zcf1L_LpXkaBpNsQwQo895IBhGE26lusncq34tNbH9fSgkvjodckmu-H7U_BVjVm_NoJ8_rKjfdj1uM/s1600-h/DSC_0051.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPQcST2ESRL2hubqBfV8PyGBVtaYNjP9jUWKcdd8M9eikfVplArCqmvxcrhg8zcf1L_LpXkaBpNsQwQo895IBhGE26lusncq34tNbH9fSgkvjodckmu-H7U_BVjVm_NoJ8_rKjfdj1uM/s320/DSC_0051.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348756130775061554" border="0" /></a>After North Jamaica Hills however, it was suburban Queens with generic hood names to the max. Before getting lost in the bland, we figured it was snack time - on the corner of Utopia Parkway and Hollis Court Blvd we charged into D'Alessandro's Meat Center, since 1957, for some protein based munchies, like sausage and cheese stuffed antipasto, and some fresh mozzarella balls in a spicy olive oil.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnfdpP65byTfn9IHHOCBQxjeN9YNS9bPXuipcjmOxat5xRIB_qPQ-zp_KfXgnQdlZrC77whoE4SwoFIL2RedUztDHDt7B-GlpEvUHT9cdMiwTAZeZurvvRQ9464igYNBCPIw0n3cIk2I/s1600-h/DSC_0058.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnfdpP65byTfn9IHHOCBQxjeN9YNS9bPXuipcjmOxat5xRIB_qPQ-zp_KfXgnQdlZrC77whoE4SwoFIL2RedUztDHDt7B-GlpEvUHT9cdMiwTAZeZurvvRQ9464igYNBCPIw0n3cIk2I/s320/DSC_0058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348826706372981378" border="0" /></a>Finally upon reaching <a href="http://www.nycgovparks.org/parks/forttotten">Fort Totten</a>, we were a) amazed at the sheer size of the park and b) totally lost in trying to find the Visitors Center and historic fort at the center of it. All we could find was the FDNY training facilities, picnic grounds, decaying Victorian houses, and lots of construction cranes and fenced off areas. After asking a few locals we stumbled upon the Visitors Center, and, lo and behold, were a few short minutes from the next public tour! What luck!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJpP8jxRppE_8buNiTFKS3EQSUPW9iO5ngYg6RKjRwEHimyMqWEIRQJku0Lhtvc8ktoW3mLbaisJZxJ-UQWbs9fqIens31_IzEjbBw-FfHJH30Hl8BuwXM2RASy4AmzoDsSfSfpaMZ8w/s1600-h/DSC_0064.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 227px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJpP8jxRppE_8buNiTFKS3EQSUPW9iO5ngYg6RKjRwEHimyMqWEIRQJku0Lhtvc8ktoW3mLbaisJZxJ-UQWbs9fqIens31_IzEjbBw-FfHJH30Hl8BuwXM2RASy4AmzoDsSfSfpaMZ8w/s320/DSC_0064.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348756148309362754" border="0" /></a>Fort Totten was built as the Civil War was getting under way, (the very pleasant and dorky-cute NPS Ranger informed us) but midway through the War, <a href="http://www.civilwarhome.com/weapons.htm">rapid advancements in technology</a> rendered the Fort completely unusable.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibwARPgfNEUpWEYGIOvzmFKuvB1fg5DAkWk1a4JoLlEJpMJShCL6li8wVCegon87rPtT_CBKevnGyrk8Ockr5S6pk5aS9IBG0hN7bO9Ps7zpe9R5qia5CKNyP1gAhUoPeFECLuT1bXYCY/s1600-h/DSC_0057.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibwARPgfNEUpWEYGIOvzmFKuvB1fg5DAkWk1a4JoLlEJpMJShCL6li8wVCegon87rPtT_CBKevnGyrk8Ockr5S6pk5aS9IBG0hN7bO9Ps7zpe9R5qia5CKNyP1gAhUoPeFECLuT1bXYCY/s320/DSC_0057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348819167073416098" border="0" /></a>In 1862, after finishing 2 out of 5 walls to the (ultimately incomplete) Pentagon-shaped structure, the US Army field-tested a new type of cannonball. This pointed-tip rifle-shot projectile had a much better aim, and whats more, did tremendous damage to the interior of the Fort. Whereas a basic projectile would ricochet across the granite room, causing few dings but not much structural damage, this new rifled weapon lodged itself deep into the Fort and knocked whole chunks of masonry off the walls.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPBI3FoO2wuR7DJCUlhDHpYAceoh8AEHgfsDXI71rgGmmXykmk2668Bnv7K8LKGwFmKC7bh_5LvmZA53zuALkjIEf80vPNVVfqEQrvgrm6PG6RIk5GmC15JRCWemyKBzu3vO8JS8ecjU/s1600-h/DSC_0067.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPBI3FoO2wuR7DJCUlhDHpYAceoh8AEHgfsDXI71rgGmmXykmk2668Bnv7K8LKGwFmKC7bh_5LvmZA53zuALkjIEf80vPNVVfqEQrvgrm6PG6RIk5GmC15JRCWemyKBzu3vO8JS8ecjU/s320/DSC_0067.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348819153153391442" border="0" /></a>This test projectile, circa 1863, is still lodged deep into the walls of Fort Totten. This meant that if the Fort couldn't stand against one basic (massive) bullet, there's no way it would survive an artillery shelling, and the entire structure became totally obsolete as a defensive post. USA! USA! USA!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSnfCTFxISza-aAXzF1Znf0biUkynPaGTvzI4w_czD-bm4dUZbV2GokvyLuYkQyVZMUzBeZrVaFxddgnLW69slYV42GrTZNfu7_yFKowlQn9W2-BxVF1KfVoy35Rv11YVvLfgUtlZBbw/s1600-h/DSC_0077.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSnfCTFxISza-aAXzF1Znf0biUkynPaGTvzI4w_czD-bm4dUZbV2GokvyLuYkQyVZMUzBeZrVaFxddgnLW69slYV42GrTZNfu7_yFKowlQn9W2-BxVF1KfVoy35Rv11YVvLfgUtlZBbw/s320/DSC_0077.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348822110672204898" border="0" /></a>Once we were all swole up with national pride, it was time to stuff our stomachs. After getting a little lost and ending up in Douglaston (<a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=56+Douglaston+Parkway,+ny&sll=40.765949,-73.744998&sspn=179.257382,360&ie=UTF8&ll=40.775147,-73.743625&spn=0.063698,0.141106&z=13">which is almost as far away from everything else in NYC as one can possibly get</a>) we found a nifty little Deli with old school signs on the inside and outside. We got two massive heroes - a homemade Roast Beef and another homemade Roast Turkey, plus some North Carolina style slaw (apple cider vinegar!) chips, drinks, and custard.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrYvN1c8iMs8gEHF5l_MhDUPxzDP-aF1CEnGWchqUzKjaKM3nH3A9-D_3kv_1qj5_431FErdkfV-dQpvoqLRkrNb2T37k0Gsk9giRfPfc7moxoFrxhrhZHIzG3TxEtvMCRwx_2QM8ElA/s1600-h/DSC_0072.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrYvN1c8iMs8gEHF5l_MhDUPxzDP-aF1CEnGWchqUzKjaKM3nH3A9-D_3kv_1qj5_431FErdkfV-dQpvoqLRkrNb2T37k0Gsk9giRfPfc7moxoFrxhrhZHIzG3TxEtvMCRwx_2QM8ElA/s320/DSC_0072.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348822103368015858" border="0" /></a>We found our way (after getting lost once or twice more) to Alley Pond Park, sat on a bench, and scarfed some serious hoagie. An unmitigated Sunday success, Josh and I biked our tired legs, full stomachs, and sun-scorched heads back to Brooklyn.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGc8AOUy3LVJx0OOEdF4LKB7A15r0glcft_l_InJTiKw8DmFskv_xyE_1GzHD2col0EZlcNBYlsh-KqQedcG-oYPqLP3QV-f6_xvRuVG7hd-p8kkkRn7PcMgkdQjsoyTecsWP4uGXKC0/s1600-h/DSC_0079.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGc8AOUy3LVJx0OOEdF4LKB7A15r0glcft_l_InJTiKw8DmFskv_xyE_1GzHD2col0EZlcNBYlsh-KqQedcG-oYPqLP3QV-f6_xvRuVG7hd-p8kkkRn7PcMgkdQjsoyTecsWP4uGXKC0/s320/DSC_0079.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348826220747466466" border="0" /></a></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-29104376681350614392009-06-05T13:48:00.000-07:002009-06-05T20:45:15.389-07:00Lost in History vol. 81: Gin and Juice, Tacos y elotes, the El and Samosas; Food crawl in Jackson Heights<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6e0b6GN3GuLrIT2SCNsVAlC8E1XOmXmP3x8aOwdgODgEsxczizkL6tqePHG9GU5HHyTSsQOioNmjdz_ehNtIUClaR4w8-p5SIi7bG20v5azf4rqHhHKv7wuJ6Z_z02-6r7pkGLQ77GG0/s1600-h/DSC_0226.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6e0b6GN3GuLrIT2SCNsVAlC8E1XOmXmP3x8aOwdgODgEsxczizkL6tqePHG9GU5HHyTSsQOioNmjdz_ehNtIUClaR4w8-p5SIi7bG20v5azf4rqHhHKv7wuJ6Z_z02-6r7pkGLQ77GG0/s320/DSC_0226.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344045657800408066" border="0" /></a>The invitation was as straight-forward as it gets: Jackson Heights and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Elmhurst</span> have good food. We're bringing good booze. You bring good conversation, and some greenbacks, and we'll eat our way through some of the most ethnically diverse blocks in all of New York City. How could we possibly refuse?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUooMDx7ULiSqOKaUsGhwPEhBcw1XVn4g3dSxuEKgvnOqlSGp6gCb_UgCOrlGFLhdpikbwn_HZ_I6irLZTkWYsBv9s2gN6IdpJtnh_mBoGmh14RzR7FYy7iGdCjSUZlwNZ1qYyydKhoik/s1600-h/DSC_0187.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUooMDx7ULiSqOKaUsGhwPEhBcw1XVn4g3dSxuEKgvnOqlSGp6gCb_UgCOrlGFLhdpikbwn_HZ_I6irLZTkWYsBv9s2gN6IdpJtnh_mBoGmh14RzR7FYy7iGdCjSUZlwNZ1qYyydKhoik/s320/DSC_0187.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343959535656230242" border="0" /></a>Once we got to the Jackson Heights / Roosevelt Avenue subway stop and locked up our bikes, we found the crew lined up outside a taco cart parked right under the El. Frank, our tour guide and a Jackson Heights native - praised this particular cart's beef paunch, con <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">picante</span>. A few of us got <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">puerco</span>, some ventured for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">callos</span> (tripe), and some for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">lengua</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">de</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">chivo</span> (goat tongue). We knew that this <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">wasn't</span> going to be your basic meat-on-a-stick kind of noshing tour.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeZGtTjQLAyE936lNgCpYjQHqt5mcviVJZrCBYvtJ3R7ei_jNCSQiguoTrF5ZoHBJfIadAYZCD0GgxHbB-oe9fkvKQ5TlncNdm0Otx2OpJExM57YpfPH9lyAwHwEwMv80IlFQUi-HDPHo/s1600-h/DSC_0199.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeZGtTjQLAyE936lNgCpYjQHqt5mcviVJZrCBYvtJ3R7ei_jNCSQiguoTrF5ZoHBJfIadAYZCD0GgxHbB-oe9fkvKQ5TlncNdm0Otx2OpJExM57YpfPH9lyAwHwEwMv80IlFQUi-HDPHo/s320/DSC_0199.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344046233203908546" border="0" /></a>Our sturdy group of 13 included an Asian, a Kiwi, a handful of Hungarians (including Frank and his girlfriend <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Zsuzsi</span>), a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">laid back</span> California surfer-dude, a Wasps, two Jews (soon to be three) an Italian, two <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Polacks</span>, and one who pleaded "non-denominational." But good eats and early summertime drunk knows no color lines; we were all excited for our cross-cultural conclave of creative crunch-and-<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">munching</span> across Queens.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhK3aVpFlniVBeu8B0Um6E89HG84veEGp9M3akJ2rmLt0xn3-Dh05l1rjKERRUm4GF06zFPTJno6B5e8MFN2ykxo1iSfdcdx3STHrMRt4HjQrtybGHYoFXCZbK4fa0ZtVp8kV_PFXT8A/s1600-h/DSC_0197.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhK3aVpFlniVBeu8B0Um6E89HG84veEGp9M3akJ2rmLt0xn3-Dh05l1rjKERRUm4GF06zFPTJno6B5e8MFN2ykxo1iSfdcdx3STHrMRt4HjQrtybGHYoFXCZbK4fa0ZtVp8kV_PFXT8A/s320/DSC_0197.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343959536766273650" border="0" /></a>Frank and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Zsuzsi</span> had thought ahead and brought a couple of thermoses filled with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Pimms</span> Cup, a delicious (and strong) gin-and-juice-based summertime refresher. With our Subway soda cups stocked with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Pimms</span>, we made our way under the 7 train to our next stop, an Ecuadorian <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">ceviche</span> truck, for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">camarones</span> (shrimp,) <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">chivo</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">callos</span> (tripe). each served in a thick soupy takeout cup.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcfiXciEWU5BpgPT9w0567QAwyF3gocudwbaYMfPqvhWdTpip50fPzE5Tl02CWl5OxS_rh2CGMHFSZHFTFtcM0xH05Q1-jffJiQUa71cCAH5df4PA5yRgOU-7fMcEN5_EJgYEChwqd-wY/s1600-h/DSC_0203.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcfiXciEWU5BpgPT9w0567QAwyF3gocudwbaYMfPqvhWdTpip50fPzE5Tl02CWl5OxS_rh2CGMHFSZHFTFtcM0xH05Q1-jffJiQUa71cCAH5df4PA5yRgOU-7fMcEN5_EJgYEChwqd-wY/s320/DSC_0203.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344048828098321538" border="0" /></a>Jackson Heights is an extraordinary neighborhood for its confluence of ethnic types, as well as the number of train lines that service it. You have the good old International Express (the 7 train) which rumbles on old steel I-beams along Roosevelt Avenue from Times Square to its terminal in Flushing. It was built by the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">IRT</span> in different segments from 1915-1928, and therefore it shares a designated number, along with the other <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">IRT</span> lines 1 through 6.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMLItfnn27FqEKnW8Hk8IQ5wt_WYDMJqvy293A68cplG68HPz3c19VOM7YTkn5_B8cQbEPBgJByeSnnbw56-tFzE9EBD4I9QB3gDqRK9lwrsG0ScVUcR_xdsE3pnLR3vqNiSSVCDhkkSk/s1600-h/DSC_0210.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMLItfnn27FqEKnW8Hk8IQ5wt_WYDMJqvy293A68cplG68HPz3c19VOM7YTkn5_B8cQbEPBgJByeSnnbw56-tFzE9EBD4I9QB3gDqRK9lwrsG0ScVUcR_xdsE3pnLR3vqNiSSVCDhkkSk/s320/DSC_0210.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344053690935773810" border="0" /></a>The IND lines of E, F, G, R and V all share the same track, and were built by the city in the mid-to-late 30s. This new mode of public transit allowed immigrants to flood into the newly established garden community of Jackson Heights. What started out as Irish and Italian eventually became Ecuadorian, Mexican, Indian, Bangladeshi, Tibetan, Korean, Malaysian, Bhutanese and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Fillipino</span>. Ergo, yummy. Onto the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">elotes</span> cart! Frank brought us to a tiny shack under the El and bought us a bunch of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">elotes</span> - thick grainy stalks of corn, slathered with mayo, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">queso</span>, a spicy ground pepper and lime juice. It started to rain, and we huddled under a modern <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">FroYo</span> shop's awning, devouring our <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">elotes</span>. Que <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">sabor</span>!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIyLG_mbUgvlXTogkvqvzMpcgc2gUZv4rTl0GFm4EP4i9ao45L5U8_GU3rocmzkGkuVRRGSrr1nXV4P4cH2oklSD9oj6Hu0Yp2HlyVX2QGid2jI2EdzmKq4-1CNQEtMwPoqNiTzSvc_VY/s1600-h/DSC_0219.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIyLG_mbUgvlXTogkvqvzMpcgc2gUZv4rTl0GFm4EP4i9ao45L5U8_GU3rocmzkGkuVRRGSrr1nXV4P4cH2oklSD9oj6Hu0Yp2HlyVX2QGid2jI2EdzmKq4-1CNQEtMwPoqNiTzSvc_VY/s320/DSC_0219.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344049180820494962" border="0" /></a>We hauled eastward, into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Elmhurst</span>, for Malaysian-Chinese. This is where one of our intrepid Italians bought, halved, scooped and served up <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Durian</span> fruit to the crowd. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Durian</span> is the noxiously smelling-of-rotten-milk-and-eggs type <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">asian</span> monstrosity of a fruit. Our party was split down the middle on the disgusting/engrossing taste of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Durian</span> fruit, but there was no denying the rank odoriferous. On the other hand, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">Malasian</span> takeout at Good Taste Malaysian Chinese was exquisite and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">yumtastic</span>. Our <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">third</span> Jew arrived, in the form of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">BFU</span> Will Meyer.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmTGp4hK_-JCSHHc6Fn1jr1Vgm3RtjonT4sohgRTp_b8TPIpGnSYZwkIISEP2DKTpIsi4lFCIRYlP7bLkEXCGH78A7dztRnxOZHp22NnAt-QvR0M-3S2p5mrSPCtsjljxsgGsNxmuqORM/s1600-h/DSC_0233.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmTGp4hK_-JCSHHc6Fn1jr1Vgm3RtjonT4sohgRTp_b8TPIpGnSYZwkIISEP2DKTpIsi4lFCIRYlP7bLkEXCGH78A7dztRnxOZHp22NnAt-QvR0M-3S2p5mrSPCtsjljxsgGsNxmuqORM/s320/DSC_0233.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344044667820839442" border="0" /></a>Back to Jackson Heights! There was more to eat! Samosas! Sammy's Famous Street Meat (being fought over here, in the concrete triangle, between yours truly and Mr. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">Aaden</span> Stern.) Tibetan <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">Momos</span> (beef, chicken and veggies steamed dumplings,) and sticky Indian honey dessert! Our man Frank could do no wrong!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmjIg93HMN631oCtdu4Q-6KD03X9vZv6tDQ45c2lZdL1v3xDRmZn42YHO77OnoHe1zvNLcRoXT1zBsj8ppomE8LrCupITbus7P7NflRR31qJNLw_PIn0qno-8kX9So4Q_KMOnYEmP6iw4/s1600-h/DSC_0242.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 209px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmjIg93HMN631oCtdu4Q-6KD03X9vZv6tDQ45c2lZdL1v3xDRmZn42YHO77OnoHe1zvNLcRoXT1zBsj8ppomE8LrCupITbus7P7NflRR31qJNLw_PIn0qno-8kX9So4Q_KMOnYEmP6iw4/s320/DSC_0242.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344053295137242194" border="0" /></a>It <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">wasn't</span> until we got to the Korean Fried Chicken takeout spot, complete with its own quirky mascot (shown here with Kate <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">McCooliak</span>) that we shouted, Enough! Enough! Too much deliciousness, Frank, let us roll home on our fat bellies! It had been 5 hours of wandering Jackson Heights, and enjoying no fewer than 9 different food stuffs from 7 different countries, found on 3 different continents, all under the El of the 7.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfOzXeM6OLfkdgKXKr4xfnNIAoVY2-kJabOvW8dGtGy1IIV519sSQ8sbIkCXXMIT5G2lX7L0cSxyhjJv05QGFE3VgPvaJX8rUe_3S2LYFgKX_7JW0sbN8VRiDOYM22kfqMDhhhq6FT3I/s1600-h/DSC_0250.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfOzXeM6OLfkdgKXKr4xfnNIAoVY2-kJabOvW8dGtGy1IIV519sSQ8sbIkCXXMIT5G2lX7L0cSxyhjJv05QGFE3VgPvaJX8rUe_3S2LYFgKX_7JW0sbN8VRiDOYM22kfqMDhhhq6FT3I/s320/DSC_0250.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344053302068601074" border="0" /></a>We love Queens! And Frank! (FYI, he's also available for private tours.)<br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-82748035540297245042009-04-06T19:24:00.000-07:002009-04-11T11:35:30.087-07:00Lost in History vol. 80: A Very HALy Memorial at the City Reliquary<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjerrb4OZ0Jzxv6mK_i9eFhdGZz3niT-G-D8vTljBTUf_WngX0oSzJml5_9SbwZp2YK9RA-0uCS8MRtxlaWQ7phW6_apwiQ6aQ5fknB6hVgk1PzUczypIU-LQsftTFWaLBeER-Yof99pE/s1600-h/DSC_0057.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjerrb4OZ0Jzxv6mK_i9eFhdGZz3niT-G-D8vTljBTUf_WngX0oSzJml5_9SbwZp2YK9RA-0uCS8MRtxlaWQ7phW6_apwiQ6aQ5fknB6hVgk1PzUczypIU-LQsftTFWaLBeER-Yof99pE/s320/DSC_0057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322095137590320194" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hal_the_Central_Park_Coyote">Hal</a> was a coyote. Possibly the most famous coyote to scamper the grounds of Central Park, score cover shots on both the Post and the Daily News, and pass from these terrestrial plains in two days' time; Hal had snuck his way into our hearts. Named after the <a href="http://www.centralpark.com/pages/map-it/attractions/hallett-nature-sanctuary.html">Hallett Nature Sanctuary</a>, where he was discovered on March 20th 2006, Hal enjoyed a short but exciting hustle before the NYPD shot him with a tranquilizer dart and ended his adventurous romp. While en route to the New York Zoo in the Bronx, Hal passed away unceremoniously, due to complications of heart worms and the digesting of a poisoned rat. So ended the saga of Hal . . .<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHFav2OuerQw6X03KuywFtj18W5sUmSIIUKLSO9npXf8LL91s5TdK57bM914t6cjaco7Y4ag-mDWbifndxLrJxgx3U5o7I8_Y30m-0REB_Emqh8LL4Yf4sHgx0vGm1M-99oEdg8Xc0vqw/s1600-h/DSC_0084.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHFav2OuerQw6X03KuywFtj18W5sUmSIIUKLSO9npXf8LL91s5TdK57bM914t6cjaco7Y4ag-mDWbifndxLrJxgx3U5o7I8_Y30m-0REB_Emqh8LL4Yf4sHgx0vGm1M-99oEdg8Xc0vqw/s320/DSC_0084.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322094581943617490" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >. . . until a few Sundays ago when Brooklyn-based artist Dillon de Give hosted a memorial to this fallen figure of mystery. Dillon got it into his head that Hal never saw a proper send-off, and intended to do so with help from his friends at <a href="http://www.cityreliquary.org/">the City Reliquary</a>. Dillon's intention was to create a <a href="http://www.implausibot.com/coyote/">reciprocal human trip</a> by recreating Hal's 60-some-odd mile journey, from upstate New York to Central Park, but backwards, starting here and ending there. Dillon also planned on leaving impromptu memorials to Hal along the way. He wanted a proper send-off for his own journey, and we sent out the word and got a few speakers together for a late-afternoon lecture in our rotating exhibit gallery.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-VQ7_gYRKtxvBPlu-YjhgLN4Ng9A2NBop6JZ3KEU3GCltEOJhRP9VdUUsUGzdNAdDPvRkQBXNcRgCHZpSzR1R0YBQQCESNHWo2aPTzHy2_f-qVyZcJgq0IDW-Ak19OleTp9jVTaoiuDA/s1600-h/DSC_0078.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-VQ7_gYRKtxvBPlu-YjhgLN4Ng9A2NBop6JZ3KEU3GCltEOJhRP9VdUUsUGzdNAdDPvRkQBXNcRgCHZpSzR1R0YBQQCESNHWo2aPTzHy2_f-qVyZcJgq0IDW-Ak19OleTp9jVTaoiuDA/s320/DSC_0078.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322093901392621666" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Audience members enjoyed Wile E Coyote cartoons and mingled around while waiting for the event to start. Dillon went first, explaining his childhood association with coyotes, growing up in New Mexico where there are a helluva lot of them, as opposed to here in NYC. He spoke about the evolution of the coyote and their predilection for living with humans as scavengers, much like pigeons, how the two are almost spirit animals, surviving on the cast-offs of us. We watched some live coyote footage and enjoyed the explanation for Dillon's impending journey.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqRR72a5HqHvgCYNTvaOZIDUaMYMCuO_GtjaEH6uyFTIETkwmi3GObYYfPAFHit_yOJGyDw6YUVH15U2qFVVS14uvoxx9DlOm2FzJ9_JPbzpwIrw_9cl9x30JBU1rPU-QwTAei4eKo_Cs/s1600-h/DSC_0092.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqRR72a5HqHvgCYNTvaOZIDUaMYMCuO_GtjaEH6uyFTIETkwmi3GObYYfPAFHit_yOJGyDw6YUVH15U2qFVVS14uvoxx9DlOm2FzJ9_JPbzpwIrw_9cl9x30JBU1rPU-QwTAei4eKo_Cs/s320/DSC_0092.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322093910910712834" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >I went next, explaining how Central Park was the first man-made creation of nature in the world to resemble nature itself. Prior to Central Park, parks in the world looked as if they were designed by humans - the <a href="http://www.nationalmall.org/">National Mall in DC</a> is a giant rectangle, with all the trees in a straight line, all the landscaping done very consciously. Ditto <a href="http://www.chateauversailles.fr/en/">Versailles</a> in Paris, but to the nth degree. With Central Park, Frederick Law Olmstead and Calvert Vaux had the opportunity to make a obviously landscaped park in the middle of the most urbanized city to date, but they went the opposite direction, hiding the city from the park-goers.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dpJwwFyK25WguDZt0750qiVsxZQW6gGXBMZSOfITNTuW-cTex1TxRlWTCiwzSwDzZNVSX6vte_KgsB85KrAxRsf1e-ga9hUXJV5I57fI4pf01G4xB7vz535A9G4E_gg-rPZuAq4Slqo/s1600-h/DSC_0099.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dpJwwFyK25WguDZt0750qiVsxZQW6gGXBMZSOfITNTuW-cTex1TxRlWTCiwzSwDzZNVSX6vte_KgsB85KrAxRsf1e-ga9hUXJV5I57fI4pf01G4xB7vz535A9G4E_gg-rPZuAq4Slqo/s320/DSC_0099.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322093903384321570" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Following the Central Park talk we had a sculptural artist, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.naomatsumoto.com">Nao Matsumoto</a> show a slide of his <a href="http://www.uzik.jp/blog/2008/east_06.shtml">sculpture hanging in the Pratt Sculpture Gardens</a> in Brooklyn, and discuss the mythology of Wile E Coyote and the never-ending chase for the Roadrunner. It was completely impromptu, as Nao had just been contacted the day before the lecture and wasn't sure if he was going to make it. Nevertheless, his talk was brief and beautiful, discussing the experience of soul-searching and always hunting, and allowing the process of the hunt to be part of the discovery.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8HwpmXhF3S0JlVhRbtgYnU1jQw3ZLgodt0tRXdjzdxZjoYKasemwlgvQap6ksj0vpmv9xYE9lecdGDTTotsUD1vcOUgzcx7gH18KoXlWHeDYZ5_JbvvlsTXer8hV0ISm4ycqvDSsr4Hs/s1600-h/DSC_0112.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8HwpmXhF3S0JlVhRbtgYnU1jQw3ZLgodt0tRXdjzdxZjoYKasemwlgvQap6ksj0vpmv9xYE9lecdGDTTotsUD1vcOUgzcx7gH18KoXlWHeDYZ5_JbvvlsTXer8hV0ISm4ycqvDSsr4Hs/s320/DSC_0112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322093023437516098" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >After Nao, Kay Turer, Resident Folklorist of the <a href="http://www.brooklynartscouncil.org/">Brooklyn Arts Council</a> spoke about the coyote as trickster in Native American folklore. "Coyote went along" was her gift to Dillon, in which she explained that at the start of every tale, these magical talismanic words impart the knowledge that Coyote the explorer, Coyote the adventurer, Coyote the unknown will always go "along" in his ways, no matter what obstacles or interruptions he might face.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxVX2UHwZ4OCu0V4GOH7ADNRMtGNnYDBsK1yT2DP5wqmgcdLUL3xZfWUIPmZYzYCtrFxiLcpYW5wbldsp9SHWbO-MnH6cldTphHR-imufVV1KlygTeFx9B8pvfaMVxWyccwbDfRaWmss/s1600-h/DSC_0119.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxVX2UHwZ4OCu0V4GOH7ADNRMtGNnYDBsK1yT2DP5wqmgcdLUL3xZfWUIPmZYzYCtrFxiLcpYW5wbldsp9SHWbO-MnH6cldTphHR-imufVV1KlygTeFx9B8pvfaMVxWyccwbDfRaWmss/s320/DSC_0119.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5322093912302532130" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Following the speakers our collected group of 60 audience members went to our spacious backyard and participated in a group howl, for all the dogs and coyotes of Williamsburg to share in. It was a wonderful event, and Dillon de Give took off the next morning on his 66 mile journey. We miss you Hal!<br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-35085137572487340382009-03-19T13:01:00.000-07:002009-03-19T21:09:44.641-07:00Lost in History vol. 79: A Fowl Affair<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8cbxNtg_r6icp3l5VkmDiK0QSiZ6gUNF9o_0WrB4J0n8LseVGU8qvnLVxGb-4NnhwwWLa3mMeAT20Cn8tZ4eAcalpeVVTNxmgzMtLvI3RWEvdyaGKXgauV1k_hVe337oGlB6dbwVbkY/s1600-h/2a.