The Brooklyn Bridge

The reason there are so few photos of me on the blog is because Charles refuses to play the part of the tourist and take them. Above is me on the Brooklyn Bridge, and below I am with Naoli out for dinner on Charles' birthday.

The walk across Brooklyn Bridge is fun, maybe not in a real New York winter, but today it was sunny. I look like a real tourist and Charles is trying to look bored. Caren took the photo and showed us around Brooklyn Heights. Because the apartments are bigger, the dogs are also bigger; huge bear animals walk along. Small dogs are allowed everywhere, and if a shopkeeper does not allow, even welcome them the shop will give over the edge to a competitor. Dog friendly banks supply treats and water bowls. It is easy to tell a dog friendly bank because it has a sign "B.O.Y.D.". I wondered if I would be allowed in the bank if I did not have a dog. I have seen fighting, drunk, poorly-educated, starving, begging, freezing humans; but only well behaved, well cared for dogs. I have not even heard one dog bark or growl in the whole time we have been here. Then again, perhaps they are just so grateful to be let out of the crate, that they have become absolutely compliant. Dogs are so revered, that I was tempted to suggest to one of the beggers on the subway that he should give up asking for money to feed his family, and start asking for money to feed his dog.

Not another gallery/exhibition/library

Today it was so hot that people were complaining, and by people I mean me. I made the mistake of taking a coat only to be lumbered with it all day.We had walked around Soho and found the most ridiculous looking place, it looked like a junk heap/garage/op shop, but said it was a gallery. There were bits of metal, old bikes at odd angles, broken bits of fir Christmas trees scattered all over, some geometric graphics and two guys: one perched up on a platform, and the other one on a ladder. They were just hanging out listening to music. The place looked like it should have been condemned in the interests of public health and safety, and nothing was for sale. Given that entry was by donation and the guy at the front suggested a dollar, it was impossible to work out what was going on.

Finally I took Ethel's advice and went to the Tenement Museum. I was beginning to feel that I could not take it: galleries/museums/libraries! But as a glutton I found room for just one more. It was wonderful and horrible. We did a tour called Piecing it Together which focussed on the lives of the workers in the garment industry. I took a shine to the tour guide who stressed the role of immigrants, ethnic diversity and what he called tolerance. What I liked best was the way he kept bringing it into the present. Nobody could leave with the idea that barbaric working conditions are a thing of the past. The flats had just three small rooms, and most flats housed 7-9 people with newly arrived immigrants frequently knocking at the door to be accommodated for a few days, or weeks. Families with only 5 or 6 members would frequently take in a boarder. Some of these apartments not only housed large families, they were transformed into factories in the day. The baby would be put in the crib right next to the coal oven and irons actually made of iron, the young boys might be sent to play on the roof, the young girls would be sat in a corner and with luck some of the kids would either go to school, or if old enough work in the factory/lounge room.
The guide would then go on to explain: current rent $1,800 US per month for an apartment of like size, current wage for an unskilled worker in Chinatown $25,000 US per annum. This means that there would be almost nothing left over after paying the rent. Hence there are small one-bedroom apartments where 6 or more people, usually Chinese immigrants all live. Today, just around the corner.
http://www.tenement.org/
Most of the people on the tour were New Yorkers, and I knew more about the history than they did! So much for "No Child Left Behind", these are adults left behind. They were not stupid people, they just did not know anything about their own history. Maybe they can name all the presidents in order though.

