Chronicles Continued

This bench is on the corner of Bleecker and Charles Street.  This is the work of Paul McClure who found the bench on another street corner and moved it here.  While he was in the process of doing that, he was ‘greeted by a woman’ who was desperate at that time to save the tiles {see earlier post on tiles being gathered in against the impending storm}. He and she teamed up for a while.  They visited the flower market and gathered up all the flower discards. Now he works alone.  He bikes his flowers home and after parsing them, displays them here.  He says they last about one week.  He reports that the bench could use some LOL [guess that is lots of love… like TLC] and he is looking to replace much of the wood this summer with long rows of white burch [sic] trees.  It is such a delight to pass as one walks by.  What others do to make our lives have joy in them.  The small print says: Sending Love to New York City and the World.

If you have a lot of money, and you want to make your descendants proud, you have the wing of some building named after you [and just maybe your wife].  There, in large letters and perceived glory is your name on the lip of the building, or flattened against the facade for all to see.  Yesterday, I passed by the destruction of St. Vincent’s Hospital at 12th Street and 7th Avenue.  As I passed, the wrecking ball was obliterating the name of such a person.  I wondered how that worked.  Of course he doesn’t get his money back, he also just lost everything he thought he was getting, and now no one will be reminded of his largess or whatever else it was that he had in mind when he made that large donation to get his name placarded up there in the first place. Futility at it’s best.

Kiryas Joel, [KIR-yas-Jo-EL]  New York, is the name of a village in Orange County, New York, approximately 50 miles northwest of the City.  It came to my attention because of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. When one takes the M train out of the City, the first stop on the other side of the East River is Marcy Street.  Upon descending the stairs from the subway, one sees many signs that are not in English and therefore unreadable to the non-Yiddish reading-population of the City.  A large population of Satmar Hasidic Jews live there.  They maintain specific dress codes, all black garments, the men in wide-brimmed hats, long coats, specific hair growth and cuts, the women’s heads are all wig covered and the children’s first language is Yiddish. They have a community they endeavor to keep closed to the outside world.  Someone mentioned that the overflow of this community moved to empty land outside the City, built a town and named the town Kiryas Joel.  It has gained notoriety and one reason is because it is the poorest place in America with 70 percent of the villages 21k residents having incomes below the poverty line.  Half receive food stamps and one third use other government means of support.*  Most residents’ first language is Yiddish.  The background of the group is fascinating.  A large percentage of the population trace their roots to Romania or Hungary.  Their main purpose in life is for the men to devote themselves to Torah and Talmund studies rather than academic training, the women to having and raising children.  As to be expected, such an exclusive community is not without litigation or political troubles from surrounding townships.  There is a wealth of information on the web.

*[NYT 20 April 2011]

The anticipation of opening night of a show, always wreaks havoc with the preceding days. The lack of postings attests to the extra time spent in rehearsals and preparations. And then the night comes.  And then it passes.  This is the third opening night since January. Just cast in a Feature Length Film. That’s it for updates.

The name:  Padded Wagon.

This is an old fire box/ emergency-call-box.  Someone in this block, changes the flowers in it per season.  The first picture was winter.  Now Spring!

There it is.  It is raining, so the shot through the window and the screen is a bit blurred.  However in picture two, you see the culprit sitting on the edge of the pot of green, rather like someone pulled up to the counter in a drug store; not a lot of choice, but what is there is better than none!

 

When there is a big rainstorm, like at present, do I hear far more fire truck sirens than when there is not a rain storm. I associate fire truck sirens with fire, but there must be something else.  I have noticed this since moving here.

Next time you are in a crowd of people, have a look at foreheads.  On the subway the other day, a woman sitting across from me, had about 1 inch between her eyebrows and her full head of dark hair.   Another woman to her left had a Glenn Close-type-high forehead.  I looked around the car at everyone and how different they all were.  Check it out on your own next time.  Cowlicks, peaks, small, large, square, everyone one is different and that makes them all odd.

This restaurant chain never ceases to amaze me.  I pass two of the establishments with some regularity and the queue lines boggle my mind.  With restaurants on all four corners the one on 8th avenue and 44th will have a line half a block long.  Can it be that good?  Not yet willing to  explore with those kinds of calories.  But read the write-up below.  They say it better than I.

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shake_Shack