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8cbxNtg_r6icp3l5VkmDiK0QSiZ6gUNF9o_0WrB4J0n8LseVGU8qvnLVxGb-4NnhwwWLa3mMeAT20Cn8tZ4eAcalpeVVTNxmgzMtLvI3RWEvdyaGKXgauV1k_hVe337oGlB6dbwVbkY/s320/2a.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315001010681272338" border="0" /></a>Our neighbor, Shai Kessler, happens to be a highly accomplished chef, having worked for such NYC institutions like <a href="http://aht.seriouseats.com/archives/2009/02/flip-nyc-manhattan-bloomingdales-burger-joint.html">Bloomingdales</a> as well as hotshot new restaurants like <a href="http://www.dovetailnyc.com/">Dovetail</a> on the Upper West Side. Regardless, we are all busy New Yorkers and hardly ever get to sit around and appreciate the man's talent for cookery. Its not like we want to give tours to our friends on our days off, and he sure as hell isn't interested in cooking for neighbors and hangers on.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJC5ev3lpzxpbOAKVB7HxQ2eJS6d88IHzlPv1RcnaR-sIl6jZFufqoRr8vRJFgKSWMv09HHXfJ1KdVIedQw8g4ni91uNEgGA6sBauFtyh4anJ7VfzOJeVyfhkB9RIGpWaToehV-DZ9ick/s1600-h/img002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 185px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJC5ev3lpzxpbOAKVB7HxQ2eJS6d88IHzlPv1RcnaR-sIl6jZFufqoRr8vRJFgKSWMv09HHXfJ1KdVIedQw8g4ni91uNEgGA6sBauFtyh4anJ7VfzOJeVyfhkB9RIGpWaToehV-DZ9ick/s320/img002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314996645400737538" border="0" /></a>But when his roommates, Thomas & Samantha, a wonderful married couple from Tennessee had their fancy digital SLR camera stolen from them, off Sam's neck, while they were asleep on the L train </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >on Christmas Eve! . . .</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> Shai decided to do something about it. He did the thing he's best at - get friends and neighbors together for a homecooked meal / benefit to help the kids buy a replacement camera. That's how we found a quirky invitation with a plump bird slapped up top slipped under our door.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOt-CkPwIjjxfZ6qI2UQ60jP4igoEgyf7JOlAzEaK8R5PFc0k9poZxuoyLGkETkTzGkXnrdGReUJdOLLYWznuIFN7UfQZAULzFBujzkk2CdKneQhaqHPzYfUloasmpmtW9lRxh_9jBPQ/s1600-h/13a.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifOt-CkPwIjjxfZ6qI2UQ60jP4igoEgyf7JOlAzEaK8R5PFc0k9poZxuoyLGkETkTzGkXnrdGReUJdOLLYWznuIFN7UfQZAULzFBujzkk2CdKneQhaqHPzYfUloasmpmtW9lRxh_9jBPQ/s320/13a.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315001016353672082" border="0" /></a>We put on our fancy dinner jacket and slippers, walked the 20 feet down the hall with a bottle of organic red and the requested $20 donation in hand, and joined a raucous party in progress. We also did our part in party production by donating our banquet table and most of our chairs. We nibbled on olives and introductions before the first course, a sumptuous Roasted Quail in a sherry reduction augmented by a tart lentil salad.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghriw1f1ZCKXuNfJFz1qExecHoQc9lbNQ_YSkTKlLDYgV8D-zKXtCLasyzVuud4AMJHKamQ3ObG3xCk1GK_vq4D3AjkweyxPH0BwmnRA5zEYpgIOoyhiLZNZbvb9yz7A2SarrK8pLNfUM/s1600-h/4a.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghriw1f1ZCKXuNfJFz1qExecHoQc9lbNQ_YSkTKlLDYgV8D-zKXtCLasyzVuud4AMJHKamQ3ObG3xCk1GK_vq4D3AjkweyxPH0BwmnRA5zEYpgIOoyhiLZNZbvb9yz7A2SarrK8pLNfUM/s320/4a.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315001078763098450" border="0" /></a>The benefit seemed on the successful side, as had any more than 20 arrived, there'd be no place to put their butts or wine glasses. Two couches, a flight of stairs, three tables, seven chairs and various flat surfaces were all quite accommodating, and plates of food were being balanced on bookshelves, countertops, hands, laps and the aforementioned banquet table. Sam and Thomas (pictured above left and right) made a speech that brought a few to wipe their moist eyes. More wine!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1tdk4yC6NEWfowHyme6Y8u3ICjy1nPIYLrM06yHfJlK3nyXZlItms9d45gl0VKczWz_41jVrZR7ksE-qD8FXeJaWIMIx7RKJ6854S6c4uyHsXZLss_iLPFC_v7Xvg0MHLiO3Bxa1GDzc/s1600-h/6a.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1tdk4yC6NEWfowHyme6Y8u3ICjy1nPIYLrM06yHfJlK3nyXZlItms9d45gl0VKczWz_41jVrZR7ksE-qD8FXeJaWIMIx7RKJ6854S6c4uyHsXZLss_iLPFC_v7Xvg0MHLiO3Bxa1GDzc/s320/6a.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315001081794716530" border="0" /></a>Second course was a delightful Coq Au Vin, surrounded in a pomme puree and augmented by wilted winter greens. As the various party people (and Josh, above,) can attest, the dishes were basically licked clean by slightly tipsy revelers.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmibJkC5TKRL0_X_v5ZrKHojbF1xrSVDRRAAXUuDAr0lQThOSbtfsPsB09Q7P71hvXvay-ctxexv3BjPq3YvsbqESbjO4wQpausl-RrKfvzvyhnoRuS4-gWw2nEaZmaeDkgzITWCHNsLo/s1600-h/7a.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 296px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmibJkC5TKRL0_X_v5ZrKHojbF1xrSVDRRAAXUuDAr0lQThOSbtfsPsB09Q7P71hvXvay-ctxexv3BjPq3YvsbqESbjO4wQpausl-RrKfvzvyhnoRuS4-gWw2nEaZmaeDkgzITWCHNsLo/s320/7a.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315001017448820850" border="0" /></a>With dessert - a scrumptious Cardamom Flan encircled by a Rose Petal sauce - came the post-prandial Ports and Sherrys, as well as a rousing game or three of <a href="http://www.boardgamegeek.com/boardgame/74">Apples to Apples</a>, the best party card game in the world. After hysterical comparisons and more wine, port and sherry (but no more food - we all had our fill) it was time to head home. We, in the most delicious food and wine induced coma, thanked our fortunes to know such good people who have such good taste.<br /><br />Shai is already planning future dinner parties and benefits - if so inclined, shoot us a line and we'll gladly put you in touch with this DIY chef superstar.<br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-19660119575298964882009-03-10T19:46:00.000-07:002009-03-19T09:23:28.436-07:00Lost in Philly vol 78: Twentyfour hours of Philidelphia, Beer, and Boys will be Boys<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOALV3Na1g_9kydB6E-BOQT5sMoro3UdvMoKzFSnJYfiCfoEF18X-z-BcBAWn9pbU38SRMa6IHRf4JOWo_yDsuUOxcedYEQHS9fzhfC3CaLeiBxbMm1wzLY-PbeXiRClmhMLQC2Q-vjmA/s1600-h/DSC_0053.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOALV3Na1g_9kydB6E-BOQT5sMoro3UdvMoKzFSnJYfiCfoEF18X-z-BcBAWn9pbU38SRMa6IHRf4JOWo_yDsuUOxcedYEQHS9fzhfC3CaLeiBxbMm1wzLY-PbeXiRClmhMLQC2Q-vjmA/s320/DSC_0053.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311770669381300034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Josh the <a href="http://mygutinstinct.wordpress.com/">freelance journalist</a> sent out the first email. "Yo. Goin' to Philly for their Beer Fest. Who wants to come along? Wheee!" Josh has a preternatural tendency to tap into excellent food and drink adventures, which makes him a natural when exploring the outer boroughs of our own city. The deal only got sweeter when Josh scored a free hotel room as well as a 2 free passes for the opening night's event. One for him and one for me! Wheee! Off to Philly for me! I invited Jonah for the beertivities.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCS1OvWvvfahjlJNnlxIFMMQM4qJ3wKqre8ZRIqyiCJJRxv88ogzJyXCX8sFXzwXpZj_mlK1XItSFszuDl7TfFWspWCQD8BLeV1D62RmX286usb8oUXhol0FkMoipv-X6VDPU1CnbD4xY/s1600-h/DSC_0061.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCS1OvWvvfahjlJNnlxIFMMQM4qJ3wKqre8ZRIqyiCJJRxv88ogzJyXCX8sFXzwXpZj_mlK1XItSFszuDl7TfFWspWCQD8BLeV1D62RmX286usb8oUXhol0FkMoipv-X6VDPU1CnbD4xY/s320/DSC_0061.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311773466624183378" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Josh and Aaron Wilson (known as Wilson) had bused down earlier that Friday, so when Jonah and I arrived at 4pm sharp, Wilson and Josh had been wandering and drinking. We parked the Eggplant Xpress, made our way to the bar, and gulped down the first of many a beer. I started with a <a href="http://www.beerhunter.com/styles/marzen.html">Marzen</a>, a heavy, malty 6.8% whopper of a beer, auspiciously heralding my arrival in this beer-mad city.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDGmXcrGnhgjItBQFYh9HQTbyBIMMHWBgtTcoTMMVen-m6ez4PMlWbXw0hnsssP_5Lj0HlZH6L2ElFsnEq4Ty6gXjLvwuCg_vf4IlJIDKwG_TjgDkmFn6mnwY9b0SgmIx4LL7-X1m0tQ/s1600-h/DSC_0052.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 244px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDGmXcrGnhgjItBQFYh9HQTbyBIMMHWBgtTcoTMMVen-m6ez4PMlWbXw0hnsssP_5Lj0HlZH6L2ElFsnEq4Ty6gXjLvwuCg_vf4IlJIDKwG_TjgDkmFn6mnwY9b0SgmIx4LL7-X1m0tQ/s320/DSC_0052.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311770672455135234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Countless dorm rooms are plastered with the wonderful Benjy Franklin <a href="http://www.beerinfood.com/Franklin.html">(mis)quote</a> "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy." How trite, yet how true. Just like Brooklyn's <a href="http://www.nyfoodmuseum.org/bkbeer.htm#BBrewing">Brewers Row</a> in today's <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=bushwick+place,+brooklyn,+ny&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=35.821085,79.101563&ie=UTF8&ll=40.708231,-73.944254&spn=0.008377,0.019312&z=16">East Williamsburg / Bushwick, </a>Philadelphia had its own hood, Brewerytown, in the northwestern part of the city. Throughout the 19th and into the 20th century, Philly boasted more than 90s breweries in the city itself, with another 100+ in the metropolitan region. However, the one-two punch of post WWI anti-German sentiment, followed by Prohibition shuttered most of these industries for good, in both Philly and BK.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3I2OkP0gUmzbyktKLOfAO9Xoqm1qQWcnzTzjKo2DVrY1uHlJNxqYYRUhY4EVjR9XhzO1aLD45kZ-_S5D0l1TmJPnToHTPbQbRvxTE3QnXKWbpAdKAA9AvDdZ8S-E85zz5VhoCHfJ7_4/s1600-h/DSC_0056.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ3I2OkP0gUmzbyktKLOfAO9Xoqm1qQWcnzTzjKo2DVrY1uHlJNxqYYRUhY4EVjR9XhzO1aLD45kZ-_S5D0l1TmJPnToHTPbQbRvxTE3QnXKWbpAdKAA9AvDdZ8S-E85zz5VhoCHfJ7_4/s320/DSC_0056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311768844525204626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">But just like Brooklyn, Philly has seen a beer resurgence, with dozens of breweries and brewpubs reopening and jumpstarting the microbrew revolution with delicious results. The <a href="http://www.phillybeerweek.org/">Philly Beer Week</a>, now celebrating its 2nd year, is a 10-day festival spread out over over 50 bars with hundreds of events and thousands of pints poured into thirsty maws. None of us could spend more than 24 hours celebrating, so we got straight to liquid business.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8QLadZVVffPterrG6XnRWs20idvNtj29HTgbF6JTXwM_Ger1ArvHtTLnmq9GwsbMJooyHD4Xkyhz_btfdAf0FGWkA7P_Z4Qs95sgnmlS-K1xDavFyOGsSy-yQt2BB5XxxvPtdOnDKR0/s1600-h/DSC_0022.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy8QLadZVVffPterrG6XnRWs20idvNtj29HTgbF6JTXwM_Ger1ArvHtTLnmq9GwsbMJooyHD4Xkyhz_btfdAf0FGWkA7P_Z4Qs95sgnmlS-K1xDavFyOGsSy-yQt2BB5XxxvPtdOnDKR0/s320/DSC_0022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311768841443389074" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">After the first pub, after the hotel check-in, we set off on a bar bounce. But its not all booze and blues - many bars and breweries offer feel-good reasons to drink. Our next bar gimmick, called "Save a kitten, drink a fish!" was in donating all dollars spent on <a href="http://www.flyingfish.com/">Flying Fish</a> beer to an animal rescue fund. Following bar #2 was <a href="http://www.sswba.org/Directory/BobandBarbara/bob.html">Bob & Barbara's Lounge,</a> where every square inch was dedicated to PBR paraphernalia and ads from as far back as the 40s.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZSmD1BimDBGXLSiZ3O76epq-Doj2ZMkvaZLTftVSBYcFb7iBlZyLPa_s5TvLf4Yzt0vSdgZBd7XhkyV_gcYBkfhqRS2SEeswf3S4s7NZDjHmKrO1qN3Gf5ZALhkC0k3xaSzP52vR3Fc/s1600-h/DSC_0059.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZSmD1BimDBGXLSiZ3O76epq-Doj2ZMkvaZLTftVSBYcFb7iBlZyLPa_s5TvLf4Yzt0vSdgZBd7XhkyV_gcYBkfhqRS2SEeswf3S4s7NZDjHmKrO1qN3Gf5ZALhkC0k3xaSzP52vR3Fc/s320/DSC_0059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311773462704994722" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Then, it was a quick cab ride to the Comcast center and the Opening Tap event. Over 50 brewers offering 2 to 3 different samples of their luscious, liquidy wares. Each participant was handed a 6 ounce plastic tumbler in which to taste the beers, but with one entry ticket each, we could sample as many beers as we wanted. And lord, did we sample!<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizMDLgaUy2TZS8F2ZXngLoO9OjbD33fQVvTR9sGQWog1WVIYbpEyE9jfQNT5ThToiqTmvxJGmyAF_WUnwntcy48i1VUsQ3zMorppuWVW-mLC1A9h6LNGuefxC8Ti1VQ2V79Wp0eqDL-xo/s1600-h/DSC_0077.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 306px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizMDLgaUy2TZS8F2ZXngLoO9OjbD33fQVvTR9sGQWog1WVIYbpEyE9jfQNT5ThToiqTmvxJGmyAF_WUnwntcy48i1VUsQ3zMorppuWVW-mLC1A9h6LNGuefxC8Ti1VQ2V79Wp0eqDL-xo/s320/DSC_0077.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311774300877354322" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Following the opening tap, two more Brooklyn Boys - Aaron #2 and Ben Haas were waiting to meet. We found them, surprise surprise, in another bar. So we joined them for beers (hoppy, spicy) and charged onwards, to more bars for more beers. At some point a cheesesteak was devoured. At another point, a strip club was entered. Sadly, Philly shuts down for the night at 2am and our gang all passed out, a day well drunk.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDh7b3qYoEiv4h4QRqXCv-2fCM9wZWfeKTWgApWUaJSQLRIqzuFNVvpOqSw5nUgoWSEDcnuWy8WegSsvDg02MheryOw3WN3a16OLw1Z1eE0QSQfrdNiTPG6Cu0s45Fa8xRLYVtj5qWoDo/s1600-h/DSC_0078.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDh7b3qYoEiv4h4QRqXCv-2fCM9wZWfeKTWgApWUaJSQLRIqzuFNVvpOqSw5nUgoWSEDcnuWy8WegSsvDg02MheryOw3WN3a16OLw1Z1eE0QSQfrdNiTPG6Cu0s45Fa8xRLYVtj5qWoDo/s320/DSC_0078.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311777410915475746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">The next morning was a little painful, so we decided, rather spectacularly, to head to <a href="http://www.johnnybrendas.com/">Johnny Brenda's</a> in the north end of Philly, for an authentic Port Brunch, in which we had over a dozen microbrewed ports to choose from.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikcN3pzkSDRJIVbYGEdhkXENSyr4slxhVPk8CbFFptRF0qACnvT6hof1B2tM8gPubCo1BUR4QQ5v9ZSoRe1-mfM4DdepwibQbyIToB5wvBTpZ6n9EgJ2h74guQAXdt6JI0jKQptBwYOY/s1600-h/DSC_0090.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikcN3pzkSDRJIVbYGEdhkXENSyr4slxhVPk8CbFFptRF0qACnvT6hof1B2tM8gPubCo1BUR4QQ5v9ZSoRe1-mfM4DdepwibQbyIToB5wvBTpZ6n9EgJ2h74guQAXdt6JI0jKQptBwYOY/s320/DSC_0090.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311770670857258594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Naturally, we tried them all. A wise decision.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixcm5toLvAEhHyp6AOjn-WdOthENAiZmlAfs0VgmHpT0rb_nw85_g7-d59aLQCYJFPxgvqAxOT2AuX5znHI-IqfrZbpoFLoKjYzDuLIHo6hK4maBbzYtCPm84IuAj-EnZoMkKJo0pCRgI/s1600-h/DSC_0100.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixcm5toLvAEhHyp6AOjn-WdOthENAiZmlAfs0VgmHpT0rb_nw85_g7-d59aLQCYJFPxgvqAxOT2AuX5znHI-IqfrZbpoFLoKjYzDuLIHo6hK4maBbzYtCPm84IuAj-EnZoMkKJo0pCRgI/s320/DSC_0100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311770674566972946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Following our port brunch, we marauded our way across town in the brilliant Philly haze and sunshiney smog, enjoying the resurgent industrial neighborhoods.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaErksv1vQ631Fux_Rkj0xkK3ZNcMXyoTYb7eQVj9K5kBInS-yp9I5xYgBvhd0eUedA-0vDC60t5d1VpzJk0xfV1Brtif1H87SdAe0zQNcaD0_MVZKW_wI0bK-QHW3NZN4QxePqUu540/s1600-h/DSC_0103.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 189px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaErksv1vQ631Fux_Rkj0xkK3ZNcMXyoTYb7eQVj9K5kBInS-yp9I5xYgBvhd0eUedA-0vDC60t5d1VpzJk0xfV1Brtif1H87SdAe0zQNcaD0_MVZKW_wI0bK-QHW3NZN4QxePqUu540/s320/DSC_0103.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311777404826020290" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Somehow, through blind, drunk historical luck, we stumbled upon a historical marker declaring the very first Lager brewed in America! To celebrate, we went to the bar.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXBMBfNNevANB5wZR3Wl5ttIDzKZ4sUHmWB6EQGN_MnAyVO1tb_lqH1SnR5xFTUbdnKdD4QQJ_jnAJorX-ErJ28jxh8ANBABB_Z9N2adMtBMIws4BL07jni7dHTndBuRraDg6pNtjPJQU/s1600-h/DSC_0113.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXBMBfNNevANB5wZR3Wl5ttIDzKZ4sUHmWB6EQGN_MnAyVO1tb_lqH1SnR5xFTUbdnKdD4QQJ_jnAJorX-ErJ28jxh8ANBABB_Z9N2adMtBMIws4BL07jni7dHTndBuRraDg6pNtjPJQU/s320/DSC_0113.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311768850411313202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">And then another one. And then . . . it was time to leave this magical world of hefeweisens and hopbacks, of IPAs and Bells for Boobs (<a href="http://www.bellsbeer.com/">Bells Brewery</a> which donated proceeds to breast cancer research) in which our drinking would certainly save the world. Maybe not our livers . . . but who needs them?!? Philly, we love you and we'll be back! As soon as our throbbing headache goes away . . . </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOhNg35gS25wxvDEmCAwiQrhFak4pJh6uHiH5mCENGtyNWejl5vUqhz0Emsrsu8ivOuGEgzuULi9Jhm2cVMFCwNciKx6R7AktN3EKUiO6jgyZwCDnU0Rw7mOBZF7aaYGd10X0lONPa1U4/s1600-h/DSC_0114.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOhNg35gS25wxvDEmCAwiQrhFak4pJh6uHiH5mCENGtyNWejl5vUqhz0Emsrsu8ivOuGEgzuULi9Jhm2cVMFCwNciKx6R7AktN3EKUiO6jgyZwCDnU0Rw7mOBZF7aaYGd10X0lONPa1U4/s320/DSC_0114.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311768857108744002" border="0" /></a>More than enough pictures of our adventures can be found <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157614998725065/">here</a>, <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/deliquescence/sets/72157615045586623/">here</a>, and <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/benjaminlhaas/sets/72157615043248138/">here</a>!iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-13293702886903748212009-02-10T06:51:00.000-08:002009-02-10T09:05:54.218-08:00Lost in History vol. 77: 3way Bro-date Bike ride to Flushing; Farewell Shea Stadium.<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0E32ZWV8F0z_MQLglMAzwE-TNQ7qpMHU9qMJvcCuRUOc_-pRZXfRr1g5JhEp8SLnWsW8g8B4QQHfjvBzIB8xIX6oPT0QyUz-APNeifRN1GRGuJcTvQlZG5RyAob50ijCisnt7DDA0bn4/s1600-h/DSC_0005.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0E32ZWV8F0z_MQLglMAzwE-TNQ7qpMHU9qMJvcCuRUOc_-pRZXfRr1g5JhEp8SLnWsW8g8B4QQHfjvBzIB8xIX6oPT0QyUz-APNeifRN1GRGuJcTvQlZG5RyAob50ijCisnt7DDA0bn4/s320/DSC_0005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301211317317804514" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Every forecast we checked promised a perfect weather weekend, considering this was still February. Saturday's bright sunshine, clear blue skies, slight breeze and mid-to-high-50s meant one thing: bicycling! And where better to ride our trusty two wheelers to, but a far-off land of outer-borough exoticism and tongue-numbing food, Flushing! Rounding out the adventure team were our buddies Josh Bernstein, <a href="http://mygutinstinct.wordpress.com/">food writer extraordinaire</a>, and Jean Barberis, a <a href="http://www.fluxfactory.org/jean-barberis/">dapper and delightful Frenchman</a> of extraordinary abilities.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjkCr910asK1DPr2hFUqMUvJH2ofWr2-GePBQaKIk2WsglXL2QO03bc6m-DdvOVT20VkP94OT5Gb782gxXHT-x8DONdPiYFiPg1AMHmsIvlE1uWzw8ecU0aXg4OtXxGh78K2HGm_oaro/s1600-h/DSC_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjkCr910asK1DPr2hFUqMUvJH2ofWr2-GePBQaKIk2WsglXL2QO03bc6m-DdvOVT20VkP94OT5Gb782gxXHT-x8DONdPiYFiPg1AMHmsIvlE1uWzw8ecU0aXg4OtXxGh78K2HGm_oaro/s320/DSC_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301211024551923410" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">First <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&source=s_d&saddr=park+place+and+classon+street&daddr=345+Eldert+St,+Brooklyn,+NY+11237&hl=en&geocode=&mra=ls&dirflg=w&sll=40.683465,-73.93334&sspn=0.035538,0.060339&ie=UTF8&ll=40.684088,-73.933353&spn=0.035537,0.060339&z=14">Josh biked from his place in Crown Heights to mine in Bushwick</a>, a total of 3.5 miles. Together, Josh and I then <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&source=s_d&saddr=345+Eldert+St,+Brooklyn,+NY+11237&daddr=63rd+street+and+39th+avenue,+woodside&hl=en&geocode=&mra=ls&dirflg=w&sll=40.719995,-73.902645&sspn=0.071036,0.120678&ie=UTF8&z=13">hustled up to Jean's pad in Woodside</a>, another 4.3 miles. Once we pickedup the Frenchman, we all <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&source=s_d&saddr=63rd+street+and+39th+avenue,+woodside&daddr=Flushing,+NY&hl=en&geocode=&mra=ls&dirflg=w&sll=40.719995,-73.902645&sspn=0.071036,0.120678&ie=UTF8&ll=40.75532,-73.861427&spn=0.070999,0.120678&z=13">boogied our way to Flushing</a>, tallying another 4.5 miles, but we got turned around in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park and ended up in the <a href="http://www.queensbotanical.org/">Queens Botanical Garden</a> before hitting the magical land of East Asian delicacies along Main street, Queens, USA.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiftUpyp2sEWa7uU0lY99071Fay1ZQ0VcNEN-Bv36cUqHXLkfepDEG6hpOSZz4dVeveB-qI0SDuV9kku98rMVe6RXTbNW_pa4DVffseRyRxeEhjEEaFPTxqRc_8-TpvA3NzcwgOfe28E/s1600-h/2943766-Flushing_NY_2006-Flushing.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiftUpyp2sEWa7uU0lY99071Fay1ZQ0VcNEN-Bv36cUqHXLkfepDEG6hpOSZz4dVeveB-qI0SDuV9kku98rMVe6RXTbNW_pa4DVffseRyRxeEhjEEaFPTxqRc_8-TpvA3NzcwgOfe28E/s320/2943766-Flushing_NY_2006-Flushing.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301215744845847730" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Flushing started out its lengthy history as a Dutch trading village called Vlissingen. Always a center for ethnic diversity and religious tolerance, proved as such way back in 1657 with the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flushing_Remonstrance">Flushing Remonstrance</a>, which allowed Quakers and others to worship freely, against the wishes of the New Netherlands Governor (and mean son-of-a-bitch) <a href="http://www.peterstuyvesant.org/">Peter Stuyvesant</a>. The Remonstrance is widely considered a birthplace of religious freedom in the new world.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSOpfTc9-m1rJFVXfLoBRLw8n-aIMwwV1_VYNhQKOEd_IPb5CqVAmqNDxhXOXaewl8yjonUHwecfZjfjdww1YhRhLNi3SliABavODdF1D9SLpj9ztoxkafh9E5x2KewRxSRto83FHO6M/s1600-h/DSC_0013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBSOpfTc9-m1rJFVXfLoBRLw8n-aIMwwV1_VYNhQKOEd_IPb5CqVAmqNDxhXOXaewl8yjonUHwecfZjfjdww1YhRhLNi3SliABavODdF1D9SLpj9ztoxkafh9E5x2KewRxSRto83FHO6M/s320/DSC_0013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301214872525056994" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">A few hundred years have gone by since, and the diversity (both ethnic and religious - there are over 200 houses of worship within 2.5 sq miles!) of Flushing pulses up and down the streets. Before Flushing became NY's largest Chinatown, it was mostly Italian and Greek. They left during <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_flight">Great White Flight</a> in the 70s, and the immigrants from SE Asia started pouring in. Nowadays Flushing is crammed with Koreans, Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, Indians, and Chinese from the <a href="http://www.travelchinaguide.com/cityguides/sichuan/">Sichuan</a>, <a href="http://www.travelchinaguide.com/cityguides/fujian/">Fujian</a> and <a href="http://www.travelchinaguide.com/cityguides/hunan/">Hunan</a> provinces.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-10ErggwFAz8gVpRipcz1gu0llRvQpOJrnpx_ejrEuSnmz9wuA5oPHNqB2cX0B5oKJPGZPNpg-1lL-FyNDXPHmOn1bfBtMHRmSzqSy5_eyb_QDfS_irj8UYJpGhvtsfbuj2IaSiTlAxQ/s1600-h/DSC_0006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-10ErggwFAz8gVpRipcz1gu0llRvQpOJrnpx_ejrEuSnmz9wuA5oPHNqB2cX0B5oKJPGZPNpg-1lL-FyNDXPHmOn1bfBtMHRmSzqSy5_eyb_QDfS_irj8UYJpGhvtsfbuj2IaSiTlAxQ/s320/DSC_0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301214867997747442" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Our aim was the <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/flushing-mall-flushing">Flushing Mall on 39th avenue</a>. On our way in, we were greeted by a very friendly Chinese dragon, a remnant from the <a href="http://www.c-c-c.org/chineseculture/zodiac/Ox.html">Year of the Ox </a>celebration last weekend. The Flushing Mall is a split-level, split-personality spot, with clothing stores, tailors and two small cafes on the ground floor surrounded by plain decor and uninspired mall decor. Turn a corner and go down some stairs and one enters a subterranean food court and electronics shops surrounded by multi-colored flooring and walls, with a space-age modern Asian design scheme. We went ground level for Korean-Chinese dumplings, and underground for spicy <a href="http://www.kitchenchick.com/2007/01/dan_dan_mian_da.html">Dandan noodles</a>, spicy hot and sour soup with rice noodles and lamb, and spicy fried chicken over sticky rice with salad. Needles to say, we weren't in it for the bland or boring. Everything was cheap, delicious, and spicy, but unfortunately not the face-melting-off spicy we were looking for, just the caught-in-the-back-of-the-throat-type-cough spicy. Next time . . .<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhBFzCRYHIe5bGGv9bZBk9azGispt8vbxrPqnldugpIrbiBk9VmPQ_7uA8DfpZk2GH4mVnAm3IO25bvHHN1-udkrsVNvuelFDROOtY1q5qj9pQ2bV0vCZ7PZWlPrhyphenhyphenxWT5cmNjZAeVqO8/s1600-h/DSC_0018.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhBFzCRYHIe5bGGv9bZBk9azGispt8vbxrPqnldugpIrbiBk9VmPQ_7uA8DfpZk2GH4mVnAm3IO25bvHHN1-udkrsVNvuelFDROOtY1q5qj9pQ2bV0vCZ7PZWlPrhyphenhyphenxWT5cmNjZAeVqO8/s320/DSC_0018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301214876160644594" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Filled to the gills with szechuan foods and fantastically happy, we went two separate ways - Josh for some food shopping and Jean and I towards the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.queensmuseum.org">Queens Museum</a>. En route we passed the almost-entirely-gone Shea stadium, formerly home to the <a href="http://newyork.mets.mlb.com/index.jsp?c_id=nym">NY Mets</a>, the lovable/hateable underdogs of MLB's National League. Its not that they suck, the way the Knicks suck, its that they try really hard but never make it to the finals. (Don't ask me, I don't do sports.) However, I DO do NY's iconography, and the vision of the classic Shea Stadium, all but its Western Wall pulled down to make way for a parking lot for the new <a href="http://www.ballparks.com/baseball/national/nymbpk.htm">Citi Field</a> (which should be named the Citi / Taxpayer Field, but don't get us started) was heavy on the heart.