Then there is the train tracks hero.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/07/weekinreview/07buckley.html
to find out more search for "New York" and "subway hero"
Explanation: This guy was on the platform when he saw a young guy (college student it turns out) have an epileptic fit and fall on to the train track. The train was fast approaching and he did not have time to get him up. He jumped down on the track and laid on top of the young man as the train passed over them both.
He had captured us all. He is a night-time construction worker who lives in Harlem and has two really cute kids. One of the things I like best is that fact that the city gave him one year free subway use. Gee thanks! Donald Trump gave him the small change that he could not be bothered bending to pick up ($10,000). And, of course the all-time American prize: a trip to Disneyland. Naoli had a great point which is that New York is all about getting what you can get for yourself. Donald Trump of all people is the very embodiment of walking all over anyone and everyone to get ahead to make another few million that he does not need and probably would not even notice. So the hypocrisy of Trump giving the guy the equivilent to small change is a joke. This for a man who risked his life, whose kids could have grown up fatherless. An-G pointed out the the simple financial cost to the city, had the guy having the epiliptic fit died: the canceled trains on all of that line, the clean up crew, the investigation, the law suits from every body involved and all the witnesses - but don't worry, NYC give him a year's free subway rides.

The city itself applauds you for having money. I walked into Bloomingdale's and the store greeter (yes this is a real job) noticed my accent. He directed me to a special section of the store, a special section for foreign visitors with money to spend (as opposed to foreign visitors like the latino women who walk Central Park with pushers: nannies to the upper east side set.) The store greeter was charming and took it upon himself to ensure I got an 11% discount "because you know you deserve it" he said. Yes, of course I deserve it, but what exactly I might have done to deserve it, other than be mistaken for someone who had enough money to shop in Bloomingdale's, I will never know.

Bookish and not so bookish things

Explanation 1: Re An-G
Naoli is my friend, Ben is her boyfriend. Ben is also a pod-caster, film-maker, video blooger, hip- hop promoter. He has three shows on the web a technology show, a hip hop show (hosted by Fritswa) and a Electronica show (hosted by An-G).

An-G's Electronica show can be found at
http://myspace.com/codedsignal3
This is a photo of An-G and Charles. Looking at An-G's Myspace will give some idea of how dynamic she is.
She is an American: this means that she was born and raised in Colombia, speaks Spanish and English at an amazing rate, (sometimes I think she was doing both at the same time) lives in Connecticut, absolutely dotes on her dogs, is as vivacious as they come and really wants to come to Australia to see the wild life. As can be gathered from the photograph, Charles is managing, but only just.

http://www.nypl.org/research/calendar/exhib/hssl/hsslexhibdesc.cfm?id=430

The rest of the photographs were taken at the New York City Library. Apparently more happens in this library than the filming of Ghostbusters. It has the same feel as the State library in Melbourne. Quiet reading rooms with people who look scholarly, daggy, cool, quirky, pretentious, interesting, or a combination of those qualities. Apart from books and reading rooms there is a shop (where I almost bought a William Shakespeare doll) and exhibitions of posters, books, maps, magazines etc.

The exhibition that I looked at was on Japanese illustrated books. These books were/are not necessarily for children. There were many serious, contemplative images and illustrations that had been don to go with classic tales of heroism and tragedy. I favoured the more lighthearted illustrations.

No child...

Hi to Georgina, Rose and Tamsyn.


Classroom drama
Play set in HS gets an A from teachers

BY CARRIE MELAGODAILY NEWS STAFF WRITER
It's an unlikely way for city teachers to unwind - watching a play about impoverished students struggling to learn in a crumbling Bronx classroom. But night after night, teachers fill the audience at the Barrow Street Theater in Greenwich Village for Nilaja Sun's one-woman show, "No Child ...."
They howl at her depiction of an earnest but clueless new teacher who can't control her class in a fictitious Bronx high school. They snicker at the school's domineering principal. And some weep when a student disappears from class after his brother's murder. "It was astounding. I was tearing up throughout the show," said Darnelle Pierre-Louis, 27, a teacher at Public School 179 in the Bronx and one of about a dozen educators who saw the play on a recent Wednesday night. "So much of it resonated with me." The word-of-mouth popularity of "No Child ...," so strong that theaters in other large cities have shown interest, has attracted Schools Chancellor Joel Klein and other high-ranking education administrators - much to the surpise of the playwright.
http://www.nydailynews.com/news/story/482787p-406388c.html