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtv0slNHH1YiIZdSsu2XUk6wG29InKd0uwQBNIFkV8HqZwe1pf66RSWqQWbDw8ghOencoGi2GB5UsWdKyEgK6yAyzav3BP-MBEpVuRgCgioMOOgM7teptRRo7OKKgWMm9ZNZiwGF5cOY/s1600-h/DSC_0025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtv0slNHH1YiIZdSsu2XUk6wG29InKd0uwQBNIFkV8HqZwe1pf66RSWqQWbDw8ghOencoGi2GB5UsWdKyEgK6yAyzav3BP-MBEpVuRgCgioMOOgM7teptRRo7OKKgWMm9ZNZiwGF5cOY/s320/DSC_0025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301214880684760530" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Off to the QMA, for short films on Queens and a Q&A at the QMA with the filmmakers. Following, we had a fantastic <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&source=s_d&saddr=Nyc+Building,+Flushing,+NY+11368+%28Queens+Art+Museum%29&daddr=345+Eldert+St,+Brooklyn,+NY+11237&hl=en&geocode=Ceho2rEzrvIPFf27bQIdpDGZ-yHmorvBotyAAw%3B&mra=pe&mrcr=0&dirflg=w&sll=40.719811,-73.876534&sspn=0.071037,0.120678&ie=UTF8&ll=40.719681,-73.876019&spn=0.071037,0.120678&z=13">bike ride back to Bushwick</a>, (6 miles), first stopping & dropping Jean in Woodside. Magical, marvelous mouthfuls of Queens on a beautiful bizarrely blue-sky Saturday in February should be on everybody's life list. Next up, the Bronx!</span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-69819803934831088732009-01-22T20:49:00.000-08:002009-01-27T11:21:57.963-08:00FREEZING in History vol. 44: Inauguration Vacation (and so much more)!!!<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7OpNCnPc_yAtqrmP-7YJGZ-PBZhMS9BBLWpMfUzXR_a4Zcx8RAhl8gp4K3eQSuQywfRX5BCcyeNu5GVbQqtGXWbhGc6dhaqeYON4YV9bEAsUp6f_5Q3mOPSMBPl4pvkOs2MW5Cn01Knk/s1600-h/DSC_0405.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7OpNCnPc_yAtqrmP-7YJGZ-PBZhMS9BBLWpMfUzXR_a4Zcx8RAhl8gp4K3eQSuQywfRX5BCcyeNu5GVbQqtGXWbhGc6dhaqeYON4YV9bEAsUp6f_5Q3mOPSMBPl4pvkOs2MW5Cn01Knk/s320/DSC_0405.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294363199629531874" border="0" /></a>It had been quite the 3 week jaunt. First up, the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.buses.org">American Bus Association</a> Marketplace, held this year in Charlotte, NC. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157613011770897/">A full week</a> of schmoozing, boozing, bad luncheon eating, business card swapping, small talk with big people from all over America & Canada, and the slow but sad realization that Charlotte, although pretty and pleasant, is as dull as its former cotton fields turned into financial skyscrapers. Although Gideon and I did come across the <a href="http://www.roadsideamerica.com/set/CIVIchair.html">World's Largest Duncan Phyfe Chair, in Thomasville, NC.</a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF_3m97ZY2Z6bHw8WUrLfalPWIZBRt-qkqGCLgEPmrPSRIy7qneYsTuGEVrelO-cfaKOFOh3dzvIXv5FgHXZAqSP-9ImAVNxyXC5WWLnnX-lj-GftR0CMvcyS1-K4Tv-MM1uj3jLRlGSA/s1600-h/DSC_0091.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF_3m97ZY2Z6bHw8WUrLfalPWIZBRt-qkqGCLgEPmrPSRIy7qneYsTuGEVrelO-cfaKOFOh3dzvIXv5FgHXZAqSP-9ImAVNxyXC5WWLnnX-lj-GftR0CMvcyS1-K4Tv-MM1uj3jLRlGSA/s320/DSC_0091.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294364845754021602" border="0" /></a>That, and we took a few spins around the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.nascar.com">NASCAR</a> racetrack.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi33FcXRL3Jkksghil5KHMWG4MeC7hu3vXUsXny1ZSu0fGOLAttVRix_skVt-XXPjJqZgdJLVNXA5An__uVG2AQ47ZczgwDrix74883dw_bq9Ow8cBf7F64S1uIJccmap4E-HwuLL6jKv8/s1600-h/IMG_0075.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi33FcXRL3Jkksghil5KHMWG4MeC7hu3vXUsXny1ZSu0fGOLAttVRix_skVt-XXPjJqZgdJLVNXA5An__uVG2AQ47ZczgwDrix74883dw_bq9Ow8cBf7F64S1uIJccmap4E-HwuLL6jKv8/s320/IMG_0075.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294363205642919922" border="0" /></a>Nextup, Gid goes to Miami and Matt makes a lovely little visit to old college friends in Athens, GA. Indie rock noise and beer before noon, Golden Corral Buffets and lots and lots of <a href="http://www.jitteryjoes.com/">coffee</a>. Scott, small-time author and music-romantic drove me around Athens on a personalized tour of the old stomping grounds of Elephant 6. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWEfJ1poF8QfxEkj84eJkZi1OeSep3ogQ99AjxZieQRJY0al4G9ZGFmOtoOgImliZFNL-x0w5BE4IKGJuAX3iaM-Ntyd81eknAAL1op_cNHr4GKHJG6UTXmriT1j-ZhpRBMHpgdPWOVtg/s1600-h/DSC_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWEfJ1poF8QfxEkj84eJkZi1OeSep3ogQ99AjxZieQRJY0al4G9ZGFmOtoOgImliZFNL-x0w5BE4IKGJuAX3iaM-Ntyd81eknAAL1op_cNHr4GKHJG6UTXmriT1j-ZhpRBMHpgdPWOVtg/s320/DSC_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294366537669313874" border="0" /></a>E6 was a legendary lo-fi recording collective who's members made the greatest indie-pop album of all time, <a href="http://www.neutralmilkhotel.org/faq.htm">Neutral Milk Hotel</a>'s <a href="http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/article/record_review/20351-in-the-aeroplane-over-the-sea"><span style="font-style: italic;">In the Aeroplane Over the Sea</span></a> among other albums by other bands including Elf Power, Olivia Tremor Control and Of Montreal. Drove like a maniac across South Carolina, stopping to visit the World's Largest Fire Hydrant;<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_DHcolVvyXQo-0Pihvw-8PJC2gBnnYux6iGSSUMcfldiLTytvT0g1VuVYXh6HcDzTum1Ksm9K9vO9QiK5T9QDDU6aWA-wB0eR-6awXA1XXAiBt_xvs_ITlw2Joc150XSmtMW0gSek6o/s1600-h/DSC_0012.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 257px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_DHcolVvyXQo-0Pihvw-8PJC2gBnnYux6iGSSUMcfldiLTytvT0g1VuVYXh6HcDzTum1Ksm9K9vO9QiK5T9QDDU6aWA-wB0eR-6awXA1XXAiBt_xvs_ITlw2Joc150XSmtMW0gSek6o/s320/DSC_0012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294363209858899218" border="0" /></a> as well as check out fragments of an Atom Bomb that was accidentally dropped on <a href="http://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/1165">Mars Bluff, SC</a> in 1932.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCrDa8l5TYuXbxO8EbOEKcf8EV0sUrJUcLZOl1cj8xjmL9n19EbWtYvFBKMmmrexC7Fimprm5Okz0LYTLb2coDwFWhO2HGPYSochbq0DtxFP2k8OyPMDaLyeb7FPlHlU4S7HT9XueYq8/s1600-h/DSC_0020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCrDa8l5TYuXbxO8EbOEKcf8EV0sUrJUcLZOl1cj8xjmL9n19EbWtYvFBKMmmrexC7Fimprm5Okz0LYTLb2coDwFWhO2HGPYSochbq0DtxFP2k8OyPMDaLyeb7FPlHlU4S7HT9XueYq8/s320/DSC_0020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294364853110014466" border="0" /></a>Picked up the girlfriend in Wilmington, NC and headed to the Outer Banks to meet her entire family as well as consume outrageous amounts of oysters at Aunt Susan & Uncle Richard's yearly OYSTER FEST!! Everything good was here: hand-built stove, five bushels of the aphrodisiac, chowder, beer, wine, salad, more food, good vibes, great music and homegrown people. Our Brooklyn 'tude went great with the gf's fam and so on so forth. We'll be back for more oysters. Until then, these <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157613055024624/">pictures</a> will have to do.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0bESMjlnEhErPCsdWbFYAXZxtGU6_yCyaYjl_p7zJU5VLq3niKcBlkGjMoRFuV4a_N7i31sv05Z9wh7FXmH9MeKAdADj4o-mAkiiNhEQnaTRBpWDqTWjZCQH-D31LYW8Toozp_YQxDwY/s1600-h/DSC_0129.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0bESMjlnEhErPCsdWbFYAXZxtGU6_yCyaYjl_p7zJU5VLq3niKcBlkGjMoRFuV4a_N7i31sv05Z9wh7FXmH9MeKAdADj4o-mAkiiNhEQnaTRBpWDqTWjZCQH-D31LYW8Toozp_YQxDwY/s320/DSC_0129.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294503180231480290" border="0" /></a>However all these personal and familial experiences can't compete with the events in our Nation's Capital on January 20th, every four years (give or take). After the oysters (and <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157613057103718/">after a pitstop for BBQ </a>with the GF's Dadster in northern NC) we went to DC for the crowning of President Obama. With our HQ in McLean, VA - 6 miles from the Capital; a sturdy group of 5, prepared for everything including the bone-shivering chills we told the Inauguration to bring it on; crack a dawn; with our friend Pokemon; bring it on!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhFmQ9C436yNeORPKur3NPlH7PGHRbaGok-IvChsuBQ8f-5MlXCU2CEe7G99ZZ6ePDXuY2InWkKUqjgWCF8_NBKfzsh4gJZeZ7fEUWixjgX7cle6KPbcgAE0VD1gpCl0-h2tmztsR-CM/s1600-h/DSC_0355.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvhFmQ9C436yNeORPKur3NPlH7PGHRbaGok-IvChsuBQ8f-5MlXCU2CEe7G99ZZ6ePDXuY2InWkKUqjgWCF8_NBKfzsh4gJZeZ7fEUWixjgX7cle6KPbcgAE0VD1gpCl0-h2tmztsR-CM/s320/DSC_0355.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294505850593361362" border="0" /></a>Wokeup 3:30am on the 20th. Layered up like it was Himalaya-stompin time. Piled into the minivan (muchas gracias Mama Goldblatt, la princessa de McLean y mi corazon!) and jumped out on the side of the highway, west of the Potomac and the Great Mall.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6ZyeHkZeLKCdvaK0_5GjEmMMvI_B17Hpc9wqNvg28R2mFWEC6kuxRaJAsKgJLFt37sswWVdvbIjRUXR2H47aQC7y3tCEffoT_rApP3dcj18lYvhZoeBiE-BaXr3pzheszctqZG6D3Qk/s1600-h/DSC_0359.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6ZyeHkZeLKCdvaK0_5GjEmMMvI_B17Hpc9wqNvg28R2mFWEC6kuxRaJAsKgJLFt37sswWVdvbIjRUXR2H47aQC7y3tCEffoT_rApP3dcj18lYvhZoeBiE-BaXr3pzheszctqZG6D3Qk/s320/DSC_0359.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294505843481467746" border="0" /></a>Walked a mile over the bridge and towards the Lincoln memorial, then past it, past the Reflecting Pool, the Washington Memorial, onto the Mall itself.<br />Closer and closer to the Capital building. Close enough to see the thing, but far enough away to need the jumbotron positioned right over our patriotic heads. And we waited.<br />And waited. And shivered. And <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=puppy-pile">puppy-piled</a>. And used up all our hand- and foot-warmers. And shuddered. And watched the sun rise. And chillied.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVSg-v-avkKe_IL2Kwqo_a_oqzdWe_1rn-QtWOTp3ZCH9WNmJWaMhvD7ffqbAh-ZmUgNVVnLgF6tKLcqyo0JFQ_NSk6bib71o-WKBnX8Px_Fbz2XKnMY_XUGhEwms8XTETD24tqFUl9g/s1600-h/DSC_0366.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 196px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVSg-v-avkKe_IL2Kwqo_a_oqzdWe_1rn-QtWOTp3ZCH9WNmJWaMhvD7ffqbAh-ZmUgNVVnLgF6tKLcqyo0JFQ_NSk6bib71o-WKBnX8Px_Fbz2XKnMY_XUGhEwms8XTETD24tqFUl9g/s320/DSC_0366.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294505840924787506" border="0" /></a>And watched the concert from the day before. And tried to think about anything other than the toes-numbing, nose-running, skin-burning, finger-churning, soul-stabbing cold. And finally, finally, the party started. And the energy rose. The flags waves, the voices shouted out, the chants tumbled in their polysyllabic glory OH- BAM- AH! OH- BAM- AH! We saw Hillary, we cheered a bunch. There was W, and we politely kept out bad-ass mouths shut. But nothing compared with the man of the hour, our confidant and commander, our superhero and superstar, Mr. Personality himself, the 44th Prez of the U. S. of A. We holla'd for the world to hear, which they promptly did, and holla'd right back. It was glory itself. You shoulda been there. If you were, good job. If not, our pictures are <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/levysuniqueny/">here</a>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTmRDVsGEivGnOU7qTI9ol65ve2KJzme933890BIGpLmbTReHXFC4tWZgDUnYJdDW74e2sxu3luNPBXojte8VC76UInoGIBJlb0al9i8N_-kn_Tc7tK7nq1vOM7Sl5c0Yw6WPeSOxKfoM/s1600-h/DSC_0372.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTmRDVsGEivGnOU7qTI9ol65ve2KJzme933890BIGpLmbTReHXFC4tWZgDUnYJdDW74e2sxu3luNPBXojte8VC76UInoGIBJlb0al9i8N_-kn_Tc7tK7nq1vOM7Sl5c0Yw6WPeSOxKfoM/s320/DSC_0372.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294505832185298306" border="0" /></a>We wont recount the hellhole of trying to escape the streets of DC, of taking 3 hours to walk 2 miles because of the seething mass of humanity all trying to do the same thing, namely, get the hell outta there. We didn't take any pictures of the aftermath because we were trying to forget it even as it was happening. Lets all just remember the moment of magic: that hand on Lincoln's bible, that calm and steadfast demeanor, that hopeful upward glance towards a brighter future. And lets hope he gets to work quickly.</span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-21577134719424272302008-12-04T14:25:00.000-08:002008-12-12T14:20:44.339-08:00Lost in the ArtChurch vol. 1: Awakenings, Asleepenings, Adreamenings, Aschemenings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjez06gYQ5kuyHCdxp7EHAza-5lTRvv2a4ww6PAyJNOquppum4E6tTp3dd8itw6ugr2og19gAWnRvxKT0Z0YoMQyLtcx373EfvwdhkCUnOBfKij3KQc6_TxeZ2cenR-6VkzJdGEEdw7wXY/s1600-h/Awakening_Group.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjez06gYQ5kuyHCdxp7EHAza-5lTRvv2a4ww6PAyJNOquppum4E6tTp3dd8itw6ugr2og19gAWnRvxKT0Z0YoMQyLtcx373EfvwdhkCUnOBfKij3KQc6_TxeZ2cenR-6VkzJdGEEdw7wXY/s320/Awakening_Group.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278664553267059010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">A few weekends back, we attended the sanctification of an an <a href="http://www.gotquestions.org/antinomianism.html">antinomian</a> church, located deep along the border between Bushwick and Ridgewood. We'd been to the <a href="http://www.christiancentersanctuaryofhope.com/">Christian Center Sanctuary of Hope</a> before & had <a href="http://actiondirection.blogspot.com/2008/07/lost-in-history-vol-66-art-revival-by.html">participated and written about</a> the experience and art-exorcism of Gordon Matta-Clark. So we were excited about returning and reviewing the latest event slash artattack to take place far away from the well-trod artist paths of Williamsburg and the LES. The Christian Center Sanctuary of Hope (for simplicity's sake, CCSH) is a former storefront-turned-Latino-Roman-Catholic-church-turned-vacant-room-turned-artist-haunt-slash-performance-space, run by three friends of ours: Matthew Blair, Lech Szporer and Andrew Wingert.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8Z7ptXwspLekz0OtYmAEzzUq-Ys8n4r8MSi2h4rK9S3_Gyz2_csFBeenw1B7DDP5MJAXKzNhQo8nHFoDo74wKan_B6PSynNwNGZD6RE0y9iAlIBO9kLhVAVafauHhCcSY51oOdUzNSs/s1600-h/7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8Z7ptXwspLekz0OtYmAEzzUq-Ys8n4r8MSi2h4rK9S3_Gyz2_csFBeenw1B7DDP5MJAXKzNhQo8nHFoDo74wKan_B6PSynNwNGZD6RE0y9iAlIBO9kLhVAVafauHhCcSY51oOdUzNSs/s320/7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279031215019701858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">The playbill promised a lot: performances, photography, hot liquored drinks, theater, mime, noise band, and possibly the sacrificing of a live chicken named Lucy. When we arrived at the CCSH we were impressed by the full house of young creative peoples jamming the floor, drinking hot toddies and exploring the decor, which included: tree branches rising out of dirt mounds on the wooden floor; two enormous church pews built on risers facing the stage; a ceiling-suspended rope web large enough to climb into, laden with dangling church organ pipes; candles spinning on a Victrola player; vintage radio microphones and more. The carefully constructed aesthetic of slow but beautiful decay contributed to the atmosphere.<br /><br />Someone in the audience shouted "Cold as hell tonight" and the burbling laughter belied the fact that CCSH is a church, but instead of religion, it offers experience. The experience, like regular churches, is to pull the church-goers out of their expected levels of comfort, to shift their mode of intake and let that shift permeate other processes of life. To enter the building one way and leave changed. Such is the process of Artaudian theater, named after the great pervert of French theatrical aesthetics, <a href="http://www.theatrehistory.com/french/artaud001.html">Antonin Artaud</a>. Not an easy accomplishment, especially with today's jaded and ironic youth. However it wasn't for CCSH's want of trying.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDZ29mwg1SG083xheUgEmb4c1SjdTzzSEx2u40DQl9iY_oUVr5rOvnMa8S3ClyS5MaSAgO9qzegz3QZJAbSuLrPu90jHxo0uMUxhvnQhcauSYv7lOuiZZkLWSTelfmY4-9fuUJ5cDWAs/s1600-h/10.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDZ29mwg1SG083xheUgEmb4c1SjdTzzSEx2u40DQl9iY_oUVr5rOvnMa8S3ClyS5MaSAgO9qzegz3QZJAbSuLrPu90jHxo0uMUxhvnQhcauSYv7lOuiZZkLWSTelfmY4-9fuUJ5cDWAs/s320/10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279031216704816418" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">The opening act consisted of a not-quite-goth girl playing some plaintive songs on guitar, with good intention. Following the music, Becky the Burlesque performer as Neurotic Jewish Mother Necrophiliac. The stand-up routine that followed would've given Woody Allen a hard-on and material for his analyst. The act subsited of both a comic monologue and a live example of <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=teabagger">teabagging</a> corpses set to Celine Dion. Subtlety it wasn't, and life-shifting it absolutely aint. Then the third act.<br /><br />A stocky, not unattractive but not particularly engaging actress in a blond wig took the stage and started to do a Tammy Faye Bakker self-help shtick. The southern accent, the "Yes, you can do it too!" power attitude, the 80s music, all of it, a little tiring and expected. Until she stripped down naked in the middle of this unheated church, and proceeded to give a hygiene and sex-ed course on the proper way to insert objects into one's anus and vagina. It was astonishing - by the gaping mouths and wide-eyed shock it seemed that no-one in the audience had seen anything like it. The performer, <a href="http://www.annlivyoung.com/">Ann Liv Young</a>, was using her own splayed legs as the easel and her cunt and asshole as the anatomy chart. Eventually Ms. Young got up, butt-ass naked and all, and thrashed her way around the church, grinding against audience members as 80s house music thumped. Her aggressively sexual dance piece would have been at place in a megaclub in Chelsea, but performed by a naked woman in a blond wig in the middle of an Art-Awakening truly blew this church-goers mind.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4WBIDGbxQeDKKitVE-7SMtxM_Sx0JAzQp5Bd7IqojN-_rpFqg0QnWOpHHRBcdq4iN7-D0cogoxOz3KVDBxz2JK7JdOvvfxm-tqvmeK9mMUXJgyy8x3uIY4oNVJdt9rup3wSsqoudzNQ/s1600-h/Spread.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4WBIDGbxQeDKKitVE-7SMtxM_Sx0JAzQp5Bd7IqojN-_rpFqg0QnWOpHHRBcdq4iN7-D0cogoxOz3KVDBxz2JK7JdOvvfxm-tqvmeK9mMUXJgyy8x3uIY4oNVJdt9rup3wSsqoudzNQ/s320/Spread.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279031211894297730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Then Lucy the chicken came into the picture. Lucy was supposedly due to meet the chopping block right on the floor of CCSH, but an unnamed woman in tears (who according to Mr. Blair, wasnt part of the show) rushed the stage and made a plea to spare the chicken's life. Another shifting moment, bringing an audience member to interrupt the show. Lucy, along with Ann-Liv Young eventually escaped, courtesy of Ms. Young, her videographer Michael, and a getaway car waiting outside.<br /><br />The next act started when an argument exploded between two audience members, who moved down to the central staging area and expounded, in Shakespearean English, the accurate process to live a passionate life. It was entertaining, if a bit too pretentious. My lady and I liked the part where both gentlemen chomped down on raw cow heart, only at the insistence of each other. After the argument, it started to rain inside the church, and a group photograph was called for, so the crowd reassembled themselves outside and all posed, shiveringly.<br /><br />There was still the noise band and mimery to follow the intermission, but we had experienced enough moments of suspended comfort, and besides, I had worked all day while fighting a cold. It was a fast, long walk to our apartment where a warm bed and hot tea were waiting to soothe our souls. Following burlesque necrohiliac stand-up and naked lessons in sexual physionomy, after the almost-slaughter of a chicken and consumed raw cow hearts, tea and sleep will do just fine.</span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-82860555137331839362008-11-27T11:00:00.000-08:002008-11-30T20:49:39.202-08:00Lost in History vol. 76: Hindenburg Tour: The Humanity, the History, the Joisey Diner.<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2SOm7Ymz80xF-9CH2N_Olfsbyh1K_JfmTCdqBHe4iVxO1b2Aztrp72DFRb_jiFL-M_hUbfXO1ixhMHkop67Z8eBCCEskIE88xb8znJkbtLciQ-ncmsLvqXYb7hhJqFN8628GGKiwl6Yo/s1600-h/DSC_0088.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2SOm7Ymz80xF-9CH2N_Olfsbyh1K_JfmTCdqBHe4iVxO1b2Aztrp72DFRb_jiFL-M_hUbfXO1ixhMHkop67Z8eBCCEskIE88xb8znJkbtLciQ-ncmsLvqXYb7hhJqFN8628GGKiwl6Yo/s320/DSC_0088.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274674522040674514" border="0" /></a>34 seconds. That's all it took for the Hindenburg, the greatest airship in the history of Hydrogen-fueled aviation to explode into flame, sink to the ground and change the world. 34 seconds from the first fire on the tail to the epic crash-landing. What's more, it all happened next door - at the Lakehurst, New Jersey Naval Airforce Station, about 90 minutes from NYC. The good volunteers at the <a href="http://www.nlhs.com/">Navy Lakehurst Historical Society</a> provides tours free of charge to interested citizens, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >only </span><span style="font-size:130%;">on the second Saturday of the month, </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >only </span><span style="font-size:130%;">at 9:30 in the morning, and </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >only</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> if all attendees provide their home address and social security numbers two weeks in advance. It is an active Naval Airbase after all.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__k-uOjGGJgKjbh8pzP7Ct118KjjjQGBzjbmNNqi7Me_TCLsPM27UpMCU_jGVoSqvlYCttRTyDQhThlxW4JBeepT1kcatrnm4Mu7y2INqutfH9cq8Y1hl_eErIyjOOdt6OX7ES_6VZRI/s1600-h/DSC_0089.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__k-uOjGGJgKjbh8pzP7Ct118KjjjQGBzjbmNNqi7Me_TCLsPM27UpMCU_jGVoSqvlYCttRTyDQhThlxW4JBeepT1kcatrnm4Mu7y2INqutfH9cq8Y1hl_eErIyjOOdt6OX7ES_6VZRI/s320/DSC_0089.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274674533351630834" border="0" /></a>We couldn't possibly pass up such a geek-a-licious historical adventure, even if, two weekends ago, it was pissing rain like Heaven's plumbing had gone haywire. Off to Joisey! Three cars from three different parts of Brooklyn took off for Lakehurst - the Levy boys plus Alisa car; the Eggplant Xpress carrying yours truly, friends Josh & Jenene, and yours' trulys' lovely new girlfriend Emily; and the roommate car with Steve and GF Zan. After swimming our way south on the Garden State Pkway we arrived at the Airbase and on our way into disaster-history!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLB64wVvVJz0Yzhb1hQFEAPu6emM0VQhW4yg4Ij6YSFtZzy51Es-fmW41ZEVmey-g7DXaTzZQhK0GZo8YdfVSiD0x2ozGO8vpO1Pto812S7HhdTLIo0LIj-ZkoKjoqFvqOQp9RtP1b41Q/s1600-h/DSC_0101.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 257px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLB64wVvVJz0Yzhb1hQFEAPu6emM0VQhW4yg4Ij6YSFtZzy51Es-fmW41ZEVmey-g7DXaTzZQhK0GZo8YdfVSiD0x2ozGO8vpO1Pto812S7HhdTLIo0LIj-ZkoKjoqFvqOQp9RtP1b41Q/s320/DSC_0101.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274675586708287426" border="0" /></a>The <a href="http://www.nlhs.com/construc.htm">Hindenburg</a> was built between 1931 and 1936 in Friedrichshafen, Germany. 803.8 feet long and 135.1 feet wide in diameter - which is roughly the length of an 80 story building. When fully inflated, she carried approx. 7 million cubic feet of hydrogen in 16 separate cells; this allowed for easier inflation. The German government paid for the Hindenburg's construction; therefore, enormous swastikas painted onto her tail and fin. Her cabins included a piano room, a reading room, a dining room and a smoking room (which utilized pressurized gases, neutralizing the hydrogen.) Her trip to the States on May 6th, 1937 was the first of 10 scheduled trips kicking off the '37 airship season.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAy0DSGyKTn7co9DXCgN3inQKePYEPuTl5OSpqQ4R_J-4vAboNGemR4-_BEbpAiF39OUrqoVuRqYVCGfe4QgFK2UWCTnXaDO8oVjnpC00naoUgg7A8IC15yhtDqIjiPcYjz0f_eY9Iu50/s1600-h/DSC_0067.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 235px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAy0DSGyKTn7co9DXCgN3inQKePYEPuTl5OSpqQ4R_J-4vAboNGemR4-_BEbpAiF39OUrqoVuRqYVCGfe4QgFK2UWCTnXaDO8oVjnpC00naoUgg7A8IC15yhtDqIjiPcYjz0f_eY9Iu50/s320/DSC_0067.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274674542460065682" border="0" /></a>Our guide, a well informed volunteer and former navy man Donald Adams, led our caravan onto the wide open field where the Hindenburg went down; we approached a somber airship-shaped memorial complete with historical bronze plaque. There was also a rough hand-painted little Hindenburg on a post, flapping in the tough winds. Donald gave us hard facts - the Hindenburg hovered approx 300 feet in the air, mooring lines out and down and waiting for mooring. This was when (most reports claim) the static electricity in the atmosphere (or a lightning strike) coupled with the wet weather made a deadly combo for the airship, which was venting hydrogen in order to land. Oxygen + Hydrogen = extremely combustible; within 34 seconds, it was all over.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RcukxH5TmrP_LZw3OrdcYO26UBy68magURtm1BCvUCgkLBwAepJd5pSVDUq6GVRPE99QwD5u6e_OwAFprt-_2hyphenhyphen4tqb3-mQBmTDluLaVZTZ-Y5l-9YnPONqSEHxL8GzjmEEjsbjAe2k/s1600-h/DSC_0128.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RcukxH5TmrP_LZw3OrdcYO26UBy68magURtm1BCvUCgkLBwAepJd5pSVDUq6GVRPE99QwD5u6e_OwAFprt-_2hyphenhyphen4tqb3-mQBmTDluLaVZTZ-Y5l-9YnPONqSEHxL8GzjmEEjsbjAe2k/s320/DSC_0128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274676632308482562" border="0" /></a>We also learned that the legendary <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F54rqDh2mWA"><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh the Humanity! </span>newscast</a> with Herbert Morrison was recorded at a slightly slower speed, so in the sped-up real-time version, his naturally sonorous voice seems high-pitched & charged with extra emotion. What's more, the newsreel wasn't broadcast until the next day out of Chicago, and no-one heard it live unless they were present at the crash. Out of 36 passengers and 61 crew, 13 passengers and 22 crew members died, plus one ground crewman. Two survivors are still alive, including then-14-year-old cabin boy Werner Franz.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiGZHYiiN9oeE8_LFXVpwaiTW5sQGoOu7GaUNRQvEn4Fk5CHxzXadYiwsrbOeVZJyUpF6P2ObAgJqNmofgDXVOGMrYjQ0GUe80zmIX4fU9kuxspDVNcZdd90WsbbTdJ8eUXbuDRmMZ7WM/s1600-h/DSC_0123.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiGZHYiiN9oeE8_LFXVpwaiTW5sQGoOu7GaUNRQvEn4Fk5CHxzXadYiwsrbOeVZJyUpF6P2ObAgJqNmofgDXVOGMrYjQ0GUe80zmIX4fU9kuxspDVNcZdd90WsbbTdJ8eUXbuDRmMZ7WM/s320/DSC_0123.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274674545579334626" border="0" /></a>Following a lot of snapshots, we made our way into the hangar and airship museum. Along with scale models of the Hindenburg there were relics and pieces from the wreckage. We bought some souvenirs (Hindenburg coffee mug! Naval Air force Base jacket patch!) and made our way into the hangar, large enough to fit two Hindenburg airships side-by-side with 12 feet of clearance. This double-airship hangar is the largest in the country and one of only two in the world. Hidden within the hangar was another museum, filled with model airplanes, ships and jets as well as walls upon walls of Navy, Air force and Army patches, all of which were supremely awesome.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5_ORRplHwKW84128J0fU86HpSUAA2Wa_hxQ4z4ZQ7Nwb_PYW_8DoxsKvlg8XHxY7SzPBCL8rSrdh1s-_wcioJ1S0dvFClQvoPUsz9Vhr7sTdg0FmxEvPwFTW7ugOeC-RzU0RGnzUPv38/s1600-h/DSC_0130.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5_ORRplHwKW84128J0fU86HpSUAA2Wa_hxQ4z4ZQ7Nwb_PYW_8DoxsKvlg8XHxY7SzPBCL8rSrdh1s-_wcioJ1S0dvFClQvoPUsz9Vhr7sTdg0FmxEvPwFTW7ugOeC-RzU0RGnzUPv38/s320/DSC_0130.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274678679052281234" border="0" /></a>All of this disaster and naval history and air force patches and old men flying model airplanes made us pretty hungry, so off to a Joisey diner we went! Although most of us had our hearts set on a classic stainless steel, Formica counter, burgers / grilled cheese / meatloaf style joint, but instead we settled at a quaint, cute little cafe in downtown Lakehurst. Good food, but the attitude and atmosphere was top notch thanks to the owner, a former local Bronx boy (he and Dad Levy both attended the same high school!) After some homemade ice cream from the parlor next door, we piled back into our vehicles and called it a historical disastery day.<br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-89563802752061528172008-10-26T20:48:00.000-07:002008-11-01T21:24:35.194-07:00Lost in History vows 5: the Wedding Blitz. Ben Inwood & Erin Bublitz, West Point NY, Oct 12th<span style="font-size:130%;">For those of you who weren't previous aware, Matt Levy had been issued a challenge: 6 weddings in 6 consecutive weekends. In 4 different states, in 2 different times zones (east & west coasts.) We've already detailed the joys and thrills of the first 4 weddings <a href="http://actiondirection.blogspot.com/2008/09/lost-in-history-vows-1-4-wedding-blitz.html">here</a>. We now bring you part 5 in this 6 part series.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Wedding Number Five: Benjamin Inwood & Erin Bublitz, West Point NY, Oct. 12th.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_inIB74aRQpP0n4aUuT4AuxIqxJMkMBxlHIPxOjS3aEJ-5vgN99JD3fY7MfskOi0ygZ-GGT6EDdMXS2qC3CnWPZZnEucLEetEgsAfrO4iagSlMFWhjrQqdnzBrXjwua8D82VPAI32gE/s1600-h/DSC_0141.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_inIB74aRQpP0n4aUuT4AuxIqxJMkMBxlHIPxOjS3aEJ-5vgN99JD3fY7MfskOi0ygZ-GGT6EDdMXS2qC3CnWPZZnEucLEetEgsAfrO4iagSlMFWhjrQqdnzBrXjwua8D82VPAI32gE/s320/DSC_0141.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263897928314780178" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">It was a wonderful Sunday for a Wedding. </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Saturday had been busy: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157608580613971/">biking around Farmingdale NY with good pals and total strangers in search of cemetaries, oktoberfests, and accidentally, a super skanky stripclub</a>. But Sunday is the Lord's day and I was booking it up the Hudson River Parkway in the trusty Eggplant Xpress, my 2-week old 1998 Hyundai Elantra Stationwagon. </span><span style="font-size:130%;">West Point in October is beautiful and oozes propriety as the premier Military Academy on the Eastern Seabord. I park Eggy, grab the camera and head to the Hotel. The ceremony's running late, which is good because i was slightly rushing.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv0SQBzVp2uGQXGSImNctA2f5S3-MGbHaVXu27MeZgz4vKiD5jA1YPfQHJN0Kj5j3XZ14lwqm0I2gSUUJ-1F1bFdFQV9QttiVh6f078bdLDCqAtS6JIm1_TY3Yj_Zs4KlzZu8vgFMLRi0/s1600-h/DSC_0188.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv0SQBzVp2uGQXGSImNctA2f5S3-MGbHaVXu27MeZgz4vKiD5jA1YPfQHJN0Kj5j3XZ14lwqm0I2gSUUJ-1F1bFdFQV9QttiVh6f078bdLDCqAtS6JIm1_TY3Yj_Zs4KlzZu8vgFMLRi0/s320/DSC_0188.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263894354903791474" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Benjamin Inwood, aka Ben-wah, was my best friend in highschool. We lived a few blocks from each other, and for a good two years we were inseparable, although as different as rose gardens and cement mixers. Ben was the conservative, I was the whack-job. His folks still call me Rusty after my traffic-cone-orange early-junior-year hair. Our first travel adventure was a 20-day Greyhound cross-country road trip in the summer '98, between high school and college.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOE9lG3RNyjVOHSXlnf2XLO0_1qUNegZk6VMIAnHBYMgfJZ8PRC82TZKqBAh698zPp_TnCqcxuKkdKp5S1qzFqFmbzAOB_bj-g0Zx1yYk_nZ5gAzNYqwF74mibnB9RebE9ccoLeeubyNs/s1600-h/DSC_0189.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOE9lG3RNyjVOHSXlnf2XLO0_1qUNegZk6VMIAnHBYMgfJZ8PRC82TZKqBAh698zPp_TnCqcxuKkdKp5S1qzFqFmbzAOB_bj-g0Zx1yYk_nZ5gAzNYqwF74mibnB9RebE9ccoLeeubyNs/s320/DSC_0189.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263895144217001218" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Ben went to college in Alaska; this is where he met his beautiful bride Erin. I went to the final frontier to visit Ben twice.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> The first trip was due to a bet I lost when, in Junior year, I loudly proclaimed to all our friends <span style="font-style: italic;">there was no way Ben would go to college in Alaska! </span>Up I went, in January '99. The second visit occured in June '02 and came of the need to drive his car and unwanted stuff from Alaska to Brooklyn.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> 9 days, 10 hours of driving each day, me and Ben-wah</span><span style="font-size:130%;">. </span><span style="font-size:130%;">After the AK > BK road trip Ben and I fell out of touch; the last we spoke was his older sister's wedding party two years back. </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Between the two road trips Ben and Erin moved to Anchorage and had a child. </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Knowing my far-away best friend was a Dad at 22 was a shocker, but last I saw the kid, in '02, he was brand new and not speaking yet.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHpcnLa18oL8nVdz1qHL2U8fdWf-7vbddc3ssX8ujMV-N2FkLFpPvijd5qX-xDKrMOAc3DwsvRv68v6j2fXjkJreAgVnqt46eP6IxX_aLl5HNtIBHtFL1NkeL_6KOz7HvyXdJzbjyk6mk/s1600-h/DSC_0118.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHpcnLa18oL8nVdz1qHL2U8fdWf-7vbddc3ssX8ujMV-N2FkLFpPvijd5qX-xDKrMOAc3DwsvRv68v6j2fXjkJreAgVnqt46eP6IxX_aLl5HNtIBHtFL1NkeL_6KOz7HvyXdJzbjyk6mk/s320/DSC_0118.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263895150630948098" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">He looked good. Pleased and surprised to see me. Much stockier than in the past, but it looked good, solid, like he was a real man ready for his family's future; moving into all those scary adult stages. The wedding was outdoors on the Hudson, and the ceremony, as well as the festivities to follow, were the most conservatively Jewish wedding yet attended. There was the <a href="http://www.underthechuppahonline.com/">chuppah</a> (the canopy under which the bride and groom stand,) the <a href="http://www.partydirectory.com/guide/sb17.htm">smashing of the wine glass</a>, and yarmulkes on everyone's head. Nothing in Hebrew or Yiddish, but a heavily mystic Jewishness pervaded the whole day, much to everyone's delight. Especially the massive bowl of jumbo cocktail shrimp. Definitely delightful.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfc87rVjF3FtlY4f7QbgI0cyZLDmbRY1jINrtN8AE9xSxVwrSHpgES1Ko87pGIQTZa8GgsUmQyG5aLluMwcEj6GS4d2tJcN1Plok86MlGKTbo5f25IsOpsnEDvR38_0pgA5cJqu6KU9-Y/s1600-h/DSC_0180.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfc87rVjF3FtlY4f7QbgI0cyZLDmbRY1jINrtN8AE9xSxVwrSHpgES1Ko87pGIQTZa8GgsUmQyG5aLluMwcEj6GS4d2tJcN1Plok86MlGKTbo5f25IsOpsnEDvR38_0pgA5cJqu6KU9-Y/s320/DSC_0180.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263899325644048754" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">The ceremony was short and sweet, the party slightly longer and better tasting. Ben's darling family, like my own surrogate fam, the most marvelous surrogate family a Brooklyn boy could have. There was dancing, mostly haphazard. And the groom & bride did NOT want to go up on the chairs. However, without a doubt, Ari took the spotlight. A fine looking little man in a dapper suit, he walked with Ben and Erin down the aisle and stood underneath their clasped hands. He walked them back to the hall after the ceremony, and as Ben and Erin took their first dance, he yelled ME TOO! and jumped into their arms. That kid's going to be a real <a href="http://www.jewishealing.com/theartofthemensch.html">mensch</a> someday.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBEQ5t1BVbtoyAUcK6qQAf2ebo5Mz3C6JFgKu0pK2p6krQM2UozAb_i-3MNTjbUh-IVrqTWKVCznMMR143U4WO5Dsmn1x8Tq9SszuMzg-H0V1sjoq1oj_bcRVaT4-lgOmx9vgZD1ElQU/s1600-h/DSC_0161.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBEQ5t1BVbtoyAUcK6qQAf2ebo5Mz3C6JFgKu0pK2p6krQM2UozAb_i-3MNTjbUh-IVrqTWKVCznMMR143U4WO5Dsmn1x8Tq9SszuMzg-H0V1sjoq1oj_bcRVaT4-lgOmx9vgZD1ElQU/s320/DSC_0161.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263894337639220754" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">After taking my fill; after chatting it up with </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Oren and Truzman - </span><span style="font-size:130%;">Brooklyn boys of my child- and teen-age years; after unsuccessfully trying to flirt it up with each of my boys' platonic dates; after Mediterranean salads and a take-home tin full of cocktail jumbo shrimp (which made their way into a pesto for that evening's date); after delivering the gifts </span><span style="font-size:130%;">(Ben, Erin & Ari live in Shaker Heights, Ohio, so this former New Yorker & his fam get: an NYC Subway Curtain Shower Map, two subway oven mitts, and a pair of subway socks for Ari)</span><span style="font-size:130%;">; after hugs, kisses and misses with the Inwood clan, after complements paid to the bride & her family; and after much soul-searching and private joke-making with the mighty Ben-wah; after all those activities it was time to get back in the Eggplant and bring it all home. The rest of the pics are <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157608401008910/">here</a>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8u2K7fdm5Ebun7miDa3QLnlWL2cd27G80veX2jr2SKfWnJQxX_0xfDNmrRy7IVts9BYZ8mPbANj4b8Yle4H_L3_ohP6AsOVFb4M1KcfepYwekhdvQMwabzCa4dXMYXwKneIVfPKB5Nuw/s1600-h/DSC_0186.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8u2K7fdm5Ebun7miDa3QLnlWL2cd27G80veX2jr2SKfWnJQxX_0xfDNmrRy7IVts9BYZ8mPbANj4b8Yle4H_L3_ohP6AsOVFb4M1KcfepYwekhdvQMwabzCa4dXMYXwKneIVfPKB5Nuw/s320/DSC_0186.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263897921915634546" border="0" /></a></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-31241417933728320532008-10-06T19:09:00.001-07:002008-10-06T21:15:02.477-07:00Lost in the World's Fairgrounds vol. 75<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFO7VjRC2j9Kdmbg0HMQYhGyWNDx-zpgBT3hYLuqcHQywyRCZ8SlC88Gf0-a6J7H6NEAO-0Hb2HEIeUJylYUW8uW_-5WZrpoKxynNidZsvfMm82HY3enwdEK02jH2zrcDbKluvH4T5nuM/s1600-h/DSC_0055.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFO7VjRC2j9Kdmbg0HMQYhGyWNDx-zpgBT3hYLuqcHQywyRCZ8SlC88Gf0-a6J7H6NEAO-0Hb2HEIeUJylYUW8uW_-5WZrpoKxynNidZsvfMm82HY3enwdEK02jH2zrcDbKluvH4T5nuM/s320/DSC_0055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254257323622834098" border="0" /></a>This past weekend was the 6th annual <a href="http://www.ohny.org/">Open House New York</a> (OHNY), the city's ginormously adventurous exploration of the insides of often-closed structures throughout all five boroughs. OHNY covers many bases for many peoples - from the antiquatedly awesome <a href="http://www.forgotten-ny.com/STREET%20SCENES/HIGH%20BRIDGE/highbr.html">Highbridge Water Tower</a>; to the luxuriously lethargic Sutton Place apartment tour. From the industrial subterranean <a href="http://www.ohny.org/weekend/listing_results.cfm?keyword=MTA%20Substation%20No.%2022%20%20%20UPDATE:%20TOURS%20FULLY%20BOOKED%21">Substation #22 in Crown Heights</a> to the open all the time yupster pedestrian <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.bam.org">Brooklyn Academy of Music</a> building. OHNY is cool shit. CAVEAT! There are tricks of the trade to tackling OHNY. First off - avoid downtown and midtown Manhattan at all costs. Due to the architectural and explorable density of the island, most of the tours/reserved sites are chock-a-block fullup weeks in advance; for those open houses with no reserve, lines get interminably long. Also the insufferable haughtiness of seen it all New Yorkers in their prime habitat - a genuinely cool thing they </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >haven't seen before</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> but play it off like <a href="http://www.clarabow.net/">Clara Bow</a> past her prime.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcLwmfy1AD5V_ZIwCn4_HYMZ4hPkS-A0TZ8zG4mandoplHcc_R6C_4ppxrHTklKJzRkaObx8Dvtwjl5wFRDpKyHRpsIKN9QH0T5Xgtie9viu2GufLOR08fwO7cyX6k6BK1E4ISFNyoJIk/s1600-h/IMG_0043.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcLwmfy1AD5V_ZIwCn4_HYMZ4hPkS-A0TZ8zG4mandoplHcc_R6C_4ppxrHTklKJzRkaObx8Dvtwjl5wFRDpKyHRpsIKN9QH0T5Xgtie9viu2GufLOR08fwO7cyX6k6BK1E4ISFNyoJIk/s320/IMG_0043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254257590845573522" border="0" /></a>HOWEVER it is possible to enjoy the fruits of OHNY. First and most critical: get far away from the expected spots. Leave Ft. Greene and Astoria to the birds and hipsters. The outer rings of the outer boroughs is fab. Second: own a car (!!!!!) which can take you to said outer rings of outer boroughs. Third: don't make plans with people who get lost on the subway (thank you Larissa!) and take 3 hours to get from Brooklyn to Brooklyn via Manhattan, which would cause you to miss a geektastical walking tour of a neighborhood most New Yorkers would have trouble finding on a subway map. Fourth: Be flexible. With all those points in mind, aforementioned late friend Larissa and I zipped over to Flushing Meadows Corona Park IN MY NEW CAR!!!!! for a walking tour of the Worlds Fairgrounds, inside and around the <a href="http://www.queensmuseum.org/index.htm">Queens Museum of Art.<br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmYPQZcooxe3_AX_9CLrI4NwbeFPTO4aU0OvfsAtGkxXnS75E9TT84pw7itIV7uxPYlDvmgtGr4qRIsCCf6mv73ozxpVqcvNR63QhWhtkIkgv7uSfgaI2PDb84X2r5UojkYRJuXkFBs0/s1600-h/DSC_0042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmYPQZcooxe3_AX_9CLrI4NwbeFPTO4aU0OvfsAtGkxXnS75E9TT84pw7itIV7uxPYlDvmgtGr4qRIsCCf6mv73ozxpVqcvNR63QhWhtkIkgv7uSfgaI2PDb84X2r5UojkYRJuXkFBs0/s320/DSC_0042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254258981221257170" border="0" /></a>John Kriskiewicz, a visually and audibly excited architectural historian led a group of 40+ for two marvelous hours in the historical shadow of the two Worlds Fairs - 1939-40 & 1964-65. We started inside the QMA's theater and enjoyed a slideshow filled with images and wonders of the two fairs, but focusing mostly on the second one, the first Billion Dollar Fair and the last Great World's Fair. John asked us all to "look back and remember the future" in a tone half reverential and half good-naturedly cynical. The Worlds Fair 64-65 straddled two very different epochs - planning started in 1958, Eisenhower's America, highways and suburbanization. Robert Moses (boo! hiss!) came on board in 60, and nothing was left to decide by 62, so by the time the Fair opened, it was already behind the times. By the mid-60s America was dealing with civil rights, flower power, Vietnam and disillusionment. From consensus to conflict, and the World's Fair split these two eras.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvWICqV861wXANKmz-LIYR3HpX-naio2sz5EfBF1bIgqGC4Yzugfl6CwlJeNiB3nElYZSm4lOfSHXT-0YiLnog3-CwEgGPG8iWtYBm2gObsIfvZlGOi7mhEeEQ8fY6codK4lfQi-U3yw/s1600-h/DSC_0030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvWICqV861wXANKmz-LIYR3HpX-naio2sz5EfBF1bIgqGC4Yzugfl6CwlJeNiB3nElYZSm4lOfSHXT-0YiLnog3-CwEgGPG8iWtYBm2gObsIfvZlGOi7mhEeEQ8fY6codK4lfQi-U3yw/s320/DSC_0030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254255321619238338" border="0" /></a>From the neato slideshow we went out into the park to marvel at the always magnificent <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unisphere">Unisphere</a>. 13 stories tall, 700,000 lbs, the world's largest global structure and built out of stainless steel by US Steel, it is the only remnant of the World's Fair that is landmarked by the NYC Landmarks Preservations Committee. The three rings that orbit the Unisphere are supposed to represent the first two men in orbit - Yuri Gagarin, John Glenn and the first telecommunications satellite, Telstar. This giant hunk of metal had always intended to be permanent, while the rest of the Fair was temporary.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1IH2eo9pND_qnBTubvPvByKI7XlJ1Xr1L0xYnGJcq91ekiKLJLrVK7P7XwMcaq7JL8R3ofQML16Y-_TEnNeU5kz4GCl85sGAgAqFdDUW2l0s0ZcImPxFaq2ZhdN2thXFDfLFyar8whU/s1600-h/DSC_0043.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1IH2eo9pND_qnBTubvPvByKI7XlJ1Xr1L0xYnGJcq91ekiKLJLrVK7P7XwMcaq7JL8R3ofQML16Y-_TEnNeU5kz4GCl85sGAgAqFdDUW2l0s0ZcImPxFaq2ZhdN2thXFDfLFyar8whU/s320/DSC_0043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254255727902338562" border="0" /></a>As John walked us on top of some etched-in-granite murals depicting various scenes from the Worlds Fairs around the globe, he pointed out the importance of the Worlds Fair to the people of America, especially as it opened six months after JFK's assassination. It brought people together to celebrate and enjoy themselves, just as the technology of entertainment (movies, t.v.) separated and privatized people from others. The reason we don't have Worlds Fairs anymore is that with flight, and eventually internet, we can visit the world on our own, and hardly need the world to come to us.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfDY-pVpE15m05tqeabCglEsVFPZxhyphenhyphenaFdhROSjGr0ic74yob5d-Ei7SJ9KEEdj0HgMj1ODdZreWRN1nYzf3Os8IwFy0WcmwksxS8XbeBS6mxHW5zjwRrGqt6LIJGwiEtQE7F0RK6jjA/s1600-h/DSC_0050.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfDY-pVpE15m05tqeabCglEsVFPZxhyphenhyphenaFdhROSjGr0ic74yob5d-Ei7SJ9KEEdj0HgMj1ODdZreWRN1nYzf3Os8IwFy0WcmwksxS8XbeBS6mxHW5zjwRrGqt6LIJGwiEtQE7F0RK6jjA/s320/DSC_0050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254256907324767890" border="0" /></a>Other points of interest included the exterior of the Queens Hall of Science, designed by Wallace Harrison, in an ethereal style that reminds one of mitosis, undulating forms and shapes inside our bodies; a geodesic dome leftover from the Fair that is now the Queens' Zoo's Aviary; the Port Authority building, a ghastly T-shaped monstrosity now home to a banquet hall; an original Carousel from the Fair, still in use and hardly known by its users to be vintage from Coney Island, circa the early 20th century; and the crumbling NY State Pavilion buildings, designed by Phillip Johnson, massive urban detritus that once stood for utopian visions of tomorrow. All in all a simply spectacular tour, led by a passionate man with a personal connection - Mr. Kriskiewicz showed a slide of a chubby youngster at the Fair. The best part about this Open House? The bright sun, the cool breeze, the laughing children and the tangible history.<br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-83010994996513506662008-09-23T09:05:00.000-07:002011-12-12T14:29:21.267-08:00Lost in History vows 1-4: the Wedding Blitz<span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0xh_raUDMNpQ1Odo_D7Xq8hfxH54GD8yq83vmXFqO_INqdfxCXRD5rPo2hPopIe05EBGjMKcVHy1NUcDwe6Ho561pDIS2_5oicN9egAbfW127m3pZF50PTi_6sVuwg35wLohS4Kr2yY/s1600-h/DSC_0262.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0xh_raUDMNpQ1Odo_D7Xq8hfxH54GD8yq83vmXFqO_INqdfxCXRD5rPo2hPopIe05EBGjMKcVHy1NUcDwe6Ho561pDIS2_5oicN9egAbfW127m3pZF50PTi_6sVuwg35wLohS4Kr2yY/s320/DSC_0262.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251658997189583218" border="0" /></a>For those of you who haven't been up to speed with the stories and subjects of my whirlwind life, there's a whole lotta marriage going on. From the middle of September to the middle of October I have been invited to, and plan on attending, 6 weddings over 6 consecutive weekends, taking place in 4 different states - NJ, NY, CA & MA. The last wedding I attended was a long time ago, possibly 6 or 8 years back. And now we have 6 weddings in 6 weekends. When it rains, it absolutely deluges. Some of my friends have remarked that this must be a sign of growing up; some have mentioned that maybe I might hear the jangling of bells in my own immediate future (not just yet, thankyouverymuch); some have exquisitely pointed out that I should be getting very drunk and hopefully very laid over 6 separate wedding weekends; and to quote my darling brother Gideon: "Wow. 6 weddings in 6 weekends. 30's coming up soon, bitch." So what follows is a blow-by-blow wedding blitz breakdown extravaganza - complete with pictures, descriptions, social breakdowns, stories and comments of the first four weddings.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;">Wedding Number One: Jordan Hoffman & Anne Farrell, Seabright NJ, Sept. 13th<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-H9_vWizxhyiizfdVgadLY59f1cqnkXVFi8NzUVcEmWX-LKMcmSzW2fgQ7OQ6Acd95WAvy_9oaFO1oK_PsCwmi87wtubd3DK9SjimGiYkqQtbfOzO3vdFqG0A6xlykxEYHoWAqNITWs/s1600-h/DSC_0038.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-H9_vWizxhyiizfdVgadLY59f1cqnkXVFi8NzUVcEmWX-LKMcmSzW2fgQ7OQ6Acd95WAvy_9oaFO1oK_PsCwmi87wtubd3DK9SjimGiYkqQtbfOzO3vdFqG0A6xlykxEYHoWAqNITWs/s320/DSC_0038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251659574892704402" border="0" /></a>Jordan Hoffman is a former tour guide for the Levys' Unique New York, but moved on to bigger and better things (or so he claims) working for UGO entertainment as well as making films on the side. More importantly, Jordan has been loving and living with his wonderful, wondrous girlfriend / fiance / life-partner Ann Farrell for many years now, 5 out of their 7 in coupleship. The sweethearts live in Astoria, Queens,</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 130%;">in an apartment crammed with geekitude of the highest order - graphic novels, Star Trek figurines, a million Jazz albums, '50s retro kitschware in the kitchen, and a fatso catso named Goober. Jordan and Ann are lovers of life - fun loving fun having people. I would certainly and sincerely call them jolly, as well as funny-as-all-get-out.</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhonVMjFaBAuyfA5c0mPQBZw6xbflmj9DFxbbC3VgPyZtfbMsgGLmOBdcylmyRw_WITQUegsUfrRMk2m64RJyOdVxmbYWoiTvVgzEIeQz8bxTlsjFJP06GfFSzF9QTH8nGdw70JfVPFtiw/s1600-h/DSC_0018.JPG" style="font-size: 130%; " onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhonVMjFaBAuyfA5c0mPQBZw6xbflmj9DFxbbC3VgPyZtfbMsgGLmOBdcylmyRw_WITQUegsUfrRMk2m64RJyOdVxmbYWoiTvVgzEIeQz8bxTlsjFJP06GfFSzF9QTH8nGdw70JfVPFtiw/s320/DSC_0018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251656417791433170" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 130%;">The wedding was held on the beach (yes, those are random bathers in the background) and in a catering hall in Seabright New Jersey, about 2 1/2 hours from the city. It was a packed car all the way down there as the entire Levy clan attended. The short, delightful festivities were held on the beach, so that as Jordan and Ann yukked their way through the vows (Kerry, the officiator: "To have and to hold for better or for worse, in richer or in poorer, til death do us part." Jordan: "Can you repeat that last part again?" Ba-dum dum bum,) there were total strangers in bathing suits and with boogie boards strolling past the event. Made for great pictures. After the vows, after the huzzahs and the hoorays, after the cheers and whoop-tahs, we all went inside to get drunk and fed and danced and romanced. On the whole, a wedding filled with laughter and joy, humor and irreverence. Also a 30's style radio mic, and a killer DJ. Good interaction between the various friends, family and associates of the Hoffman / Farrell crews. More pictures of the Hoffman/Farrell </span><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157607589702960/" style="font-size: 130%; ">funtimez are here</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 130%;">.</span><br /></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 21px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;">Wedding Number Three: Jonathan Tull and Nina Isaacson, Mendocino Woodlands Park, California, Sept. 20-21<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcMVrGhS10WheGmXYIuDMVmCZq8lUpsR0oy_AAvzPvq2Z5moVhdkZyjydRZikA4mNOs-ttbp3hffM2SgFZXa51U5Y9A89c_N4uS5ZNhD9hfWZWDlYCos35BKE0f8niH3ZwKqm098i45A/s1600-h/DSC_0364.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcMVrGhS10WheGmXYIuDMVmCZq8lUpsR0oy_AAvzPvq2Z5moVhdkZyjydRZikA4mNOs-ttbp3hffM2SgFZXa51U5Y9A89c_N4uS5ZNhD9hfWZWDlYCos35BKE0f8niH3ZwKqm098i45A/s320/DSC_0364.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251663353539410386" border="0" /></a>This wedding was clear on the other side of the country, but Jonah and I had been planning a vacation away from the city for a while - it had been the busiest summer Ive ever had, with non-stop work weeks gunning all the way through July & August, then two back-to-back tourism conferences in September - one in San Antonio Texas, the other in downtown Brooklyn. After all that tour guiding and biz building it was time for a well deserved get-away, to visit friends in San Fransisco and chockup another wedding on the calendar. Off to California, and the Jon Tull - Nina Issacson freak flag wedding in the woods! Jon Tull was the bookkeeper for LUNY and fronted a funny kind of bipolar humor, vacillating between a laid back California stoner dude 'tude to an anal retentive number-crunching Brooklyn busybody - well suited for his bookkeeping facilities. He met his not too blushing bride here in Brooklyn and although I had never met her before the wedding itself, she and I are both babies of 1980, and grewup in relatively relational Brooklyn hoods - Flatbush and Park Slope, attending Murrow and Stuyvesant High Schools respectively. I should've known this chick, probably slept with her in another life, but our paths never crossed.