Even though school is a million miles from my thoughts, I did try to get tickets to see the play "No Child". Suzie (the woman who owns the apartment we are in) told me that at her school, (primary school in Harlem with high quite a few bi-lingual kids: Spanish/English) teachers spend time tutoring their students to colour in B. What this means is that on a multiple choice test with 4 possible answers, those who colour in the bubble for B all the way down the page will get 25% of the answers correct. This, in fact means that the person doing the test knows nothing - nothing at least that is being tested (because there is a one on four chance of being correct on a multiple choice test).
If, however, they do not colour in a bubble for each question, regardless of the answer, then it is possible to score less than 25% and thus the candidate demonstrates that they know less than nothing. So, teachers whose school's funding, professional reputation etc are linked to test results are in a position where it is a good idea to teach kids to colour in B. This all comes from the "No Child Left Behind" policy, whereby testing will show the way in education.

Meanwhile, when I went to pay at the Museum of Natural History the young woman at the cashier asked for a zip code. I told her I was Australian and did not have a zip code. She responded that I had really good English, "almost perfect" in fact. Oh, the sad irony.

The weight of it all

On our second visit to the Museum of Natural History, Charles moved very slowing through the history of time. I, on the other hand find geology and explanations of how matter and time interrelate to be so impossible that I get bored. There are scales that show a person's weight on each planet and the moon. I decided that I should go and live on a planet where I am half my earth weight, or everybody else should go to a planet where they weigh double their earth weight. The museum has gone to a great deal of trouble to explain relative size, but it made my head hurt.

In the evening we cooked dinner at Ben and Naoli's and Ben's friend Fritswa came over. She has just finished her third year at Colombia which is upstate New York (About 3 hours from New York City.) She is a vibrant woman with the world at her feet.

Charles has really got the hang of skating, and has a great time at the Rockefeller Centre. This is in the heart of New York (mid-town), opposite Sacs of 5th Avenue. For admission and skate hire the cost is almost $25 US; hardly an affordable fun family activity. Ben is a terrific skater and has his own skates. By virtue of his skill and personality, he manages to jump the queue (usually about 1 hour wait) and get in for free. Charles tags along and gets in for free as well. If they have any hassles, the manager comes along and lets them in. There is a huge crowd in the lower level skate rink and the giant Rockefeller Christmas tree towers above. All the trees are aflame with fairy lights and the whole front of Sacs has lights in the patterns of snowflakes on the facade. Kids, teenagers, young lovers, tourists, and rich families skate around. Puff Daddy hired the whole rink for his birthday. Somehow he must have forgotten to invite me.

Charles and Ben have a few friends and they play tag. This is really good because (apparently) it improves skill: ducking, twisting, turning etc. Naoli and I watch from the side and yell encouragement and congratulations like soccer mums. The vast majority of the people just totter around and I am particularly entertained by the women in fur coats who have been talked into it by husbands or children. They look so ridiculous; all dressed up, elegant hair styles and matching accessories, but absolutely no grace on the ice. The whole thing smells of privilege and decedance as concords with all of the connotations of the name Rockefeller.

The trip home late at night is another story. On recessed doorfronts, under entrances to stations, on the trains themselves, in lane-ways and no doubt in places I have not seen, people curl up to sleep. Some have sleeping bags, some have shopping trollies, some have a pile of paper for insulation. Apparently a large appliance box from a washing machine or fridge is very useful. I remind myself that this is the cleaned up New York; the poverty has been moved off Manhattan, and this is a very mild winter, so the numbers of people who have frozen to death is relatively low. I know this happens in Melbourne, it just does not happen on this scale and I don't see it often.

Movies, TV shows, films, books and comics all come to life; everything from the Chelsea Hotel to Lou Reed's corner of 125th and Lexington (Waiting for My Man). But best of all is Spiderman. The photograph is of one of the original costumes made for Toby Maguire in the first movie.