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39qs6EExpS14h88VyaBKJTbSdbbODUkTMQsWCSG4hgiuLWse1nPin6m0cV4EcwJ_T-Mh1_IfmXg0wRNiOLPnyid1BRHckJzxCw5wwjVr_5BROayLhVxzETymniaFWhlPY24v2SqpJCF8/s1600-h/DSC_0286.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39qs6EExpS14h88VyaBKJTbSdbbODUkTMQsWCSG4hgiuLWse1nPin6m0cV4EcwJ_T-Mh1_IfmXg0wRNiOLPnyid1BRHckJzxCw5wwjVr_5BROayLhVxzETymniaFWhlPY24v2SqpJCF8/s320/DSC_0286.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251661944215177810" border="0" /></a>Their wedding was held in the breathtakingly beautiful redwood forest campground about 3 hours north of San Francisco, 4 1/2 if you get lost getting out of SF and again if you get lost in the campground. Which we did. And therefore missed the vows, exchanging of the rings, promises, cheers, jeers and humors. But we made it on time for the festivities, and boy howdy were there enough of those. We rolled in just after the </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;">I Dos</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> (missed by 20 minutes! 20 effing minutes!!!) and stuck around through Monday morning. There was eating, drinking, magnificent speechifying, (no fewer than 4 peeps broke down in tears describing the love and trust of the married couple) and dancing. The food was killer - garlic sausages, grilled asparagus, freshly baked rolls with jalapeno butter. And cupcakes! We imbibed local California keg beer, top notch wine, bourbon, vodka and gin, as well as some of the more illicit California produce.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mwCD1IlV9X7nENXo-5bBjH0KtnWtpYGsdPDR9Qv9nJgp7-WhrGr1jyAhEoYj7zcbruyoe1ROVuI-SAk1khmFIINWYEgQXJT8US2HrFK0u5VPqOwTxLq_I2prn3Wuj7CYloto64EQTLU/s1600-h/DSC_0381.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mwCD1IlV9X7nENXo-5bBjH0KtnWtpYGsdPDR9Qv9nJgp7-WhrGr1jyAhEoYj7zcbruyoe1ROVuI-SAk1khmFIINWYEgQXJT8US2HrFK0u5VPqOwTxLq_I2prn3Wuj7CYloto64EQTLU/s320/DSC_0381.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251662903685088722" border="0" /></a>This particular wedding celebration was operating on its own kind of communal CA attitude - most of the attendees in their 20s and 30s had arrived at the camp on Wednesday, partied through the festivities on Saturday, and returned to the real world Sunday. Us lucky Levy boys got to stay til Monday AM, which meant we closed the party down, along with Nina and Jon, Jon's folks & older brother, Mom's friend and Nina' gal pal; therefore from the Sat night attendance high of 80+, the Sunday night's BBQ had just 9. It was a marvelous everybody-project, where the food, the booze, the illicits, the fun was brought for and consumed by everyone. And with too much food leftover, Jonah and I did our civic duties and brought back to our host in SF all sorts of goodies, including an uncooked pork loin, a case of beer, cheeses, juices, a tray of the aforementioned sausages, and the crowning achievement, a box of cupcakes. Further effects of the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157607590080918/">wedding in the woods can be discovered here</a>.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;">Wedding Number Four: Bill Scanga and Sarah Frank, Aboard the Jewel, Up and Down the East & Hudson Rivers, NYC, Sept. 27th<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQ7n-_PUG2W3j6eJMOMyUdtCzD2LX4ZujeKT_MncuRqpZ_pQWtEVYUohVrb83k3j-rVHV_XoFFb3jfqzkEmMvpjvFBGgCTXtcKvkp_7RnAF65bEL4_2lXXAWY-FbEKxhZ0bC0QWx8xLA/s1600-h/DSC_0057.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQ7n-_PUG2W3j6eJMOMyUdtCzD2LX4ZujeKT_MncuRqpZ_pQWtEVYUohVrb83k3j-rVHV_XoFFb3jfqzkEmMvpjvFBGgCTXtcKvkp_7RnAF65bEL4_2lXXAWY-FbEKxhZ0bC0QWx8xLA/s320/DSC_0057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251666966812615794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">God please, make the weddings stop. Well, maybe not until I've completed my wedding blitz. After a week-long vacation in San Francisco, I took the red-eye back to NYC, arriving 6:30am Saturday. This left enough time to get home, crash out for a few, shake myself awake, shower, shave, suit-up and head out for wedding number four, the glorious union of Bill Scanga and Sarah Frank on board a boat traversing the rivers of our city. Bill is the older brother I never had, a fellow member of the City Reliquary, an avid cyclist and the Vice President of collections at the DR, including but not limited to: pencil sharpeners, marbles, vintage bicycles, exonumia, postcards of the Williamsburg Bridge and more. Bill is also a hysterical human being with an unmatched love for life. The guy is a 12 year old trapped in the body of a 38 year old. And up until Saturday, all I knew about Sarah was that she put up with Bill's shit.</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> But as of Saturday I learned a lot more about Sarah. That she's patient, calm, and has wonderful eyes. That she's on top of her game. That her folks are supercool. And that she's gorgeous, dressed up or down, the girl is a total babe. Bill is luckier than I ever imagined.<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUjdLLvrEaWsPf-HMSZMK34sfrCu9tF3vpc6ls4Z-iqV62V9iN02LeonFviQ6L5QW-An228FkcLasp9Y-9W2eSVZvdKFcgnumZddKmI3y4zc5D9MKfBk15PDIiRyp1Qn8LcLJrjJbcqQ/s1600-h/DSC_0008.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUjdLLvrEaWsPf-HMSZMK34sfrCu9tF3vpc6ls4Z-iqV62V9iN02LeonFviQ6L5QW-An228FkcLasp9Y-9W2eSVZvdKFcgnumZddKmI3y4zc5D9MKfBk15PDIiRyp1Qn8LcLJrjJbcqQ/s320/DSC_0008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251666816208242130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">What more could one ask for other than a wedding aboard a boat around the East River? Maybe some clear weather, which we didn't receive. All fog and gloom. But nevertheless, the procession was awesome, parked under the Brooklyn Bridge with a very special speech delivered by the Best Man and Officiator of the ceremonies, Dave Herman, President of the Reliquary and Bill's best friend. A live soul band swung the dance floor and the bar kept the partygoers sufficiently tipsy enough, although that could have also been the boat itself. Although the food took forever to get to the buffet tables, the cupcakes as wedding cake (cupcakes are in this season) made up for the delay. As did all that booze and soulful tunes. There was an afterparty at a hip downtown dance club, but the truth is that after numerous bottles of Prosecco and gallons of sweat dumped on the dance floor, there isn't much more to tell about the afterparty, except that the only thing I brought home was my hangover. Other parties might have different stories regarding the afterparty, as well as the tequila shots that were consumed, but don't trust them. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157607599293016/">Splish Splash more pix</a>!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;">4 down, 2 more to go.<br /><br />The Wedding Blitz of 08 is Great!</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-26271684824494748702008-09-01T20:08:00.000-07:002008-09-03T06:40:42.081-07:00Lost in the Hudson River vol. 74: Bannerman's Castle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5H83KVTPWYHByKoIOQGwmV9jlZpnDLvIf9yCI3P4QpXSbtLjMVNht-1jAqvljoxwJ0yctgFk7-S1BhDJdOAEXhc3tdnSAOmoQIZ4wD4VPJghJ08m_enBkDsrTh7PBwMtPNbO-yVrNoas/s1600-h/DSC_0299.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5H83KVTPWYHByKoIOQGwmV9jlZpnDLvIf9yCI3P4QpXSbtLjMVNht-1jAqvljoxwJ0yctgFk7-S1BhDJdOAEXhc3tdnSAOmoQIZ4wD4VPJghJ08m_enBkDsrTh7PBwMtPNbO-yVrNoas/s320/DSC_0299.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241785617140119746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">It couldn't have been a more perfect day. A wide-open Saturday in the slowly closing August, replete with wide blue skies, beautiful breezes, a temperature floating in the low 80s, and a yellow school bus just aching to take off with its cargo of 30+ New Yorkers to places unknown. This was it: the final <a href="http://www.fluxfactory.org/going-places-doing-stuff/">Going Places, Doing Stuff</a> adventure of the summer, and as a former GP, DS leader (of the very first one, no less!) and a participant in 6 out of 8 there was no way I'd miss the final blowout. In addition, <a href="http://www.nonsensenyc.com/">Jeff Stark</a>, the organizer of today's spectacular, is a friend, colleague and role model, and his knowledge of the hidden, urban, rural, & superb New York is unmatched. I trust this man with my life, and throughout the course of 16 hour day there were many opportunities for those words to sing true, if not always with my life, then instead with my sanity, poise, calm, and the life of my new $700 digital camera.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTXnpUHHgsrHD2lEC-HzjddgFQRjRLUY8rm6mMCUs2M6QyJZXXxjfxosrGHB70ZFYImLWo8bLqVm6pNBcPH133ruSN0En2snMsie6UkJwQapGLvrcjGrt5__EAeWShZ4qBXisV3uDp7k/s1600-h/DSC_0044.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTXnpUHHgsrHD2lEC-HzjddgFQRjRLUY8rm6mMCUs2M6QyJZXXxjfxosrGHB70ZFYImLWo8bLqVm6pNBcPH133ruSN0En2snMsie6UkJwQapGLvrcjGrt5__EAeWShZ4qBXisV3uDp7k/s320/DSC_0044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241785725092435826" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">We met in <a href="http://www.bridgeandtunnelclub.com/bigmap/queens/lic/queensplaza/">Queens Plaza</a>, where Jeff introduced himself with a welcome and a warning: the Places we were Going and the Stuff we were Doing was, in some cases, highly illegal and certainly arrestable. There was to be no peer pressure on anybody in case they wouldn't or couldn't participate, IE even the coolest adventure wasn't worth the revoking of a green card and the booting out of a country. That having been said, the day was going to be awesome, occupied by 4 different artists and their 4 wildly disparate projects, all to do with the Hudson River and water and Jeff couldn't wait any longer. So we piled onto our trusty yellow Bucephalus, with the omnipresent, multi-talented, infinitely patient Marcus behind the wheel, and we were off!<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnTt15_YELiS8jBp_Pu7DycdLiITlPEmHNrPi9EiT1CKwvWC6DpQzH5IUUEfvOg73f3_9MO3788lWPhPlDkwlp7tZmDeykkFvexgMYS_RdSgeCEteQICvQkFzupZJxsmC9dsfoYRoa9I/s1600-h/DSC_0057.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnTt15_YELiS8jBp_Pu7DycdLiITlPEmHNrPi9EiT1CKwvWC6DpQzH5IUUEfvOg73f3_9MO3788lWPhPlDkwlp7tZmDeykkFvexgMYS_RdSgeCEteQICvQkFzupZJxsmC9dsfoYRoa9I/s320/DSC_0057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241786200412743698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">First stop - a short fence hop in Long Island City and onto a pier to meet and listen to <a href="http://www.marielorenz.com/">Marie Lorenz</a>, a New York based artist who builds and sails her own canoes under the title <a href="http://www.marielorenz.com/tideandcurrenttaxi.php">Tide and Current Taxi</a>. She had docked briefly in LIC with her canoe and two passengers on their way to Roosevelt Island and <a href="http://www.rihs.us/landmarks/renwick.html">Renwick's Ruin</a>, in order to give an impromptu talk on the power of currents and how she uses them in her project. She told us about how the East River is one of the largest collection of tidal currents in the hemisphere, and by using those streams to propel her boat, she harnesses nature to get where she wants to go.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_pRpUeBLkl3jAdvAq-hrM370ZBXvVUno54z84gq1UvmEt3VJKKYxtTyl6xdz-l2_cYs9fjg4h0krMh8DLpRfQ2ESa0-zKh3XLw1XbUynJ3Oon-E9VZlIYW1dH5XtfhXQmdR1avFCkFls/s1600-h/DSC_0096.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_pRpUeBLkl3jAdvAq-hrM370ZBXvVUno54z84gq1UvmEt3VJKKYxtTyl6xdz-l2_cYs9fjg4h0krMh8DLpRfQ2ESa0-zKh3XLw1XbUynJ3Oon-E9VZlIYW1dH5XtfhXQmdR1avFCkFls/s320/DSC_0096.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241786495811858258" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Next up, a lengthy bus ride to somewhere upstate - nearby <a href="http://www.cityofbeacon.org/">Beacon NY</a> - where we crawled through a strategically cut hole in a chain link fence and scampered off to a swimming nook. This nook boasted a couple jump-off points, between 20 and 40 feet up, a picnic area (just a bunch of flattened-off rocks) and most excitingly, another handmade boat, painted tomato-red. This boat came courtesy of Paula Zaslavsky and her partner Dylan Gauthier, two sharp young Brooklynites who used to run the <a href="http://log.emptyvesselproject.org/view/Main/WebHome">Empty Vessel Project</a> but now work on an ongoing DIY boat building project, <a href="http://www.thefreeseas.org/">Mare Liberum</a>. In between homemade peach cocktails and lunch; before and after trips in their lovely boat and a brief talk about how anybody can build their own pond-worthy sailing vessel; once intrepid venturers had had their fill of divebombing off the rocky steps into the swimming hole, Jeff announced it was time to move on. Farewell gorgeous swimming hole! We had 2 more art-water projects to hit.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4c6k2q7R7k0Zvc7WDV0HH-9fiT_f2STt5lp-o8ZcJgLIx_Zo4D4J-NZJ3Wn5KcRFW6SYbEQ1ZkKYg1rt4ZXcG5j3ZOdi966zzKUdLWo_kUy-6RIRUXzKm5coj0z6GzCKtKcKWh6Orj5M/s1600-h/DSC_0157.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4c6k2q7R7k0Zvc7WDV0HH-9fiT_f2STt5lp-o8ZcJgLIx_Zo4D4J-NZJ3Wn5KcRFW6SYbEQ1ZkKYg1rt4ZXcG5j3ZOdi966zzKUdLWo_kUy-6RIRUXzKm5coj0z6GzCKtKcKWh6Orj5M/s320/DSC_0157.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241787071927914914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">After an ice cream and coffee hit in downtown Beacon, we drove until we came to a clearing in the road, and crossing through some bushes and over some very active Amtrak rail lines, until we were standing on the banks of the Hudson. Off in the distance was a crumbling shell of what seemed to be a castle. This was the big exploration - <a href="http://www.hudsonriver.com/bannerman.htm">Bannerman's Castle</a>, on Pollopel Island. And Jeff, in all his rational, madcap determination, was going to get us over there.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjka5xHGZp14zgafQ7umeItcXaLQc783oAiJcsiSK9siGdEzUgJwLwq5Wgf2v2cFpuZ6c2K1F99vOcDR2ZyvR-NG7cd-5sTCZpemJuSmT8N9ZyK0aX34E8touB4b-WNgll2Y8zNCnQL3Ns/s1600-h/DSC_0241.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjka5xHGZp14zgafQ7umeItcXaLQc783oAiJcsiSK9siGdEzUgJwLwq5Wgf2v2cFpuZ6c2K1F99vOcDR2ZyvR-NG7cd-5sTCZpemJuSmT8N9ZyK0aX34E8touB4b-WNgll2Y8zNCnQL3Ns/s320/DSC_0241.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241788008828650818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">After a few back and forth trips via one leaky canoe, one tippy kayak and two rockin' zephyr motorboats, the majority of us were on the island, and free to wander around and take <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157607064555146/">magnificent pictures</a> of this unbelievable ruin. Really. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157607064555146/">Click ahead</a> and see the slideshow.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiyOZv4z8iql4gFfMnopldEU6cz21S8bZAadn21KQF8KiFGij90ng8R8reCG9jyuHvhFH4TY6CZoQrWLAD3w6pgPh4cLqAGQdNX23_ZtG2PbveQvAleXafnayD1IJodOGrTD87zaN_YUc/s1600-h/DSC_0238.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiyOZv4z8iql4gFfMnopldEU6cz21S8bZAadn21KQF8KiFGij90ng8R8reCG9jyuHvhFH4TY6CZoQrWLAD3w6pgPh4cLqAGQdNX23_ZtG2PbveQvAleXafnayD1IJodOGrTD87zaN_YUc/s320/DSC_0238.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241788565215265154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">The story to Bannerman is as eccentric as the building itself. Frank Bannerman VI, born in 1851 and grew up in Brooklyn, was the Father of Army-Navy stores. Inheriting a flag & rope business from his father, he realized the inherrent value of purchasing surplus ammunition, uniforms, heavy artillery, and other goods from post-war governments, and sold them to other nations, at peace or at war. At the conclusion of the <a href="http://www.spanamwar.com/">Spanish-American War</a>, Bannerman purchased 90% of the captured goods in a sealed bid, and needed a remote location to stockpile his collection. His block-long storeroom / showroom at 501 Broadway was no place for such weapons of destruction, so Bannerman purchased Pollopel Island in 1900 and built himself a castle to store his goods. The construction of the buildings took 17 years, not the least of which because Bannerman did most of the loyout & construction himself, without the use of professional architects or engineers. He designed most of it in an outrageous stylized Scottish castle style. The place is magnificent, with little flourishes tucked in the labels and signposts, as well as in the wall sconces and turrets.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlehLHiQ5ofjCS6r6SUjnnJkitLQnzvTLcyIgTS-hZyqB2OSi37Ty0O1XTgR2koLtoD6cKsu2WrAwM-CQiD7sAOxyMgLciDInPLV0dNJk-jNqbQLck7Asl3WqeDDc8T_Vi7TaQtYZ1d0I/s1600-h/DSC_0189.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlehLHiQ5ofjCS6r6SUjnnJkitLQnzvTLcyIgTS-hZyqB2OSi37Ty0O1XTgR2koLtoD6cKsu2WrAwM-CQiD7sAOxyMgLciDInPLV0dNJk-jNqbQLck7Asl3WqeDDc8T_Vi7TaQtYZ1d0I/s320/DSC_0189.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241788293708499602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Bannerman died in 1918, and his family continued to sell army supplies up through the 70s, but they sold the island and the building to NY State in 1967. Unfortunately, two years later a tremendous fire ripped through the building, which damaged most of the walls, incinerated the ceiling and made the grounds unstable for long-term visitors or tours. We were certainly trespassing, but were doing so with utmost care. (<a href="http://www.bannermancastle.org/index.html">The Friends of Bannerman Island</a> would probably have called the cops on us.) The pictures show the story better than these words can ever do. After an hour or so, after we had a few go-rounds the island, after a near-death experience in which Jean busted his head open via a too-shallow dive, it was time to return to the mainland.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfoA49dkrLCWjzcu6cq9eWknzvdFiNRCB5O7oFYwTYuhAQO152rVV3ybM1Pi9C-viAThJd9I950U0aIsAA2LXx_eMDnpIwRMV3OOjOiUsUqv7FYwWZX3SlNzBSza_BtB4gEXUgpgzEH14/s1600-h/DSC_0306.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfoA49dkrLCWjzcu6cq9eWknzvdFiNRCB5O7oFYwTYuhAQO152rVV3ybM1Pi9C-viAThJd9I950U0aIsAA2LXx_eMDnpIwRMV3OOjOiUsUqv7FYwWZX3SlNzBSza_BtB4gEXUgpgzEH14/s320/DSC_0306.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241789333720002258" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Which we did. Went into town, had some pizza and beer. Visited Swoon's <a href="http://laughingsquid.com/swimming-cities-of-switchback-sea-travel-down-the-hudson-river/">Swimming Cities of Switchback Sea</a>, which had been docked up in Beacon for the night, but it really was just an afterthought. Then we piled back onto the bus and returned to New York, getting back to Queens Plaza by 2 in the morning. It was simply splendid - the entire day. Kudos to Flux, to Jeff Stark, to Marcus the driver and to all participants of Going Places, Doing Stuff.<br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-42490193400437144142008-08-25T18:12:00.000-07:002008-08-25T19:59:28.032-07:00Lost in History vol. 72: Exit Poll Cocktail Toll<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpKls8mhI0PKcdz1Blq_6GEUifYb48hQlk2vw8bhIypbDyRz26s5lvrybk3MI3caHqLm5OQiDPVY1kocujWof42MELheczgYZFM45bxjtBRNt6W2aEytjRwnp5dKPmDBgl7gs0HKfOSU/s1600-h/DSC_0180.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpKls8mhI0PKcdz1Blq_6GEUifYb48hQlk2vw8bhIypbDyRz26s5lvrybk3MI3caHqLm5OQiDPVY1kocujWof42MELheczgYZFM45bxjtBRNt6W2aEytjRwnp5dKPmDBgl7gs0HKfOSU/s320/DSC_0180.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238629059071705506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">What goes best with politics? Blue-in-the-face arguing? Solipsistic grandstanding? <a href="http://www.mcny.org/exhibitions/current/838.html" target="_blank">Memorabilia collecting</a>? Sure, those are always a hoot, but what truly makes political discussions oh so fun is booze! The addition of liquor to our political conversations allows us hard-working, hard-drinking Americans to surge forward, secure in the knowledge that our treasured opinions on personal, cultural, communal and national matters make so much more sense when they’re powered by liquor. That’s the beauty of America: when the BAC level coursing through our bloodstreams makes red and blue states meet in the middle, liberal arms around redneck necks, and we sing the national anthem (not really, but we all have a dream).<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHp-8xiEtnEe8eMsRr5OvhycFE7CajtxS_72Mo4lJOZnEyb_vcz3W3sTLqutloiHGl3uzeeEvufvSY252818DfLcWb9SNvr87EzQY-2epOaED1zeSPTA8Y3wvMbrJDAcZnM-JpMGN_NG0/s1600-h/DSC_0160.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHp-8xiEtnEe8eMsRr5OvhycFE7CajtxS_72Mo4lJOZnEyb_vcz3W3sTLqutloiHGl3uzeeEvufvSY252818DfLcWb9SNvr87EzQY-2epOaED1zeSPTA8Y3wvMbrJDAcZnM-JpMGN_NG0/s320/DSC_0160.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238637172823187586" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Dean Baldwin also has a dream: one that involves free booze and the documenting of ever-shifting social dynamics. Not an American but a bona fide Canadian, Mr. Baldwin was in Chelsea last Thursday for the opening of his interactive vodka-fueled exhibit, titled <a href="http://www.whiteboxny.org/sixfeetunder08/exitpollcocktailtoll.html" target="_blank">Exit Poll Cocktail Toll</a>, which runs through today at the <a href="http://www.whiteboxny.org/home.html" target="_blank">White Box Gallery</a>. For Exit Poll Cocktail Toll, one of six weeklong exhibits shown as part of White Box’s <a href="http://www.whiteboxny.org/program/exhibition.html" target="_blank">Six Feet Under</a> series, Mr. Baldwin brought a bunch of vodka, shelves, and curious questions to the American fashion-forward, art-going, booze-drinking public. Picture, if you will, a fancy Chelsea gallery with a bar at the center. Free vodka drinks handily dispensed by cheerless galleristas — vodka and cranberryl vodka, pineapple and blue curacao; vodka and nothing else — to happy-go-lucky hipsters and the standard gallery-hopping crowd. Surrounding the bar, mounted to the walls, are a bunch of shelves with empty plastic cocktail glasses stacked on either side of a demarcated line. Sharpied on each shelf is a question, and under each shelf is a option of two answers.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEvg_3P0Um8o9rab0BAW4FzUlf_6MYWIlXWTISphtwFsTdcYlmUZP_P5syfq6uk8F9ygckzKkGsaYEHw2BKGptXLstE8LYk7s_X78I8SC3A8SqtxUQ_IueUTFWvwi1l0UqMbKScbcEfE/s1600-h/DSC_0176.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzEvg_3P0Um8o9rab0BAW4FzUlf_6MYWIlXWTISphtwFsTdcYlmUZP_P5syfq6uk8F9ygckzKkGsaYEHw2BKGptXLstE8LYk7s_X78I8SC3A8SqtxUQ_IueUTFWvwi1l0UqMbKScbcEfE/s320/DSC_0176.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238637581434147954" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">“If the election were to take place today who would you vote for?” has an overwhelming stack of empty cups — 30 or more — on the Obama side, and a half dozen for McCain. “Does Capitalism control democracy?” (pictured) also has a stack of empty cups on the YES side, and a handful (but not many) on the NO side. Another query has a shelf perched high above the heads and reachable arms of all boozers in the gallery and a ladder placed squarely underneath leading to the inquiry “Are poor people lazy?”<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFX9YX7WhSsfh_h2QhxvCM3wqyYA5Q16Ox1bICGKNnZOf42nXZqR_r-a_jXkXrwz0oY-egoY6LcyXzcBqxuKS4udvkdR6vDnO9r730m8izrDaNSGYPJ-1jzuZaPvVU41as48sYN32vyZg/s1600-h/Picture+281.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFX9YX7WhSsfh_h2QhxvCM3wqyYA5Q16Ox1bICGKNnZOf42nXZqR_r-a_jXkXrwz0oY-egoY6LcyXzcBqxuKS4udvkdR6vDnO9r730m8izrDaNSGYPJ-1jzuZaPvVU41as48sYN32vyZg/s320/Picture+281.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238655182145986994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Chen Tamir, a NY resident and guest curator who invited Mr. Baldwin and his spirited installation of spirits, describes his art as “creating social scenarios and sparking conversation through the argument of art and the lubrication of booze.” White Box’s theme of Six Feet Under was developed to take a humorous yet interactive approach towards the election season. Chen and Dean interviewed friends as well as strangers on the street to come up with 30 questions, which were then whittled down to 13 and displayed prominently on the walls. It seemed as if patrons had a good time boozing it up and making their decisions known. If the answers to the questions surprised n -one, well, neither did the crowd of young urbanites on hand for the opening. Neither did the stack of empties on the positive side of the shelf labeled “Did you come for the free booze?”<br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-78247745639167895042008-08-24T21:58:00.000-07:002008-08-24T23:03:16.989-07:00Lost in History vol. 73 - Hip-Hop Gospel in Maria Hernandez Park - One Afternoon Only!<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4tYKU32vdNHnwfccT6GTq7Tf7YDV50y-peVRRoH5ozUU_utDOmL8NcRSiIfdv0pLR2t7qVPT8_npZmNkm4BCx6Y2QKdUWWJ7XA8Gm7pxi8qQ3X_5m9ULPyN877hCvCvOchnfBR0QLIs/s1600-h/DSC_0450.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4tYKU32vdNHnwfccT6GTq7Tf7YDV50y-peVRRoH5ozUU_utDOmL8NcRSiIfdv0pLR2t7qVPT8_npZmNkm4BCx6Y2QKdUWWJ7XA8Gm7pxi8qQ3X_5m9ULPyN877hCvCvOchnfBR0QLIs/s320/DSC_0450.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238331181217789378" border="0" /></a>On Wednesday I had the second half of the afternoon off, and it was gossip catch-up time with the BFU (that’s Best Friend in the Universe, to those of you who didn’t know.) So I boogied by bike from <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?q=345%20eldert%20st&ie=UTF-8&oe=utf-8&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&um=1&sa=N&tab=wl">East Bushwick</a> to Williamsburg, caught-up with the lovely girl for an hour or so, shared a raspberry iced tea, marveled and planned a future fedora purchase at a <a href="http://bencrafthats.com/">South Williamsburg Hatter</a><a href="http://bencrafthats.com/"> </a> Tomatoes you've never had (but should! - email me for exact location!) I heard some on lower Broadway across from the WBridge Bus Depot, and made my way back home. After stopping to pickup some of the most amazing homemade Sundriedslammin' live music from <a href="http://www.nycgovparks.org/sub_your_park/historical_signs/hs_historical_sign.php?id=186">Maria Hernandez Park</a> across the street. So I hoisted our groceries, and biked up the slight hill to the open plaza in the heart of the park. I practically biked right into a serious urban gospel concert happening in the middle of the park, middle of the afternoon, middle of the week.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG54_HoRa_RN0uJuOl7opyoVrRsNwP3DtlFqLYcP4mSlOzHNAomRPSieJEJcmd8Wxm4D-vODRcoLxEzQAg9_C8Vf0TuEY0sKAj2bahLfS6o1k-yaBAPu3NdYJiuiphPWwkV4tAI-tKIlA/s1600-h/DSC_0459.