Today's adventure was to walk north up to Lasker skate rink in Central Park and to watch a bit of ice-hockey. (This is not to be confused with the Wollman Rink in Central Park at the south end.)This rink is almost in Harlem and for contrast, has no queue, costs about $8 for entry and skate hire, has no fancy lights or carts selling hot chocolate, and has people who can actually skate.

Evolution

At the Museum of Natural History they have an explanation for head butting dinosaurs. It is not a very good explanation, but I will remember it when I am teaching Year 10 boys in future. The displays on anthropology and stuff on human evolution were good, but I am still wondering about how far we have come, especially seeing as Ben and Charles headbutted each other repeatedly while waiting for the elevator last night.
The giant American native totem poles were impressive and the famous whale room (as featured in the new Ben Stiller movie Night at the Museum) was great. It is such a simple and valid idea for a movie, because there is not a person who walks through the museum, sees the enormous dinosaurs and does not imagine what it would be like if they were alive.
Most of the displays are too big or too dark to photograph with a crappy little digital, but I got a shot of Charles next to one of the Easter Island heads. It gives some sense of scale, but this is nothing compared to the huge earthshaking monsters that we saw.
We both liked the shrunken heads in a ghoulish kind of way, and I was taken with some of the African knitted people: whole life-sized knitted people with one or two features exagerated ie a giant belly-button.

I could not resist one more photograph of the little sculptures at the 14th street station. This guy is hanging on to a railing on the underside of some stairs. I think everybody has had a moment like this.
And, because I am discussing evolution and the occasional lack of it; I have included a photograph of the rubbish outside our apartment. Admittedly it is rubbish collection day, so it is all out there, but it seems to take them two days to get rid of it all. The guys in the photograph are just taking the recyclables, the trash will linger so as to give the rats a fair chance to get a feed.

Similarities and differences

We caught the train up to 125th St to have a look at the Apollo theatre. This is a landmark in Harlem. It is where a lot of now famous comedians have got their start and more tragically, it is where Malcolm X was shot. It is a very simple looking place.
We then walked along Fredrick Douglass Boulevard, Martin Luther King Drive and Malcolm Shabazz Ave: all the big names. At Sylvia's, we sat at the bar and ate southern style home food: fried chicken, collard greens, okra gumbo, fried liver, mashed potato and corn bread. Charles had been very keen to taste the cornbread, but it was more like cake than anything else, so after a couple of bites we gave up on that. There was even a guy who looked remarkably like Spike Lee. You will be pleased to know that I restrained myself; but I was for a brief moment in danger of winning the "Greatest Idiot In the Whole World Competition".

There is lots of rubbish piled up on the footpaths (sidewalks in the vernacular). In Harlem the rubbish is piled up, but also floats across the streets and footpaths. There are lots of rats in New York (one even dare to run across my foot, and horror of horror I was wearing my new boots). Because the rubbish in Harlem is somewhat less contained, the rats spread out as well. I nearly stepped on a squashed dead rat of the footpath (thankfully the new boots were not subject to that horror).

One phenomenon that I have just started to get a handle on is the barber shop. Hair is very important in New York. We met a guy who works in Radio Shack who has the most intricate pattern cut into his hair everyweek. It takes 2 hours and is what he does every Friday night. This made little sense till we saw a few barber shops open late into the evening. At the one near where we are staying, the customers and the hairdressers each have a beer, music is on and they seem to spend their time crapping on and looking out the window. They cut really intricate and/or precise designs and the process takes up a good deal of time. The hairdressers/beauty salon we passed in Harlem today must have had 50 women inside, some being braided and beaded, some under those big old fashioned hairdryers, some sitting on the window sill with curlers in their hair, and others just hanging out. It looked like a real scene.

As you can see below Ben and Charles have become twins. Ben imitates Charles and Charles imitates Ben. Naoli and I have to be very careful so that we can tell them apart. To make matters even more confusing, Charles is teaching Ben to play the digeredoo, so soon even this difference will disappear.