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG54_HoRa_RN0uJuOl7opyoVrRsNwP3DtlFqLYcP4mSlOzHNAomRPSieJEJcmd8Wxm4D-vODRcoLxEzQAg9_C8Vf0TuEY0sKAj2bahLfS6o1k-yaBAPu3NdYJiuiphPWwkV4tAI-tKIlA/s320/DSC_0459.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238331632883550898" border="0" /></a><br />The chorus is comprised of 30 some-odd teenagers, mostly of the Latina & Afro variety, but with an assorted Asian up on the stage, all of them bouncing back and forth behind a 4 member band supporting a few different solo performers. Electric Guitar, Bass, keyboards and drums; all amplified and booming across the park, to the senior citizens on the benches, to the squadron of tykes on tiny bikes, to the dozen or so attentive listeners on the folding chairs, to the sarcastic older boys in the back row making snide comments, to the occasional hipster strolling past with a quizzical look on their face. The solo performers are alternating tracks between hip-hop, rap, soul, r&b, the odd & impressive hard rock track with a bitchin' guitar solo. But between all the nice beats, the grinning kids, the tshirts that say DIE HARD, LIVE FREE, the grooving rhythms is a message - that life is tough, drugs and violence can tempt one down the wrong road, but friends, family and Jesus Christ can help those in need.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgchctdSO120p4XudQDj4loTavMElUS91pwVQNsccMKrUnA5lpttLLwfJxxyL6dT9sNrXkSHCov-2_sDfhBQxCqCbYOvSt-Z5VZhj4isLUHhkyZP5W1TX8aC0uyG07d-HFrm8lqNW5_BVY/s1600-h/DSC_0457.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgchctdSO120p4XudQDj4loTavMElUS91pwVQNsccMKrUnA5lpttLLwfJxxyL6dT9sNrXkSHCov-2_sDfhBQxCqCbYOvSt-Z5VZhj4isLUHhkyZP5W1TX8aC0uyG07d-HFrm8lqNW5_BVY/s320/DSC_0457.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238331426870814658" border="0" /></a>I had stumbled upon a one-time only live performance from the <a href="http://yebloggy.blogspot.com/">YE Ministries</a>. YE stands for Youth Explosion, and the backs of a few DIE HARD, LIVE FREE tees were emblazoned with a YE graffiti logo. <a href="http://youthexplosion.com/aspx/main.aspx">Youth Explosion Ministries </a>is a religious & spiritual group originating out of a Ministry on Myrtle Avenue in Glendale - aimed mostly at Junior High and High School students, but allowing the word to reach all. And all it did reach - the music was awesome. The positive presence was tight. The message, if one were to listen closely enough were indeed religious proselytizing, but proselytizing about the one and only God and living a life more attuned to pure expression and experience. And who can find anything wrong with that?! I left Maria Hernandez with a rhythm in my heart and an uplift in my spirit. And a badass mix cd, which I will gladly share with any who write and ask. (Along with the location of those delish homemade sun-drieds.)</span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-22773220689101927342008-08-06T14:37:00.000-07:002008-08-06T14:54:04.397-07:00Lost in History vol. 71: Party for Your Right to Ride!<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3go50vrp54R-RVG9fY7lAmBw5rH01o2arfSiv_TeMfHBnj8E4-1zcJAaV9iwb0Er9xCe7D_oQ4ZU6YOQ6VXG9NtgRqALwlo_uDk8Uhfpt1hwKBcPR4mCA_8a1KMIrRxwDw_QDAWgSiX0/s1600-h/bikelane.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3go50vrp54R-RVG9fY7lAmBw5rH01o2arfSiv_TeMfHBnj8E4-1zcJAaV9iwb0Er9xCe7D_oQ4ZU6YOQ6VXG9NtgRqALwlo_uDk8Uhfpt1hwKBcPR4mCA_8a1KMIrRxwDw_QDAWgSiX0/s320/bikelane.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231522845264770594" border="0" /></a>On Tuesday night we had the pleasure of converging at a midtown bar, in a room full of people who like to drink and ride bikes (hopefully not, but probably sometimes, at the same time). However, instead of drinking and riding (hard to accomplish, let alone in a cramped Chelsea bar), we were standing around on our own two legs schmoozing, boozing, talking shop about cycling in the city and crossing fingers for the bike stuff raffle. Welcome to the first ever social mixer/benefit for the positive, progressive bike advocacy organization <a href="http://www.transalt.org/" target="_blank">Transportation Alternatives</a>.<br /><br />Trans Alt (or TA) was founded in 1973, during the cresting wave of environmental action and organizations that also birthed the Clean Air and Clean Water Acts, as well as the Environmental Protection Agency. Although Trans Alt is hardly as powerful as sweeping legislation or a major government branch, they are still effecting small and large changes on the streets of New York. TA’s predominant focus is on bicycle and pedestrian advocacy, in five different fields: Bicycling, Walking and Traffic Calming, Car-Free Parks, Safe Streets and Sensible Transportation. TA stresses that it is not focused only on cyclists – their goal is the best possible utilization of our multifarious mixed-use avenues. In their very helpful <a href="http://www.transalt.org/files/newsroom/magazine/012Spring/09hierarchy.html" target="_blank">green transportation hierarchy</a>, TA demonstrates how different a city block could be if it were occupied by 50 New Yorkers in cars vs. <a href="http://www.streetfilms.org/archives/room-to-breathe-nyc/">50 New Yorkers on bikes</a> vs. 50 New Yorkers on a city bus. Clearly, the mass transportation mode beats private autos, and the happy cyclists trump all.<br /><br />A phenomenal 110,000 cyclists travel the city every day, whether commuting to and from work, riding for work (say, delivering food, packages and documents), or for leisure. All these people deserve safer <a href="http://www.transalt.org/campaigns/bike/lanesgreenways" target="_blank">bike lanes and off-street <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">greenway</span> paths</a> to get to work and home (and the bar) safely; daily commuters need more indoor and outdoor bike racks to lock up their trusty rides — all of these are causes for which Trans Alt lobbies, in City Hall and Albany, for the sake of safer roads for everyone— cars included. Along with bike advocacy, TA works towards traffic-calming atmospheres, where local community groups join the Department of Transportation to achieve pedestrian-primary spaces (parks, streets. routes) throughout the city.<br /><br />Back to the booze and the blab about bikes. TA’s first mixer/benefit (because when you think about it, cyclists only get together on their bike, which is hardly time to talk shop) was a rousing success. 150 happy people (out of TA’s 6000-strong membership) crammed into <a href="http://nymag.com/listings/bar/black_door/" target="_blank">The Black Door’</a>s back room, swilling free drinks and snacking on veggies and dip. The atmosphere felt more like an after-hours office party than a collection of strangers who prefer the cycle to the subway.<br /><br />Ryan </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" style="font-size:130%;">Nuckel</span><span style="font-size:130%;">, TA’s Membership Director shared some facts about Transportation Alternatives. First off, they’re growing rapidly: a few years ago they just had 7 paid staffers, and now they’re up to 20 full-timers and practically bursting out of their office (a few flights above The Black Door). Also, TA sees itself as the wonky, legislative side to the cycling community. (As opposed to <a href="http://times-up.org/index.php?page=critical-mass" target="_blank">Critical Mass</a>, the take-it-to-the-streets direct action side — with which TA has no official affiliation, although members of TA ride CM all the time.) Wonky political pushers are important when dealing with mega-bureaucracies like NYC and the DOT — to get the Man on your side, you have to know how to talk to him. To that end, TA is involved heavily with small-time players with moderate agendas — like City Council members, a dozen of whom have signed an open letter to Police </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" style="font-size:130%;">Commish</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> Ray Kelly and Mayor </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" style="font-size:130%;">Bloomberg</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> asking that the charges against Christopher Long (<a href="http://www.thelmagazine.com/lmag_blog/blog/post__07290802.cfm" target="_blank">the Critical Mass rider who was knocked to the ground by a rookie cop</a>) be dropped, and that a fuller investigation into the </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" style="font-size:130%;">NYPD</span><span style="font-size:130%;">’s anti-bike tactics are opened. It’s a start . . .<br /><br />On the whole, it was a lovely evening, filled with booze, bikes, and beautiful people, excited about all of the above. Unfortunately we </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" style="font-size:130%;">didn</span><span style="font-size:130%;">’t win anything from the Trans Alt </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" style="font-size:130%;">merch</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> table raffle, so after two free whiskeys and some veggies and dips, we mounted our freewheel </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" style="font-size:130%;">singlespeed</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> Fuji, snapped on our helmet, and headed east, along a lovely bike path that was planned specifically for us.</span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-49470902823113441862008-07-28T21:48:00.000-07:002008-08-06T14:31:49.220-07:00Lost in History vol. 70: All Boro Bonanza<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCdEcfQdxxaJtby2FtR9fWq8Wec0mLSChLHIUu2ASjA7ZL0LohyphenhyphenwvCaVTE38FUeS0ywQbPwU38dl7CtVvXZM-KiSD6CVq5WYQAT3vhOlFdAP2r-8oRYYjmEC3Jk_O0WI6yEpNHi4V73Y/s1600-h/DSC_0106.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCdEcfQdxxaJtby2FtR9fWq8Wec0mLSChLHIUu2ASjA7ZL0LohyphenhyphenwvCaVTE38FUeS0ywQbPwU38dl7CtVvXZM-KiSD6CVq5WYQAT3vhOlFdAP2r-8oRYYjmEC3Jk_O0WI6yEpNHi4V73Y/s320/DSC_0106.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229023011333073314" border="0" /></a></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Damn you <a href="http://www.fluxfactory.org/">Flux Factory</a>. Are you really that good? Can you truly tell the secret whims and desires, the wants, needs and must haves of a bunch of New York City artists / adventurers / self-proclaimed geeks / cheese-bus aficionados / travelers / cheapskates / and those in the know? It seems that way – and 54 people can prove it.<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF1xG6LaX8uod15bSs6hObBXyMfDRzUqNMEiHLd5VxmaysSKBtbwl2OmoKWCneA64vZJr9j0-JkFZCfD8uZdIV710qK54njMlt-Q10nKKubgt79NhunzrSmTizR7LCrqbfEeE_t_eOW2U/s1600-h/DSC_0008.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF1xG6LaX8uod15bSs6hObBXyMfDRzUqNMEiHLd5VxmaysSKBtbwl2OmoKWCneA64vZJr9j0-JkFZCfD8uZdIV710qK54njMlt-Q10nKKubgt79NhunzrSmTizR7LCrqbfEeE_t_eOW2U/s320/DSC_0008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229023237483668578" border="0" /></a></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Two weekends back, Flux hosted another one of their fantastically popular, terrifically peculiar, all-day extravaganzas titled <a href="http://www.fluxfactory.org/going-places-doing-stuff/">Going Places, Doing Stuff</a>. The premise behind GP, DS is that there’s a whole lot of awesome to see in our city. And yet, people generally take this city for granted. Since Flux lost its lease on their gallery-cum-home in Long Island City (they have to move by October,) lead curator Jean Barberis (full disclosure – a fine friend of mine) realized that one doesn’t need a static indoor gallery to display the art or performance of New Yorkers – one can do just as well in the city itself. So Flux asked a half-dozen writers, artists, historians, and so forth to create an adventure-slash-tour, on board a yellow cheese bus, in which participants would have no idea of where they were headed, just a title, a list of supplies to bring and a departure time and place. Get on the bus and take off to points unknown.<br /><br />I was asked to lead the first Going Places, Doing Stuff, and we delved, mind, body and soul into weird religious spots in <a href="http://actiondirection.blogspot.com/2008/06/lost-in-history-vol-65-staten-island.html">Staten Island</a>. The second GP, DS took us into the wilds of <a href="http://actiondirection.blogspot.com/2008/07/lost-in-history-vol-67-new-yorkers-go.html">Pennsyltucky</a>, courtesy of artist <a href="http://www.douglaspaulson.com/">Douglas Paulson</a>. Two more adventures were led – one by Fluxer Annie Reichert, in which she brought a busload of explorers to her native suburban New Jersey and accompanied her Dad on everyday Dad stuff; another journey called Wandering Restaurant, where Portland, OR artist Gary Wiseman brought people to edible areas in Queens. Unfortunately I couldn’t attend either of those two escapades. But nothing was stopping me from attending the Flux-curated expedition on July 19th. What’s more, it was the only one in which I truly had no clue where we were going.<br /><br />We went All Boro. Five boroughs in one day. Ambitious? Insane? Brilliant? Check, check, triple check. Flux Factory Senior Team: Jean Barberis, Stefany A. Golberg, Morgan Meis, Jason D. Brown, Chen Tamir & Sebastien Sanz de Santamaria compiled the days’ events as personal favorite of theirs. We met at the Staten Island Ferry terminal at 9am, in order to knock off the most estranged borough first. Also, the SI Ferry is one of the only places in NY where you can drink in public (I’ve done extensive research on the subject.) Once we disembarked at St. George, we boarded our cheese bus (54 adults on a machine that should only hold 40) and the journey began. First stop was a private gallery in the backyard of a home in St. George. Some Chilean sculptor who was related to another, more famous Chilean painter. I had had a few rum and iced coffees by then, so I didn’t quite catch the guy’s name. Following the sculpture gallery we made our way down onto the North Shore, immediately across from <a href="http://www.snug-harbor.org/">Sailors Snug Harbor</a> to discover the coolest spot of the day – a DIY BMX bike track hidden in the overgrowth on the shoreline of Richmond Terrace.<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnpIAFOSOO1VMaVRrJ-7CaalcFJmowdZar1eDZXLVtNxtvXAwM73ENvI-XjQz9gnZOGG0bXZGvDNv9BW7QivOQJuTr3Tb80xdE-2yyGp9u4Q3AkxeuIG-h27qIRZ88LDh_9r6Fy1E7aqw/s1600-h/DSC_0054.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnpIAFOSOO1VMaVRrJ-7CaalcFJmowdZar1eDZXLVtNxtvXAwM73ENvI-XjQz9gnZOGG0bXZGvDNv9BW7QivOQJuTr3Tb80xdE-2yyGp9u4Q3AkxeuIG-h27qIRZ88LDh_9r6Fy1E7aqw/s320/DSC_0054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229023465536963058" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinH4y0i0TxrFP-_JKgRQGKsxJsENVMH1QtaqU_0febZ5M-5R4p8k_EiZW_Tx4slMkzDzvIcK78rmEmDXp9HDP4C_UaYbLNE3GVZgu1VbnxlrWtv5CFJa5a0YIWP-HykGesdjh2mbYtxY4/s1600-h/DSC_0063.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinH4y0i0TxrFP-_JKgRQGKsxJsENVMH1QtaqU_0febZ5M-5R4p8k_EiZW_Tx4slMkzDzvIcK78rmEmDXp9HDP4C_UaYbLNE3GVZgu1VbnxlrWtv5CFJa5a0YIWP-HykGesdjh2mbYtxY4/s320/DSC_0063.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229023739605046306" border="0" /></a></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >After running around like maniacs on this totally badass BMX track, we returned to the cheese bus to discover – our very own Staten Island cocktail!</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" > It was 10:30am, we had 4 more boroughs to tackle, and people were getting nice and soused. </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >All cocktails coutesy of Chen Tamir. </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WNE2agO_QpLSRk1k1X50dBQZrPbKqglCrW4MBDIX8_gn0KRr8fRfPA60qeS3-akiaUCibSqLWUZYnkheM8TtONEkByTEijLpL9ust7KRWno35GOEKMD4yvi94_aTEUIpEmWOPf0FP7Y/s1600-h/DSC_0075.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WNE2agO_QpLSRk1k1X50dBQZrPbKqglCrW4MBDIX8_gn0KRr8fRfPA60qeS3-akiaUCibSqLWUZYnkheM8TtONEkByTEijLpL9ust7KRWno35GOEKMD4yvi94_aTEUIpEmWOPf0FP7Y/s320/DSC_0075.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229023949331028034" border="0" /></a></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><u>Staten Island Cocktail</u></span> <p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">6 parts coffee vodka <br />1 part dry vermouth <br />2 parts fresh lime juice <br />Maraschino cherry<br />Combine liquid ingredients in a cocktail shaker with cracked ice and shake well. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with maraschino cherry.</span><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCRSYKL1_zuNyxyweGGSlBoymxAl5C_1AuaeeZYVhbqSCOaBbsKIr75CtLEKAkzYZGYMI154a5uaYpK8VrOAkDfJfVtI2s0OrTE18fRep6A8gYg79tMoT5RSBc5CSfEItqDanVdFtS1mU/s1600-h/DSC_0083.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCRSYKL1_zuNyxyweGGSlBoymxAl5C_1AuaeeZYVhbqSCOaBbsKIr75CtLEKAkzYZGYMI154a5uaYpK8VrOAkDfJfVtI2s0OrTE18fRep6A8gYg79tMoT5RSBc5CSfEItqDanVdFtS1mU/s320/DSC_0083.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229024338583768882" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Over the VZ bridge to Brooklyn and to our next stop – <a href="http://www.mindspring.com/%7Ejaytee/blimp.htm">Floyd Bennett Field</a>, NY’s first municipal airport. Opened in 1931 at the southeastern tip of Brooklyn, FB Field was home to a number of daredevil pilots just as aviation was cruising from the airplane age to the jet engine age. </span><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Wiley Post, Amelia Earhart, Howard Hughes and more all made Floyd Bennett Field a space-age wonder in a pre-World-War-II New York. After a quick tour of Hangar B – home to dozens of out-of-commission Army, Navy & Government aircrafts, </span><span style="font-size:130%;">complete with septuagenarian Brooklyn boys building a replica of a Jenny bomber out of wood, </span><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydrlQ-OPj2_mzlPR_-gx6LgCMuVsKK33EmWwhANHC0QB57fdni-WfAeNgKUjLAewgIqiofDdlGgrDHfmwMH3Oc0iXmalhiCnJ9PzrCrAFtI3gClxS3N9KaPyPahG_2ROpTbPz3KH_zeA/s1600-h/DSC_0096.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydrlQ-OPj2_mzlPR_-gx6LgCMuVsKK33EmWwhANHC0QB57fdni-WfAeNgKUjLAewgIqiofDdlGgrDHfmwMH3Oc0iXmalhiCnJ9PzrCrAFtI3gClxS3N9KaPyPahG_2ROpTbPz3KH_zeA/s320/DSC_0096.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229024584829378098" border="0" /></a></span></p><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >we went to the Aviator indoor stall for a picnic lunch and more Brooklyn booze.<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUji8T1EYKQxN5QDn22kX2_aik5l0QmrvY5RU0Rl8YRSYgjwqzSZT__UDbXrdhF58F5kap7RJ2Of01z1hWEXr4CueJPqxB9ry7cXGvduuZQL42wLZOfNooAJoHu9cdcKYS5abgsg0sG4/s1600-h/DSC_0112.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJUji8T1EYKQxN5QDn22kX2_aik5l0QmrvY5RU0Rl8YRSYgjwqzSZT__UDbXrdhF58F5kap7RJ2Of01z1hWEXr4CueJPqxB9ry7cXGvduuZQL42wLZOfNooAJoHu9cdcKYS5abgsg0sG4/s320/DSC_0112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229025357687048706" border="0" /></a></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:ArialMT;font-size:130%;" ><u>Brooklyn Cocktail</u></span> <p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">2 ounces rye or blended whiskey<br />1 ounce dry vermouth<br />Dash of maraschino liqueur<br />Dash of Amer Picon<br />Shake all ingredients well with ice; then strain into a chilled cocktail glass.</span></p><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWUwXdpHAM5RQzVebGbJc3AdDk_Bxj7BiOlKUqocOqIVH6RRBZnmKm6ypLGtJuMVzHYt6F3bnY3fck1qLW6DgSEm6riJLFS2FwaYndBe2n_n8pczCB2MwwglGKIWGwHlRfsGjtV1rTy4/s1600-h/DSC_0149.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWUwXdpHAM5RQzVebGbJc3AdDk_Bxj7BiOlKUqocOqIVH6RRBZnmKm6ypLGtJuMVzHYt6F3bnY3fck1qLW6DgSEm6riJLFS2FwaYndBe2n_n8pczCB2MwwglGKIWGwHlRfsGjtV1rTy4/s320/DSC_0149.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229025731896034786" border="0" /></a></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >Onto Queens! Way up north in Queens – the neighborhood of <a href="http://www.nyc.gov/html/dcp/html/college_point/index.shtml">College Point</a>, and the art gallery and brilliant loft-garage-home of local artist <a href="http://www.johnnorwood.com/">John Norwood</a>, a friend to Flux. Again, more art here, some of which was wonderful and some of which was just weird. I took off to explore College Point Boulevard and score some scrumptious Columbian fresh-fruit drinks called Cholada. The day was long, hot, and brains were addled with liquor and other, more illicit substances, so a nice long respite in Mr. Norwood’s air conditioned home was just the ticket. We watched airplanes take off from LaGuardia Airport, just across from Flushing Bay. We drank a special Queens cocktail that was just as nauseous as the first two.<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><u><br />Queen's Cocktail</u><br /></span><p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">1 chunk of Pineapple<br />I slice of Orange, in the shaker.<br />Ice<br />1/3 Italian Vermouth<br />1/3 French Vermouth<br />1/3 Booth's Dry Gin<br />Shake well and strain into cocktail glass.</span></p><p style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmI5wB39ZV3x9Y6m-fWukeuTDsRitKYBcyGmpN-5RUwPUVuBnmoIBhN3qcjs-UhBFphkAL0XwHbSULLI7YEaNzGSmQ6QVPmndCBk0Ws2nAz4vka9XNV5-c4jwAEaKNmA16YLxb6XXREnk/s1600-h/DSC_0158.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmI5wB39ZV3x9Y6m-fWukeuTDsRitKYBcyGmpN-5RUwPUVuBnmoIBhN3qcjs-UhBFphkAL0XwHbSULLI7YEaNzGSmQ6QVPmndCBk0Ws2nAz4vka9XNV5-c4jwAEaKNmA16YLxb6XXREnk/s320/DSC_0158.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229026124692248146" border="0" /></a>We soaked in the A/C and tried to ignore the fact that eventually all 54 of us would have to reboard that 40 pax bus, in 92 degree humidity, in the northern-ass-end of Queens, and depart for the only borough that attached to the mainland of America. Which we did. Evetually.<br /></span></p><a style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRGBl_IORryFZrvyrnex_GhAl6ibrloUlATd_6EiWcDuR4wjg9C1SuTcAwXgrX0JxDiEtMdhxCMBMDpjmc8KIyHVf0U7tZMecpwwTLw6PVPCorfWMvkswzftcMZ4d8rxCj0j21ym_JzU/s1600-h/DSC_0179.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRGBl_IORryFZrvyrnex_GhAl6ibrloUlATd_6EiWcDuR4wjg9C1SuTcAwXgrX0JxDiEtMdhxCMBMDpjmc8KIyHVf0U7tZMecpwwTLw6PVPCorfWMvkswzftcMZ4d8rxCj0j21ym_JzU/s320/DSC_0179.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229026420011197346" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >The Bronx. Fort Apache. Burning tenements. Yankee Stadium. Yachts. Lobster shacks . . . quiet, serene, Maine-like fishing villages?!? Welcome to <a href="http://www.cityisland.com/">City Island</a>, population 4500. Commonly referred to as New England in New York, this impossibly picturesque spit of land off Pelham Bay is famous for seeming completely outside of NYC, yet within the five boroughs. We parked the cheese bus and wandered around the Pelham Cemetery, purportedly the only final resting place in New York City right next to a body of water. We hiked our way down the 1.5 mile City Island Avenue to the southernmost point which was when we split for dinner. Some went the fried and greasy route, some went the burgers and fries route, I went the whole lobster & clam bake route. It was a well-earned crustacean.<br /></span><a style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXbCb0AzGiQo2gHjDzukB343-M5eprsw_rOHYwT9j_8qo-8QVHiR-L3VcmIREVw5YJCQhzVVjzmUx8nNcKD8EeLMBvrjL0Rx7VKcnVZvhp9SBcgyqvNe3Wl9JS2AxWabJuBj2CKMCncXY/s1600-h/DSC_0197.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXbCb0AzGiQo2gHjDzukB343-M5eprsw_rOHYwT9j_8qo-8QVHiR-L3VcmIREVw5YJCQhzVVjzmUx8nNcKD8EeLMBvrjL0Rx7VKcnVZvhp9SBcgyqvNe3Wl9JS2AxWabJuBj2CKMCncXY/s320/DSC_0197.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229026659169829650" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >There’s only so much All Boro a New Yorker can handle – so after yet another impossible to swallow cocktail, this one named for the Boogie-Down Bronx, we piled onto that magical cheese bus and slept our way back to the city. They said it couldn’t be done – All Boro in one day. Clearly "they" never messed with Flux Factory.<br /><br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-30537120685317950202008-07-21T19:50:00.000-07:002008-07-29T20:37:08.777-07:00PERLFEST 08!<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmCVrAYm5Ak_2GwWIuDxfyletiRxgkC4IijouACYIJqxRD8YjluSUXoqfpEr64DLKNfMvY1eTp0MBtvRxcZuLosy1OOThZIdEpgBlVVZ9boLP_MHl4fx0Fcs2U6gLgG8e4bJr6aLDYKA/s1600-h/IMG_8392.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmCVrAYm5Ak_2GwWIuDxfyletiRxgkC4IijouACYIJqxRD8YjluSUXoqfpEr64DLKNfMvY1eTp0MBtvRxcZuLosy1OOThZIdEpgBlVVZ9boLP_MHl4fx0Fcs2U6gLgG8e4bJr6aLDYKA/s320/IMG_8392.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225681177857193890" border="0" /></a>I am a lucky New Yorker - I'm blessed with good health, steady income, solid friends, a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">neverending</span> sense of adventure, cheap rent, and close family. That last one qualifies in both the emotional, tangible sense; IE I get along with practically every member, both near and far, of my local & extended family; but also in the geographical sense IE not only do my father and two brothers live in Brooklyn but my paternal Grandparents live on the Upper West Side; my second cousin Neal lives in Hells Kitchen; and my other cousins and nephews live in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Larchmont</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Riverdale</span> and other suburban enclaves close enough to the pulsing heart of NYC.<br /><br />The added benefit of all this local family is the invitation to lots of great parties. You got your basic holiday shindigs like Thanksgiving and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Yom</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Kippur</span> (held at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Casa</span> Levy in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Flatbush</span>), semi-regular dinners at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Gramma's</span> on Columbus and 95<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">th</span>, and the occasional blow-out shindig celebrating large-scale celebrations, such as the mutual birthdays of my second cousin Lee, who just turned 50, and his daughter (my second niece) Shauna, who turned 21. So, in classic Levy fashion (although Lee & Shauna go by the surname <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Perlman</span>, we know there's a little Levy in their blood) they threw one hell of a party.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD2U8nhzENANXE3zcBEW8LzN94MGzPNZUdPETVDztpkDeRP_D4EiTOOCuv0LK5JC_1g80_crOcn_dUVedc1Xg0ZC3JuGc_d5MWy5EtIrHIiMKHFOKR0O8nTYJjLq9kM4PZzWbQ3iKkBVY/s1600-h/IMG_8400.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD2U8nhzENANXE3zcBEW8LzN94MGzPNZUdPETVDztpkDeRP_D4EiTOOCuv0LK5JC_1g80_crOcn_dUVedc1Xg0ZC3JuGc_d5MWy5EtIrHIiMKHFOKR0O8nTYJjLq9kM4PZzWbQ3iKkBVY/s320/IMG_8400.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225680859357453186" border="0" /></a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">They called it PERLFEST</span> 08, thrown a sliver over a month ago on June 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">th</span>, and let me tell you . . . it was the cultural / familial event of the season. The event was held in an industrial <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">partyspace</span> on the Far West Side - 31st street between 10<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">th</span> avenue and the Lincoln Tunnel city-bound lane (Dyer Ave!) The only way up to the rooftop soiree was via a massive freight elevator which gave off an idea of dilapidated industry & therefore no hint of the extravagance that was to follow. As the freight creaked and shuddered its way up flight after flight, the other elevator-trapped guests looked slightly frightened for what was to come; I knew better than to believe this tromp <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">l'oeil</span> of rusty mechanics. The party was going to be stunning.<br /><br />Of course it was. Once the massive steel doors opened, we found ourselves on an outdoor patio 8 stories up, with equally jaw-dropping views of the Hudson River, coastal New Jersey, midtown industry and the skyscrapers of the financial district. Everyone looked fabulous - Shauna was bedecked in a glittering gorgeous silky violet number and Lee (always business even when he enjoys himself) was dressed in a fine jacket and unbuttoned shirt (proof of party - the tie-less uniform.) The remainder of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Perlman</span> family - wife Linda and son Jake were dressed sharp as can be, while still relinquishing premier spotlight position for the birthday duo. The guests were split down the middle from corporate 40 year old couples from Brooklyn, Jersey and CT, as well as Shauna's gal pal crew fresh from college and probably living in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Williamsburg</span>, the LES or Park Slope.<br /><br />Everyone was having a great time. There was an ice luge serving chilled currant vodka shots that us Levy boys had a special moment.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7GtBfJxkJMCj9sGWRYAVFRoAPQJscwmd6zY4JPQCBgX8pvINAm1Fa1lvTWPcz_jvenm9l78Zui-IHfw-LfkbSQmthc7DiLJ8xHneWyYxRapUOOH5NzPx8qWHxC7AvhB27IKtSyG1J5Y/s1600-h/IMG_8393.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz7GtBfJxkJMCj9sGWRYAVFRoAPQJscwmd6zY4JPQCBgX8pvINAm1Fa1lvTWPcz_jvenm9l78Zui-IHfw-LfkbSQmthc7DiLJ8xHneWyYxRapUOOH5NzPx8qWHxC7AvhB27IKtSyG1J5Y/s320/IMG_8393.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225681447119604386" border="0" /></a>There were waiters serving the indoor / outdoor space, stocked with trays of delectable delights. We plied the fully stocked bar; Jonah and I surreptiously ascended up a ladder in order to snap some shots against the night skyline (note the New Yorker Hotel sign in the back;)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgqcborMbftzfN6m9Aofqf5QszG4MV3xpMn9kh1GmixhNt-Jy6cn-8adhyIuITesU6-1OS9BblmM02Flm6gHDPKXf88iluYdVkae9DO6_T9lf4kKS6ttHQtLzpbZx1sqLDVRinFIfNd40/s1600-h/IMG_8427.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgqcborMbftzfN6m9Aofqf5QszG4MV3xpMn9kh1GmixhNt-Jy6cn-8adhyIuITesU6-1OS9BblmM02Flm6gHDPKXf88iluYdVkae9DO6_T9lf4kKS6ttHQtLzpbZx1sqLDVRinFIfNd40/s320/IMG_8427.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225685250721085186" border="0" /></a> at some point Lee made the call and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"></span> announced that the whole party was moving one flight down. So off and down the narrow staircase which led to . . . A DANCE PARTY!!! This was the part of the shindig that most closely resembled a Sweet 16, but substantially amped up on booze.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UbpYMkz3UQ-ap3l2UPW6W9I0lzYDSFljqpo0cVvdVt3eJvPsgMkTX5qxHEZThYX2S1nWJW8mFq2wTLfHjPZ8TWFbUX_T8iQbET-aqIFURDuzJAQ67XV3LpVHrWKTTxq9F5UAfYLTug0/s1600-h/IMG_8402.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UbpYMkz3UQ-ap3l2UPW6W9I0lzYDSFljqpo0cVvdVt3eJvPsgMkTX5qxHEZThYX2S1nWJW8mFq2wTLfHjPZ8TWFbUX_T8iQbET-aqIFURDuzJAQ67XV3LpVHrWKTTxq9F5UAfYLTug0/s320/IMG_8402.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225682440158860914" border="0" /></a>Notice the pictures of aby Lee and little Shauna everywhere.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0cEYhkXQm8gp9vU1pZR6RSd7p6a-Po2uPtcnwL2xwMb5XIlcsVRj0yLQGOzL9rRbyf5Uci1GXxv3F_AlUcOAnBY02tATbWWc3aC91LkUzq-zHokAQVn7K41O-KQ-lJqd2njT86d85PQ/s1600-h/IMG_8399.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0cEYhkXQm8gp9vU1pZR6RSd7p6a-Po2uPtcnwL2xwMb5XIlcsVRj0yLQGOzL9rRbyf5Uci1GXxv3F_AlUcOAnBY02tATbWWc3aC91LkUzq-zHokAQVn7K41O-KQ-lJqd2njT86d85PQ/s320/IMG_8399.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225681872229693538" border="0" /></a>Another wonderful part of my family is the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">intergenerational</span>, multi-talented <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">familyness</span> of it all. We all work so well together that not only is there dancing with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Gramma</span>,<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHQ2NN-BK0C3dEc1HFkYptQm_-uM2cOvX50h8QvxufLv-fe-_-hzexIyujZ8ubURREBV0s75oVg79bkDkSUiJfMRIL8NY9pg-vwUwzURPc21Y4On9JHXAT1TJ-uJ5_GaeaSoLvJxuYhZg/s1600-h/IMG_8406.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHQ2NN-BK0C3dEc1HFkYptQm_-uM2cOvX50h8QvxufLv-fe-_-hzexIyujZ8ubURREBV0s75oVg79bkDkSUiJfMRIL8NY9pg-vwUwzURPc21Y4On9JHXAT1TJ-uJ5_GaeaSoLvJxuYhZg/s320/IMG_8406.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225686236320213602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">but there's also dancing with hot 22 year <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">olds</span>. (picture deleted.) At one point Jake jumped onto a table to sing a special Broadway <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">showtune</span> for his sister. At another point Linda presented Shauna with a massive fake Driver's Licence for her to symbolically chop-up.<br /><br />The whole night was such a wonderful evening with beautiful people in a truly New York setting, and the fact that I not only know the individuals who hosted (and paid for!!) the party, but I am related to them by blood, as well as spirit and soul. That makes it particularly special. Thanks for the great night <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Perlmans</span> one and all!<br /><br /><br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-89603467391513839512008-07-17T15:09:00.000-07:002008-07-17T15:23:16.354-07:00Lost in History vol. 69: Torch No More!<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjis0RQVv5zrClDi-xijdP__PufXL7CA7Msj8646gHwtxbT_RRoMFf16xWnqdXxf4b2jplhG8G4vucsdQ97e1s85Pz5VnYpApjIgmWKnK5m11LnAlAldtVjswtjzPLHcbhYqISscWb04Y0/s1600-h/873034739_00462be57c.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjis0RQVv5zrClDi-xijdP__PufXL7CA7Msj8646gHwtxbT_RRoMFf16xWnqdXxf4b2jplhG8G4vucsdQ97e1s85Pz5VnYpApjIgmWKnK5m11LnAlAldtVjswtjzPLHcbhYqISscWb04Y0/s320/873034739_00462be57c.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224111959725515714" border="0" /></a>In <a href="http://www.thelmagazine.com/lmag_blog/blog/post__07070804.cfm" target="_blank">our last Lost in History</a>, we discussed why Congressman Anthony Weiner’s proposal to <a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2008/07/03/2008-07-03_statue_of_libertys_crown_may_reopen.html" target="_blank">reopen the Statue of Liberty’s Crown</a> and viewing station is a poor idea. To recap, she’s a fire and safety hazard, and any minor malady suffered by an unsuspecting tourist would have enormous and unfortunate ramifications on the multitudes standing in a three-hour line to get to her head. But little attention is paid to the Statue of Liberty’s torch and its viewing platform, and there’s a good reason for that.<br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Yes indeed, the torch at the tippy-top of the beautiful Statue of Liberty (official name: Liberty Enlightening the World) once had a viewing station, which was basically a circular walkway surrounding the torch and provided spectacular views of the harbor, the skyline and the Atlantic Ocean. Three hundred and one feet up with nothing surrounding you can be a pretty phenomenal experience, and a fellow tour guide friend who shall rename nameless once flirted her way up there with a fellow Parks Service employee. They snuck up at sunrise because he thought he was gonna get lucky. (Did he? No way.)<br /><br />When the Statue opened to the public in 1886, anybody could head up to the crown. The way up to the torch was only open by special request for dignitaries (although all sorts of people abused this privilege) via a rickety ladder that ran up the length of the armature. With so many pedestrians going up and coming down, the various nuts and bolts in the armature fell loose and the structure weakened. Then came the <a href="http://www.njcu.edu/programs/jchistory/Pages/B_Pages/Black_Tom_Explosion.htm" target="_blank">Black Tom Island Explosion</a> of July 30th, 1916.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3JncshLurKm-VA24HzJiqM_52AsCcuo5vFk9JpsAQmT1eP6l1__q6-LTcKJPmzuzjJhCuSwvgXS34EwZrhsromYObSTvpcpBxRmx5yZi-re587ZB6dw28d5bVmBNKwqQHJHJ0f6CL48/s1600-h/Black_Tom_I_LSP.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3JncshLurKm-VA24HzJiqM_52AsCcuo5vFk9JpsAQmT1eP6l1__q6-LTcKJPmzuzjJhCuSwvgXS34EwZrhsromYObSTvpcpBxRmx5yZi-re587ZB6dw28d5bVmBNKwqQHJHJ0f6CL48/s320/Black_Tom_I_LSP.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224110944239597202" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Black Tom Island used to exist in New Jersey’s harbor, at the southern point of <a href="http://www.libertystatepark.org/" target="_blank">Liberty State Park</a>. It ceased being an island just before the start of the first World War, once the Lehigh Valley Railroad Company, which owned the pier and the island, connected it by landfill to the rest of Jersey. The island got its name from a black fisherman named (surprise!) Tom, who lived on the island in the 1800s. By the 1910s, the island was being used as an ammunitions depot, supplying the Allied powers with shrapnel, black powder, TNT and dynamite. And in the early morning of July 30th 1916, the various barges tied up at the island, carrying (by some estimates) over 2 million pounds of ammo, were set alight. The residents of Jersey City were rocked by a series of ginormous explosions — shrapnel hit the Statue of Liberty, windows were blown out in Times Square and repercussions were felt as far away as Philly. No one could ever ascertain the official cause of the explosion — whether it was a security lapse on the part of the guards, a “spontaneous combustion” event, or German sabotage. The only person accused of the event was Michael Kristoff , a 23 year old Slovak immigrant; it was said he accepted $500 in exchange for starting the small fires that rocked Black Tom off the map. He died in a peasant and was buried in a potter’s field in Staten Island, without ever admitting to the crime.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJD5R4oxvQ3y6c_KBaXsy7ZZriHS_I_BrDCJtALz6QMPiwd0ZplNBI8G7nKY3QCpfRr9SfSXBprqtnv8hDAjiFAG4TAAWpG4pfrMkEaV2Slef1B8phNhHJxoNaJy9I6Z65Jf8N4NoyKI/s1600-h/Black_Tom_E_LSP.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJD5R4oxvQ3y6c_KBaXsy7ZZriHS_I_BrDCJtALz6QMPiwd0ZplNBI8G7nKY3QCpfRr9SfSXBprqtnv8hDAjiFAG4TAAWpG4pfrMkEaV2Slef1B8phNhHJxoNaJy9I6Z65Jf8N4NoyKI/s320/Black_Tom_E_LSP.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224111271428911602" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">When the island blew up, it blew out all the nuts and bolts in the Statue of Liberty’s arm, and caused $100,000 worth of damager ($1.9 million today) to her infrastructure. The War Department (which had owned and cared for Miss Liberty since 1901) used the explosion as an excuse to close down the Torch to the public, citing terrorism concerns. This is fascinating: the very same thing happened post-9/11. The National Parks Service was looking for reasons to close the Statue to the public, but the outcry would have been too great. So after 9/11 happened, the NPS said “Whoa! Terrorism! No more go up in here.” (We’re paraphrasing, but yeah, that’s basically what happened.) So, Congressman Weiner we implore you: Don’t open that crown!</span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-27640618506763697412008-07-17T14:44:00.000-07:002008-07-17T15:08:34.194-07:00Lost in History vol. 68: Statue Arms and Statue Crowns, Leave the Tourists on the Ground<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB40KRP7LDvHJm4SyQZadKRqxis3YaqhUUMkpu6PEjQ8R6kspqa9v18rI8uMT2_j7UBo7nZcIdJ3sWqMLwwntmZXAkW_sjRZJ3PlM2XybA7zFedMYGDg3G6RMzwpj0zNjqaqE4T0wPBuk/s1600-h/SOL+b%26w.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB40KRP7LDvHJm4SyQZadKRqxis3YaqhUUMkpu6PEjQ8R6kspqa9v18rI8uMT2_j7UBo7nZcIdJ3sWqMLwwntmZXAkW_sjRZJ3PlM2XybA7zFedMYGDg3G6RMzwpj0zNjqaqE4T0wPBuk/s320/SOL+b%26w.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224104296400963378" border="0" /></a>This past holiday weekend was everything a holiday weekend should be: relaxing, rooftop bar-b-queing, all-day boozing, late-night schmoozing and non-stop raining (well, almost everything). We went to Coney Island and rode the Wonder Wheel, we defended American patriotism against some preposterous Brits on a BBC radio panel, we even drove down to <a href="http://www.mysticseaport.org/" target="_blank">Mystic, CT</a> and learned about their oh-so-American historic seaport. But what would a perfect holiday weekend be without some jackass congressman’s report, released perfectly to compliment the nationalism of the Fourth, taking on common sense and inviting disaster — or at the very least impossible hours of lines — down upon us all? (And when I say “us all” I generally refer to <a href="http://www.ganyc.com/" target="_blank">the NYC tour guide community</a>.)<br /><br />I refer, of course, to the 9th District's <a href="http://weiner.house.gov/" target="_blank">Anthony Weiner</a> (who is considering a run for Mayor – imagine the headlines if his campaign picks up steam – “Weiner on a Roll!”). Weiner released a <a href="http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5gnyaUK0GQu2N_7UqafMaVuPPrJlAD91NBKK80" target="_blank">report</a> on Friday asking the <a href="http://www.nps.gov/" target="_blank">National Park Service</a> consider reopening the Statue of Liberty’s crown to tourism again. She’s been closed to the public since 9/11; however, in 2004, the top of the granite pedestal on which she stands was reopened to visitors. Specifically, those who don’t mind the additional hour wait on Liberty Island (that’s on top of a two- to three-hour hour wait to board the ferry) and extra security screenings. Weiner claims that to keep the crown closed to the public is un-American. He’s wrong — if not by a mile, then certainly by the 301 feet Lady Liberty stands above Upper New York Harbor.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaPCUURjfg9OCPis9Bs5BRRYNcg6jmghvN-_28nd77xy7RaG3tNF8XwxGgaGVouIQWqjBePWCztfc2Rgm_6V458iAIzeZO-UDwXs3245XyT0QUJ4o5YXWcOhu0DqkR8SghyphenhyphentGoNeIGRc/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaPCUURjfg9OCPis9Bs5BRRYNcg6jmghvN-_28nd77xy7RaG3tNF8XwxGgaGVouIQWqjBePWCztfc2Rgm_6V458iAIzeZO-UDwXs3245XyT0QUJ4o5YXWcOhu0DqkR8SghyphenhyphentGoNeIGRc/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224105085396700050" border="0" /></a>Her crown and the postcard-size windows that provides miniscule views out onto the harbor simply isn’t worth ignoring the fact that she’s an enormous safety hazard. The 15-story double-helix spiral staircase that runs up where her spine should be doesn’t comply with any city, state or federal safety codes. Imagine the disaster if a fire broke out inside the SOL (as we in the biz call her). Not only would there be a stampede to get people down that staircase and out through the narrow doors at her feet, but since she’s a hollow lady, encased in 470 sheets of copper, then the whole thing could act like an oven, cooking the poor tourists inside. Not only was she never designed to handle the crushing numbers of visitors she receives on a daily basis, but Frederick August Bartholdi, the sculptor, never envisioned people clambering around his most magnificent creation. What’s more, any kind of minor malady suffered by a visitor — claustrophobia, asthma, vertigo, etc. — would cause a major calamity in removing the afflicted from their spot on the walkway up or down.<br /><br />There are even more fascinating lost histories involving the Statue of Liberty and how her various (sexy) body parts were closed to visitors — in particular, the closing of the arm and torch one long-ago July. We’ll cover that very interesting anniversary in an upcoming LIH, which will include: a black man named Tom, his island in New Jersey’s harbor, its sudden explosion in 1916 and German anarchists. Stay tuned!</span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-49914538938701276832008-07-17T10:40:00.000-07:002008-07-17T15:07:24.503-07:00Lost in History vol. 67: New Yorkers Go to Hell and Back (by Way of Pennsyltucky, and a 50 lb. Cheeseburger)<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeG3dAPLPrtFSR18OoS54Ev3cEfbf9e6obCWPs2mmyUVM0UM5xOReMBO3K95FkubJaseMmUqFT70BMKVOWlphh6C1R0N1byTfL7AdsMWMzt-_VnqGV9mTrBpxkKuUbWFwECUBVy0csaA/s1600-h/IMG_8639.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeG3dAPLPrtFSR18OoS54Ev3cEfbf9e6obCWPs2mmyUVM0UM5xOReMBO3K95FkubJaseMmUqFT70BMKVOWlphh6C1R0N1byTfL7AdsMWMzt-_VnqGV9mTrBpxkKuUbWFwECUBVy0csaA/s320/IMG_8639.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224041237453359378" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.fluxfactory.org/" target="_blank">Flux Factory</a> did it again. For the second installation of <a href="http://www.fluxfactory.org/going-places-doing-stuff/" target="_blank">Going Places (Doing Stuff)</a>, Flux brought a busload of New Yorkers deep into the heart of </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" style="font-size:130%;">Pennsyltucky</span><span style="font-size:130%;">. Can you imagine 35 funny-looking preposterously dressed, multilingual New Yorkers stuffed onto a yellow cheese bus and dragged into the depths of coal country? Would you believe that they had a hell of a time (literally) exploring an abandoned Pennsylvania town bursting with underground coal fires? You bet your sweet ass they had a blast. We would know — we hosted the first Going Places (Doing Stuff) <a href="http://www.thelmagazine.com/lmag_blog/blog/post__06180804.cfm" target="_blank">Adventure to Staten Island</a> event a few weekends ago, and we sure </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" style="font-size:130%;">weren</span><span style="font-size:130%;">’t going to miss this one.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGBcL1xnpXvX6R31oWOtvl30IAuxmKDmJ2S_FnlylPPYSCauumqdO5VmaqBW_IFe76Tb0rZZ61nAOqsizkEjDw7Sdv8e2c1EfeHGa5q2fgTlp9cqCaBe_aohRYh0DW_fKKQSLHKQw9Z0s/s1600-h/IMG_8496.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGBcL1xnpXvX6R31oWOtvl30IAuxmKDmJ2S_FnlylPPYSCauumqdO5VmaqBW_IFe76Tb0rZZ61nAOqsizkEjDw7Sdv8e2c1EfeHGa5q2fgTlp9cqCaBe_aohRYh0DW_fKKQSLHKQw9Z0s/s320/IMG_8496.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224046209363762882" border="0" /></a>Sponsored by Flux Factory and led by artist (and PA native) <a href="http://www.douglaspaulson.com/" target="_blank">Douglas <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Paulson</span></a>, the whole idea behind Going Places (Doing Stuff) is as follows: throw a whole bunch of strangers onto a yellow cheese bus. Give them a vague idea of where they’ll be headed, how long it’ll take, and what provisions (bathing suit, nominal cash, water, whiskey) they’ll need. Take off. See what happens. In the last (which was also the first and only) Going Places (Doing Stuff), we spent the day on Staten Island, visiting a bunch of religious, spiritual and historical </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" style="font-size:130%;">hotspots</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> throughout the whole length of the island — and it’s a big goddamn island! This time Doug </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" style="font-size:130%;">Paulson</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> took the group to his home state, and then through and beyond Pennsylvania to the difficult-to-describe but easy-to-find </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" style="font-size:130%;">Pennsyltucky</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> (a pejorative yet affectionate term to describe the rural parts of the state of Pennsylvania, excluding the Pittsburgh & Philly areas.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-PTkh3PgHO8LSCddlS8EfWiW6CmNdMYpXhfNzOwPvzDwaPgK9Egp_b2lN5d-B5mt7b1kXHEHgWDEZauCXqEvt2h9-RPU75e4KrzfP1fGfrXsjWI1OBVPtWekT37R6jqWh9m8651tAgU/s1600-h/IMG_8493.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-PTkh3PgHO8LSCddlS8EfWiW6CmNdMYpXhfNzOwPvzDwaPgK9Egp_b2lN5d-B5mt7b1kXHEHgWDEZauCXqEvt2h9-RPU75e4KrzfP1fGfrXsjWI1OBVPtWekT37R6jqWh9m8651tAgU/s320/IMG_8493.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224043469325842690" border="0" /></a>Departure was scheduled for 9am at the southeast corner of Bryant Park this past Sunday, and took off in classic NY fashion — half an hour late. The cheese bus was stuffed with peoples of all stripes — Germans, French, old(er), young(er), Mainers and Californians, native </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" style="font-size:130%;">NYers</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> and two-week greenhorns. After making the rounds and introducing ourselves, we learned about our adventure. First, a PA swimming hole. Then </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" style="font-size:130%;">Centralia</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> — host to underground coal fires burning for thousands of years and massive sinkholes in the streets. Afterwards, if we were lucky, the biggest hamburger any of us had ever seen. The stakes were pretty high. And only three hours til our first hop-off.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi0MBqQAfpk2VNEEKFISvB-ivhXToCp31BNk-_3X0zp1m0z1_V7qqGqopaaLPna5Qv5Pp_lR0M3Q0mpiAJ7cUenj7jKp7leXjL3FFL2GUF5eeRz8c-hnCcs0pm8yhfP0L5SL0z-tl9oZw/s1600-h/IMG_8522.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi0MBqQAfpk2VNEEKFISvB-ivhXToCp31BNk-_3X0zp1m0z1_V7qqGqopaaLPna5Qv5Pp_lR0M3Q0mpiAJ7cUenj7jKp7leXjL3FFL2GUF5eeRz8c-hnCcs0pm8yhfP0L5SL0z-tl9oZw/s320/IMG_8522.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224043685133756610" border="0" /></a>It </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" style="font-size:130%;">didn</span><span style="font-size:130%;">’t disappoint. Waiting for us in the wilds of Pennsylvania was a swimming hole with a 30-foot jumping rock. Visualize the hysteria when a whole busload of New York art freaks offload a bus stacked to the brim with delicious picnicking foods (</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" style="font-size:130%;">queso</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" style="font-size:130%;">blanco</span><span style="font-size:130%;">, apples, cucumbers and stuffed grape leaves) and drinks (water, OJ, vodka, the aforementioned whiskey) and descend on a rocky beach with soft water and a </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" style="font-size:130%;">bitchin</span><span style="font-size:130%;">’ jumping rock. You bet it was spectacular. Picnics and rock-jumping ensued.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1JCeIbslirzxOJy7ktoF8CohX_oKWZIS_nVZ95VPXE85zLzfYbDA_k_znhQCVIhnnpAxY9IoLE2aZY3a9OgkI3m4O8rK4JgOaGYHwmmE_qZvfhdK1OnYiiEGJspok8T32V11ZhTTVgM/s1600-h/IMG_8580.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1JCeIbslirzxOJy7ktoF8CohX_oKWZIS_nVZ95VPXE85zLzfYbDA_k_znhQCVIhnnpAxY9IoLE2aZY3a9OgkI3m4O8rK4JgOaGYHwmmE_qZvfhdK1OnYiiEGJspok8T32V11ZhTTVgM/s320/IMG_8580.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224044390531472930" border="0" /></a>Another hour or so onwards and we got to <a href="http://www.offroaders.com/album/centralia/The-Little-Town-That-Was.htm" target="_blank"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Centralia</span></a>, in the central part of western PA. </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" style="font-size:130%;">Centralia</span><span style="font-size:130%;">, founded in 1866, was a major coal mining town until the 1960s, when it was discovered that most of the land directly underneath the township was aflame, thanks to rich deposits of coal. Various efforts to extinguish the eternally burning pits were met with failure, and as sinkholes opened up underneath residents’ houses and feet,, the federal government essentially left the place to burn itself out. In the 1980s the Feds relocated the over 1,000 residents to adjacent counties and bulldozed the land. As of the last census, </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" style="font-size:130%;">Centralia</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> has seven residents left, and practically nothing to show visitor — except for wreckage strewn-fields and improbably bizarre vents of coal steam issuing up from holes in the ground.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwrJN1clTrCs6qReBUW6V_bdFg4O3BCuF6HbQBm91eGlR7BbzXWG4DCAyYlPIyLmib86uCtA4x8eP1rkT0zkW2-pV6PW9ANXIscwwqI6YVzpV33eBk6-rDQC-n7HwGcobo63M_tnSysB0/s1600-h/IMG_8595.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwrJN1clTrCs6qReBUW6V_bdFg4O3BCuF6HbQBm91eGlR7BbzXWG4DCAyYlPIyLmib86uCtA4x8eP1rkT0zkW2-pV6PW9ANXIscwwqI6YVzpV33eBk6-rDQC-n7HwGcobo63M_tnSysB0/s320/IMG_8595.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224044679107763250" border="0" /></a> It was impossible to look upon the trash and rubble-strewn lots and imagine houses standing upon them. Even more outrageous was clambering down into the lots and sticking one’s face into a sticky hot vent of coal-fired steam hissing its way out of giant slabs of anthracite. Another unbelievable sight: an abandoned highway, carved off from the surrounding roads because of giant fissures that opened up in the middle of the double yellow lines. Unreal. We finally found something stranger-looking than us.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBv1I2mxZEbXKmgRZWCYt6q6Apr43y6Q-SlE4mKr8j1KxjhwqsSlu-yQngAdnv6xZRAoUWkpk7bFC0Ax1POEfIcv3mGs8PHjW9IYFDk4BO7WFVhQwQK5W-eSzOl7GPxwhGh1aKnjGHeh0/s1600-h/IMG_8500.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBv1I2mxZEbXKmgRZWCYt6q6Apr43y6Q-SlE4mKr8j1KxjhwqsSlu-yQngAdnv6xZRAoUWkpk7bFC0Ax1POEfIcv3mGs8PHjW9IYFDk4BO7WFVhQwQK5W-eSzOl7GPxwhGh1aKnjGHeh0/s320/IMG_8500.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224045509932614274" border="0" /></a>After two hours of exploring </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" style="font-size:130%;">Centralia</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> and taking more pictures of abandoned landscapes than normal people would put up with, we were tired and hungry. And we had to get out of Dodge and back to the city proper. But it was nearing dinnertime, and we certainly </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" style="font-size:130%;">couldn</span><span style="font-size:130%;">’t pass up the opportunity to stop at the <a href="http://www.clintonstationdiner.com/" target="_blank">Clinton Station Diner</a> in Clinton, New Jersey and consume the Mt. Olympus — a 50-pound hamburger.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Z1nr3HzS-_HvrZS358TdV7GTrF201oQgpJ7UUBa8KNEIrx78BYCS3i3VTcqheZznqE4QL0II3p4rly7jkB0UlrbVuYWq5qbj1Gpr6g-9ObvOksZhUs9Ki0hb5Uj6SDeXO4AYuPIU2H8/s1600-h/IMG_8697.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Z1nr3HzS-_HvrZS358TdV7GTrF201oQgpJ7UUBa8KNEIrx78BYCS3i3VTcqheZznqE4QL0II3p4rly7jkB0UlrbVuYWq5qbj1Gpr6g-9ObvOksZhUs9Ki0hb5Uj6SDeXO4AYuPIU2H8/s320/IMG_8697.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224046766737940610" border="0" /></a>That’s 25 pounds of beef, 25 pounds of cheese, tomato, lettuce, ketchup and bun: 50 full pounds of guilt and glory. With a dozen people chowing down, we </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" style="font-size:130%;">couldn</span><span style="font-size:130%;">’t even finish half the thing. Rolling back onto the bus, there were 35 nutty </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" style="font-size:130%;">NYers</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> who had reached their fill of the world outside our city. If the real world consists of smoldering underground coal fires and 50-pound burgers, then I’ll take Manhattan.<br /><br />Lots more pictures, of swimming holes, smoking crevasses and 50 lb. cheeseburger demolition can be found here on my <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157606193472792/">Flickr set</a>!</span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-34004886900976862422008-07-17T10:27:00.000-07:002008-07-17T15:05:11.917-07:00Lost in History vol. 66: Art Revival, by way of Queens<span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2KXgqGmpcWc0301wnmZIFouksHJaIpozNLynGalN_r8XjmTpiO1MmHTAJlgVCcnjl_ECQr-1TYqh826du51Bpj_n5Zj71tHv7mPoiB2GOj8uyOzeO3SnJmdLfiJzmM2t9TTZTovALLM/s1600-h/center.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2KXgqGmpcWc0301wnmZIFouksHJaIpozNLynGalN_r8XjmTpiO1MmHTAJlgVCcnjl_ECQr-1TYqh826du51Bpj_n5Zj71tHv7mPoiB2GOj8uyOzeO3SnJmdLfiJzmM2t9TTZTovALLM/s320/center.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224037294270472306" border="0" /></a>On the corner of Onderdonk and Harman streets in southern Ridgewood lies a church façade. As spelled out bilingually on purple canvas, the previous occupant of this space was the Christian Center Sanctuary of Hope, a Roman Catholic Latino congregation. The new occupants of the space are also called the <a href="http://christiancentersanctuaryofhope.com/" target="_blank">Christian Center Sanctuary of Hope</a>, but with an entirely different bend to their professed spirituality. There hasn’t been a straight-up religious sermon in the Center for years, but this past Saturday night, a different kind of sermon was held, spiritual in nature but preaching art and aesthetics, noise and performance, and the very strange story of a very famous artist and his attempts to buy oddly shaped lots at tax auctions in NYC.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPOt0ktth4ql8Xj3-Wy_8GmZzzDC2CbINWsDTjrSX-o39LEIwPX7TQyixc1RkZGr5lBtVGNYAEIi3R1dyKdAlXe-1cVBA2g5EUTPd1VPOvIs5WfDkBA4Us92KQa1sgPU93Yrja1b8OHw/s1600-h/levy+soh.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPOt0ktth4ql8Xj3-Wy_8GmZzzDC2CbINWsDTjrSX-o39LEIwPX7TQyixc1RkZGr5lBtVGNYAEIi3R1dyKdAlXe-1cVBA2g5EUTPd1VPOvIs5WfDkBA4Us92KQa1sgPU93Yrja1b8OHw/s320/levy+soh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224038307882728242" border="0" /></a>We know the backstory because we are friends with the occupants of the Christian Center Sanctuary of Hope, and they asked us to emcee the evening’s events. The good men who live at the Sanctuary — three literary and visual artists by the names of Matthew Blair, Lech Szporer and Andrew Wingert — have built lofts and incorporated the layout of the former church into a communal performance space. They opened on Saturday with a Revival that featured installation art, sculptures, music, tap dance, mime, an exercise bike that masturbated a man in a lazy chair, feedback noise, preaching, and a mysterious excursion that led to a former piece by the aforementioned very famous NYC artist. Lesser known (but no less serious) artists included yours truly, along with David Button, Trevor Lukert, Superman’s Guestlist, Marisa Mickelberg, Issac Zal, the Buddy Hollyco$t, Amery Kessler, Carrie Fox, Shana Paleologos, Andrew Hurst, Phillip Battikha, Ryan Brown, and Justin Horne. And of course, Gordon Matta-Clark.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6saqDxTt0ZHhhxN0n6YNOSq7BfYHT0kTpKIGWx0s5MRCHcQ7GerKi7LbIumjzlKbTdSzDtodksnp0UOH7H9nmACDqE83s9oBtvhaDgGc-d1edX0A_rmCrF_EciWFpPX3nRrywOU7IEQ/s1600-h/hirst+soh.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6saqDxTt0ZHhhxN0n6YNOSq7BfYHT0kTpKIGWx0s5MRCHcQ7GerKi7LbIumjzlKbTdSzDtodksnp0UOH7H9nmACDqE83s9oBtvhaDgGc-d1edX0A_rmCrF_EciWFpPX3nRrywOU7IEQ/s320/hirst+soh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224038571042305154" border="0" /></a>Matta-Clark was not present at the opening — he died in 1978, at the age of 35, of pancreatic cancer. During his short but powerful life he was known for various artistic experiments and performances as well as for catalyzing SoHo as an artistic neighborhood during the derelict 70s. His works, called “<a href="http://www.urbancartography.com/2005/08/gordon_mattacla.html" target="_blank">anarchitecture</a>”, involved removing pieces and slivers of buildings before they met the wrecking ball; he opened a restaurant/ongoing performance piece in SoHo called Food, staffed entirely by working artists; he also purchased <a href="http://www.guggenheimcollection.org/site/artist_bio_105A.html" target="_blank">tiny, unusable slivers</a> called “gutterspace” of NYC real estate during the city’s regular purging of such lots. Due to surveying, zoning and public-works anomalies, various infinitesimal slices of real estate came to be owned by Matta-Clark, who found in them a perfect bureaucratic extension of his own anarchitecture. Fourteen lots were located in Queens and one in Staten Island. Unfortunately, Matta-Clark passed away before he could do whatever he was intending to do with these lots, and the ownership passed over to his wife, who eventually stopped paying taxes on them; control reverted back to the city. One of these lots — Lot 116 — is walking distance from the Christian Center Sanctuary of Hope, and the evening’s high point included a walk to the Lot, and a sermon about separate spaces.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxWw_qhAVAyl6ugt4HineJVm97wcjFmOPQObCQCIzPZ1mLvrXQfkd_5XYnhA0Z5M0elSUcXnTDtU-vQ5r4JsLZa5obP9DZCqnc5YRKISywfKEIb7PG6aYNcRndyr_AYOmXo3uS-k80pU/s1600-h/group+photo+in+front+of++Matta+Clark+lot+116.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxWw_qhAVAyl6ugt4HineJVm97wcjFmOPQObCQCIzPZ1mLvrXQfkd_5XYnhA0Z5M0elSUcXnTDtU-vQ5r4JsLZa5obP9DZCqnc5YRKISywfKEIb7PG6aYNcRndyr_AYOmXo3uS-k80pU/s320/group+photo+in+front+of++Matta+Clark+lot+116.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224038958899196690" border="0" /></a>As the preacher-on-site, we weren’t all that prepared for the crowd of 100 artists, gallery fags, rockers, intellectuals, confused locals, friends and family. We also didn’t know that much about Matta-Clark, or how to talk about this sliver space —2’3” wide by 355’ long – in order to make it applicable to the crowds and the evening’s events. We eventually focused on the relationship between this sliver space and the rest of the alley, and how it reflects the separate spaces inside each of us, and how they relate to the rest of us. It was complicated. Whiskey fueled most of the preaching. But it was intense. We had a few Amens! and Hallelujahs! Afterwards, when the crowd had calmed down, we all returned to the church to continue that perennial method of moving with the spirit — we had a dance party.</span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-76916849123454419672008-06-18T06:28:00.000-07:002008-06-18T08:07:29.644-07:00Lost in History vol. 65: Staten Island Adventures!<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bGywv8RxToFPQelFfDOgEVo4DcAFpFrv5IATVNRoAAoXuTkA1DK1N2YHmmhwBCa9wVx1o-OzYn6qNhXwSiDeo_MmZF-JPnCV6Dh9EVG-8dDRHOU8c-ZSn1SLHJU7GuDw7Lt2yHYAa1Y/s1600-h/IMG_8289.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bGywv8RxToFPQelFfDOgEVo4DcAFpFrv5IATVNRoAAoXuTkA1DK1N2YHmmhwBCa9wVx1o-OzYn6qNhXwSiDeo_MmZF-JPnCV6Dh9EVG-8dDRHOU8c-ZSn1SLHJU7GuDw7Lt2yHYAa1Y/s320/IMG_8289.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213233568408771106" border="0" /></a></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;">We here at Lost in History delight in adventures within the outer boroughs. Especially when said adventures take us to places we haven’t been before; little known secret gardens and hardly-visited museums that revel in the urban idi</span><span style="font-size:130%;">osyncrasies that make NYC such a marvelous place to live and work. What better excuse to forge such an excursion then being asked to do exactly that: run an all-day adventure to parts unknown, courtesy of <a href="http://www.fluxfactory.org/">Flux Factory</a>! Which is exactly what happened this past Saturday.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3dWxQ9M9KNaEeYUjfPHKohWYJLsmEPBxgANoTkvriNSqs5zx08k90Lr7VcjDionEFplPXFryiwEzZLy5v0MR8CvL-y7r5HGBqw9OSsSkv7eB3UJ3vDkMBl1ZnANzPEee0uH6cQtoNBBA/s1600-h/IMG_8292.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3dWxQ9M9KNaEeYUjfPHKohWYJLsmEPBxgANoTkvriNSqs5zx08k90Lr7VcjDionEFplPXFryiwEzZLy5v0MR8CvL-y7r5HGBqw9OSsSkv7eB3UJ3vDkMBl1ZnANzPEee0uH6cQtoNBBA/s320/IMG_8292.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213233872131790530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Flux Factory is an arts space with a sense of humor located in Long Island City, Queens. Previous installations have included <a href="http://www.fluxfactory.org/project-grizzly-a-tribute/">Grizzly Proof</a> – a multimedia show involving various artists’ interpretations of a Grizzly-Bear-Proof suit; and <a href="http://www.fluxfactory.org/nynyny/">NY NY NY</a> – another multimedia show in which artists recreated the Queens Panorama of the City of New York, and which your author engaged the masses in a <a href="http://www.psychogeo.com/introduction.htm">psycho-geographical</a> trivia. For their current show, <a href="http://www.fluxfactory.org/going-places-doing-stuff/">Going Places (Doing Stuff)</a>, Flux was taking the project outside, by asking various artist-performers to invent their own adventure, stuff a buncha people onto a <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=cheese+bus">cheese bus</a> without revealing too much of t</span><span style="font-size:130%;">he ensuing journey, and take off. Flux asked yours truly to kick the summer-long </span><span style="font-size:130%;">series off, and informed the participants that the tour would a) stay within the five boroughs, b) last all day, and c) be led by a native New Yorker and licensed NYC tour </span><span style="font-size:130%;">gui</span><span style="font-size:130%;">de </span><span style="font-size:130%;">with “knowledge of New York City and a rambunctious personality (that) make him the greatest guide you could wish for.” Aw shucks.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuOLhofyxSkZYlW8e0u2riLDltPkKZf78ksZrvubQBstT2DHBhk67H2Rwekb8JzQhb7o8PGjAOoikgW-3rexffiYsqTKPd1DEEFkvhnNqXKg_M7BJng-hOkpcYB9oAF7dTSiZCAM-B9f0/s1600-h/IMG_8336.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuOLhofyxSkZYlW8e0u2riLDltPkKZf78ksZrvubQBstT2DHBhk67H2Rwekb8JzQhb7o8PGjAOoikgW-3rexffiYsqTKPd1DEEFkvhnNqXKg_M7BJng-hOkpcYB9oAF7dTSiZCAM-B9f0/s320/IMG_8336.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213234275388906738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">25 people met up at the <a href="http://www.cityreliquary.org/">City Reliquary Museum and Civic Organization</a> in Williamsburg at half-past 11am, to peruse the museums holdings before the adventure began. Flux had been smart enough to ensure that our cheese bus had A/C so we wouldn’t swelter, and our driver was a very friendly Haitian gentleman named Marcus. As soon as we hit the BQE westbound, it was pretty clear where we were going – not to the Bronx or Manhattan or Queens. And although we were driving through Brooklyn, we sure weren’t going to spend our time there. We were headed to NY’s smallest borough in population (less than half-a-mil) but the 6th largest island off the coast of the country; the one, the only, the 40% Italian – Staten Island!</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDwVcX8g-gslj7YCgsgG2ky_JcKEo_AYnPnAHByTp7Qf_GYa2BYSxGZKq25sR7ESbSNWQ7wtgGQV-j_UDVpnFg8d4fNRn7BWidpfQr6yOWSsUTfKTkNp23JnDwd_8iZ2siQO3KNbcs_oM/s1600-h/IMG_8278.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDwVcX8g-gslj7YCgsgG2ky_JcKEo_AYnPnAHByTp7Qf_GYa2BYSxGZKq25sR7ESbSNWQ7wtgGQV-j_UDVpnFg8d4fNRn7BWidpfQr6yOWSsUTfKTkNp23JnDwd_8iZ2siQO3KNbcs_oM/s320/IMG_8278.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213234581040065266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">First stop on our magical mystery tour was the <a href="http://qcpages.qc.edu/calandra/academic/acarmel.html">Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Grotto</a>, in Rosebank, right near the VZ Bridge. Built in 1937 by the local fraternal order, the Grotto is a handmade collaged and stucco’d outdoor sculpture built from concrete, seashells, bicycle reflectors, religious statues and ceramic chips, dedicated to their namesake saint. Open year-round, the Grotto in Rosebank is quite powerful, and as a work of handmade, devoted, religious art, it is also the first Traditional Cultural Property listed in NY State.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9p4nmUzLdx51nLCiQJm9ILFL4QkCkp4iNwte1RRsCvWOIfWbif2ES0Lb7vAttdHGbjJkYo2uVfucy-DE-c7ApcoO70bW7M4sUFiW17dEJfONvhj77TvyIXlgtUghq-a2tHGYeKzetoU/s1600-h/IMG_8306.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9p4nmUzLdx51nLCiQJm9ILFL4QkCkp4iNwte1RRsCvWOIfWbif2ES0Lb7vAttdHGbjJkYo2uVfucy-DE-c7ApcoO70bW7M4sUFiW17dEJfONvhj77TvyIXlgtUghq-a2tHGYeKzetoU/s320/IMG_8306.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213234931598057874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Second stop was the <a href="http://castletonhill.org/default.aspx">Castleton Hill Moravian Church Labyrinth</a>, farther inland on Victory Boulevard. Contrary to what many people think, a labyrinth is not a giant three-dimensional walled-in maze designed to lose its travelers. Instead, a <a href="http://castletonhill.org/labyrinth.aspx">labyrinth</a> is a flattened two-dimensional path that, through it many twists and turns, will always present a way out. This particular one was laid out on the courtyard of the Church, and acts as a meditation tool; as one walks the labyrinth, one should experience peace and spiritual enlightenment. While various members of our adventuresome group strove for those lofty goals, by taking their turns in the 90-degree heat, assisted by the very friendly Pastor Lynnette Delbridge, other intrepid SI explorers m</span><span style="font-size:130%;">arched down the block to order a half-dozen pies from the legendary <a href="http://nymag.com/listings/restaurant/joe-and-pats-pizzeria/">Joe and Pats Pizzeria</a>. Ricotta with broccoli rabe; Pepperoni; Scungilli with fresh garlic; cheese-free with arugula with cherry tomatoes and onions; plain; those Staten Islanders sure know how to craft heaven into eight slices loaded with fresh toppings.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbidMNl2H3CzcBYjCk3v7PmNAYD0dpWYkEmcJ6F2Pjat6takq_e59D6QQOw9sB_rfR90KPeJTTJsWZA-1Oi8qEQTcsZf8qK98d7UTqJJbz3fbiSSsJJK-snPQy5N9k7vGxVtWhMlD9zgs/s1600-h/IMG_8320.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbidMNl2H3CzcBYjCk3v7PmNAYD0dpWYkEmcJ6F2Pjat6takq_e59D6QQOw9sB_rfR90KPeJTTJsWZA-1Oi8qEQTcsZf8qK98d7UTqJJbz3fbiSSsJJK-snPQy5N9k7vGxVtWhMlD9zgs/s320/IMG_8320.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213235855664774114" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">We voraciously attacked our pizza back on the bus and headed off to adventure number three, deep in the heart of the island atop <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lighthouse_Hill%2C_Staten_Island">Lighthouse Hill</a> – arguably the highest natural point on the Eastern Seaboard (although this is a long-running argument between the residents of Lighthouse Hill and the residents of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Todt_Hill">Todt Hill</a>). Amidst the opulent mansions and private driveways snaking up and down the gorgeous land lies the <a href="http://www.tibetanmuseum.org/">Jacques Marchais Museum of Tibetan Art</a>. A publicly funded institution with as idiosyncratic a history as its location, the entire place deserves its own Lost in History column, and will receive one, in due time. However, there’s more adventure to our Staten Island, so after a 45 minute docent-led tour of the tiered gardens and art & antiquities collection, we headed off.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhe_7qBMsktX-Vkmmn4dZwQy8Tl-rRtjPdBNnLm90wv4oqJyOTV1O8wQq7F8PT5Dv0NWQufrhfX5-w_1613_d0GdDlOAvjE2Pucyvz_bFfr0fqAFt4EhWpMAsDCehpP5wNBJULew4E3HM/s1600-h/IMG_8339.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhe_7qBMsktX-Vkmmn4dZwQy8Tl-rRtjPdBNnLm90wv4oqJyOTV1O8wQq7F8PT5Dv0NWQufrhfX5-w_1613_d0GdDlOAvjE2Pucyvz_bFfr0fqAFt4EhWpMAsDCehpP5wNBJULew4E3HM/s320/IMG_8339.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213236613328075426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">Rumor has it that there is a privately designed, privately owned <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Crimson_Beech">Frank Lloyd Wright</a> house atop Lighthouse Hill. I had never heard of such a thing until Moe, another <a href="http://www.allcitynewyork.com/home.html">tour guide and New-York-ophile</a>, inquired of Jessica, the docent. She obliges and gives walking directions, so off we march through the lush SI forest to find the thing. In the midst of the hunt it begins to downpour, but Marcus, ever-ready at the helm of the cheese bus, picks us up and we manage to find the home. It looks like a Maine summer house at the edge of a lake, but one that got left in a medieval stretcher a bit too long.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXlSw0I21D3UdevIPKgPGDwaSiM8vSFQ2_lRklq0Ax-3jOMyihtp7L9Qa5ffYfaCVFEt-3y1tYvRgBcJ1rFU48sq8WgDJkeozvF2IoiUpT9RugqHsXFY_ZaCdQ3Eda1UIYAPTFxVxc0k/s1600-h/IMG_8363.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXlSw0I21D3UdevIPKgPGDwaSiM8vSFQ2_lRklq0Ax-3jOMyihtp7L9Qa5ffYfaCVFEt-3y1tYvRgBcJ1rFU48sq8WgDJkeozvF2IoiUpT9RugqHsXFY_ZaCdQ3Eda1UIYAPTFxVxc0k/s320/IMG_8363.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213237759550218978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">We also discover the Victorian lighthouse that gives the Hill its moniker – the towering monstrosity is just chilling in another privately owned backyard.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnw1kdnSfI1Gxvi6_Ugtp0IUpKvQtg0HRNRmQUfN8clx3TmQc4TgzyIdDwo1p9Om0gRdEPN0bP0gIgvfGD1OSCfR1SMuSrS1m7Z71CuKVdTzFncVk55nnE_VWZ-VkAVpq1jevgRkgsjc/s1600-h/IMG_8358.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnw1kdnSfI1Gxvi6_Ugtp0IUpKvQtg0HRNRmQUfN8clx3TmQc4TgzyIdDwo1p9Om0gRdEPN0bP0gIgvfGD1OSCfR1SMuSrS1m7Z71CuKVdTzFncVk55nnE_VWZ-VkAVpq1jevgRkgsjc/s320/IMG_8358.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213236862929852658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">The adventure is almost over – adventurers are getting Staten-Islanded-out. We attempt to find the <a href="http://www.theconferencehouse.org/">Conference House,</a> which is in Tottenville at the absolutely southern-most point of NY State. On Sept 11th, 1776, this country estate, the only surviving pre-Revolutionary manor house, acted as the final meeting place between the American and British Forces in a futile attempt to call off the War. Unfortunately, thanks to a series of dead-ends, and a busload of hungry, sun-stroked, tired, cranky, non-islanders, we said screw it, and made our way to <a href="http://www.killmeyers.com/">Killmeyers Bavarian Beer Hall and Garden</a> – the oldest beer hall cum restaurant in the borough. It was there that we feasted on schnitzel, bratwurst, hefeweizen, German Chocolate Cake, and raised a collective toast to the amazing, underappreciated, overlooked and friggin enormous Staten Island. And it only took two hours to get back to Brooklyn. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but not for aother couple of years. I love you Staten Island!<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLuVFiCn4-lj9WEb3x8BmbasWNbESCQ4XMwp-XLveJX-WLXUvrxcYR8yaMcujUDKxQ3PVnWvTRvQkSdqGv7hGHEmuUSDXwTOetMvwn3Z9W82bad3TISS8qwO63z8JH5aSCAJUW2_A7tjs/s1600-h/IMG_8369.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLuVFiCn4-lj9WEb3x8BmbasWNbESCQ4XMwp-XLveJX-WLXUvrxcYR8yaMcujUDKxQ3PVnWvTRvQkSdqGv7hGHEmuUSDXwTOetMvwn3Z9W82bad3TISS8qwO63z8JH5aSCAJUW2_A7tjs/s320/IMG_8369.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213238120632315778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">more pictures can be found here on my <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/actiondirection/sets/72157605678872384/">Flickr page</a>.<br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8200192523617953393.post-43163721253325374892008-06-10T20:56:00.000-07:002008-06-22T08:45:30.379-07:00Lost in History vol. 64: Bums, Slums and Geeks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoCbdl-MAhFpeESEwMLVu2NdU4HmGy-ShGYJKcJRKobmjzvHn8Yf2fe-5ullHmpRq_HbUj8NCLZeOUkhexZlqWEptNQ0EkqQVWlGY3Z1sopY4bTXUPjr2UzHoqncUR1mYmD-xFF45Lrp4/s1600-h/phd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoCbdl-MAhFpeESEwMLVu2NdU4HmGy-ShGYJKcJRKobmjzvHn8Yf2fe-5ullHmpRq_HbUj8NCLZeOUkhexZlqWEptNQ0EkqQVWlGY3Z1sopY4bTXUPjr2UzHoqncUR1mYmD-xFF45Lrp4/s320/phd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210469483187609874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;">On Thursday we attended a free <a href="http://www.nycgovparks.org/" target="_blank">NYC Department of Parks & Recreation</a> lecture in <a href="http://www.newyorkled.com/columbuspk.htm" target="_blank">Columbus Park</a>, Chinatown, featuring historian <a href="http://warrenshawhistorian.com/" target="_blank">Warren Shaw</a>, an excitable New Yorker who seemed to be even more excited that his lecture, linking the old <a href="http://urbanography.com/5_points/" target="_blank">Gangs of New York</a> culture to the culture of today, was taking place on the physical spot where it all happened. Geek-o-licious! But this is a city filled with geeks, especially ones who love their city history, so the newly renovated Columbus Park pavilion was filled to capacity with about 60 New Yorkers who were all ears and eyes on Mr. Shaw’s PowerPoint discussion.<br /><br />Titled <a href="http://www.nycgovparks.org/sub_things_to_do/upcoming_events/events.php?id=78081" target="_blank">Bums, Slummers and Swells: The Birth of American Popular Culture on the Lower East Side, 1825-1855</a>, the lecture argued that the youth culture of the notorious Five Points neighborhood had a enormous impact on the development of urban street culture, and therefore all of American culture.<br /><br />The Lower East Side of the day (what would today be roughly everything from Chatham Square to 14th Street, and from the East River to Broadway) was a crime-ridden cesspool, filled with degradation, sin and vice, squalor and disease, Catholics, Blacks, Irish and the working class. But it was also a colorful neighborhood, with local fraternity organizations sporting DIY uniforms and spouting dialects unheard of in other parts of American or the world. There was a forced camaraderie here unseen anywhere else — because although the Irish and the Blacks didn’t necessarily like each other, they were destitute, so they didn’t have much of a choice, and had to live together. This made the old Five Points the first racially integrated neighborhood in the country, as well as the densest.<br /><br />Mr. Shaw pointed out that with the opening of the <a href="http://www.eriecanal.org/" target="_blank">Erie Canal</a> in 1825, connecting the Great Lakes and the Midwest to the Atlantic Ocean, this architectural and engineering marvel cemented New York as the capital of America’s shipping empire. Now grains, livestock, timber and everything else the bountiful Midwest had to export could be sent abroad; the Erie Canal also allowed New York City’s cultural customs and fashions, slang and dance, drinking, drugging, and colorful fighting to be spread to populated areas west of the Hudson. There was no cultural locus point for the country, as there was no common dialect. Now, along with dictating the countries’ economic trade, NYC was mastering the cultural trade as well.<br /><br />Another interesting point that Mr. Shaw effusively described was the “flash talk” or slang of the gangs. Just as a member of the Crips today wouldn’t want to be caught slinging Bloods slang, the various gangs had their own vernacular, some of which survives today. “Kicking the bucket” and “Coppers” are two of the slang phrases that stick with us today, invented back in the old Five Points. ("Kicking the bucket" was how one helped an enemy off himself, by knocking the victim unconscious, stringing up a suicide noose, tossing the bozo on top of a bucket and through the loop, then kicking aforementioned bucket to leave ‘em dangling. A "Copper" was exactly that — a copper badge worn by volunteer cops, and therefore hardly intimidating or worth any respect.) Along with flash talk, the Gangs had their invented heroes, their larger-than-life characters who were inspirational figures to anyone looking to rise out of the slums. For the youth of the day, it was Mose, a tough-talkin, wise-crackin’, no-nonsense Irish B’hoy (slang for Bowery Boy) with a heart of gold. Mose can certainly be seen in various heroes of today, including Bugs Bunny, Holden Caulfield, Superman, and (this was a stretch, but) RZA of the Wu-Tang Clan.<br /><br />All in all it was an interesting, exciting, geektastic lecture, not just because the words were happening on the block where these figures fought, drank, drugged, loved, danced and invented American street culture. Even though, as King of the NYC Geeks, we knew most of what Mr. Shaw was extrapolating, regardless it was wonderful to see so many other people geeking out with us.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">(originally published on 6/9/8 in <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.thelmagazine.com">www.thelmagazine.com</a>)</span><br /></span>iamMattLevyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07239151069420779763noreply@blogger.com1