Winter finally showed its true color in the city; as part of the "severe", or inclement weather, a sheet of white covers Manhattan now. With its usual grubbiness hidden below about a foot of powdery snow, the city is almost pretty. The subterranean temperatures and blustering winds kept the streets neat and empty; occasionally an inexperienced driver would perform a vehicular ballet move - a pirouette here, a double-axle there. Unlooked for beauty in an urban setting otherwise devoid of impromptu artistry (never mind that the romantically biased print media here claims art in everyday life).

I am uncomfortably settled here now; at least for the foreseeable future NYC is "home", whatever that means. While the uneasiness remains, I have adapted enough of the local ignoramus stance, I guess, sufficient to permit me to call live tolerable again.

Let's see how long this "bliss" lasts..!

Posted by DocRorlach at 19:10 CET

Updated: Sunday, February 13, 2005 14:49 CET

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Every now and then a notable figure of this city's urban noise sphere will exhort New York City's claim to be the navel of the universe. While city officials like the shrimp-like mayor can rationalize their more fantastic superlatives because of their job description, the so-called native New Yorker has no such excuse. While I understand that this kind of defensive stand, to some degree, applies to anyone and any place, the level of private marketing people here are willing to undertake borders on self-delusion.

The latest hyperbolic fad is to claim that NYC would be the ideal place to hold the Olympic Games. Maybe, but only if compared to one of the other choices, namely Moscow. What ever possessed the city's luminaries to even entertain the idea is beyond me. The city's two most prominent features are still grime & crime; it's streets and avenues are mostly in gruesome disrepair; and it's transport logistics can be considered acceptable only if compared with other US cities. Which is no comparison at all since most of the metropolitan areas in the US of A only maintain the bare minimums in public transport.

The motivation is, of course, financial in its origins. Already atop the national price index for everything from housing to the cost of a Kleenex, the city hopes to fill its coffers which the present administration claims to be depleted. The irony is, of course, that for those ardent New Yorkers now touting the city's virtues, the cost of living will skyrocket, eventually forcing them to seek greener pastures elsewhere.

Posted by DocRorlach at 19:42 CET

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It happened before; it has happened in different cities, in the past. It happened last night: the city that purportedly never sleeps died around me, leaving me with nothing but its hollow canyons of cement, steel nerves, and glass eyes posing as buildings of importance. For a few precious minutes, Broadway just below Union Square, as well as the feeding arteries of 12th and 13th Streets, lay around me, deceased. It was just before 6 am, on a Tuesday morning. And in an instant, the city vanished.

No cars, no buses, no taxi cabs, no people, no homeless bodies asleep in the crevices of the East Village. The suddenly infernal noise of my own footfalls echoed in my mind. The air smelled of the coming rains; the night held still for as long as it took me to walk two blocks.

Being the last and final being- as far as I can tell - does not engender fear, not even loneliness. I would scarcely miss the human race. Yet, before I can follow that thought through a man steps out from a doorway. Within seconds others emerge, yellow cabs turn the corner at the square; a bus rumbles into view. The urban myth is about to be resurrected.

I shall have to wait, maybe the next time the city vanishes I can complete that thought. Maybe.

Posted by DocRorlach at 01:31 CET

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Around every corner lurks unwanted advice. Not the kind Granny used to dish out, admonishing fingers slicing the air in front of your nose. No, these days it is sponsored advice, commercially researched and presented, making you believe that the products thus promoted are merely incidental to the message.

One of the "worst" offenders is Citicorp: it appears to have abandoned such mundane preoccupations such as money and climbed to the highest aerie, donning orange robes bedecked with garlands, to dispense wisdom to the withering, huddled masses in the canyons of the city.

"Live life as if your next purchase could be the farm."

"Where in reality does winning a million dollars fit in?"

They are not the only ones; that lofty mountain top is getting awfully crowded. The more obviously misguided pseudo-philosopher include quite a few automobile manufacturers, lead by Mercedes-Benz and its ultimate life-style dispensations. They are joined by such disparate products as a robot vacuum cleaner and air fresheners - all dispensing pseudo-philosophical advice stretching from Hegel all the way down to near-Nietzsche dichotomies.

What now - quite naturally - has to follow is a more practical tie-in between the rude commerce of mammon and the ivory towers of the world; commercial sponsorship of chairs in dialectic is the only logical conclusion. Think about it! It isn't as bad as it sounds at first; you will still be permitted to demonstrate violently against big money and big government. But as both the public and the governments representing it have obviously failed to provide adequate education even for the privileged (just mentioned Voltaire next time you meet your boss!), corporate sponsorship for non-sports faculties seems like an idea whose time has come.

I am looking forward to enrolling in Kraft's Culinary Courses for Advanced Cookbook Writing!

Posted by DocRorlach at 06:01 CET

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It only took them nearly a century, but they finally did it, and in the only location worthy of such a feat: the Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. I am of course talking about the only topic cursing up and down the I-95 between Boston and New York - the Red Sox' four game climb out of the hole the Yankees had dug for them in their usual arrogant fashion.

I do not pretend to know anything about baseball; in fact, I find it a rather boring game, only out-bored by Cricket, its predecessor. But I do appreciate both the history and, more importantly, the amazing feat the underdog has just performed. Were I more of an optimist (or at least possessed a greater dosage of naivety) I'd say this might be the start of a more humble New York City. Never mind, I am only kidding - only the opposite is possible.

Unfortunately.

Posted by DocRorlach at 06:01 MEST

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D.W. was quite insistent: "You kvetch!". He does like to toss the odd Yiddish expression into our conversations. Others say it simpler, they simply complain about my perceived negativity towards this city. In that I might as well be a native born son - it is so much easier to emphasize the obvious than stir the pot until you find something to gloat about.

Still, I do wish to clarify. The fact that I am still here is not an endorsement of the city's claims to greatness. New York City simply takes people hostage, and I have not yet been able to pay the ransom.

There is much that I do like, even admire about this town's right to be shown on a map. I have mentioned these admiring glances before; the parks, the fiefdoms of art scattered within its borders, the anonymity that is the city's first gift to any and all newcomers. Admired, too, is its towering, Babylonian cityscape within which the world's languages adapt and adopt. My real anger, cached as it may be in the irrational, boils not over what is or what was but what might have been: I sometimes feel like I have entered the most fabulous kitchen, resplendid with all the ingredients anyone could hope for - and yet, nobody is permitted to to prepare that ultimate meal that would bring us all together around the table.

What splendor, what superlative living, what I-don't-know-what could have risen here! I do not need to encourage my imagination to see what a glittering metropolis New York City could have been. Just add the present population's romanticized view of their hometown, stir well, add a dose of reality and - voila - you could have had the haven everyone is seeking. Yes Dorothy, there really might have been your Emerald City at the end of that yellow brick road.

Instead we have.. - but I need not repeat all that; I've kvetched about it plenty in the past.

Posted by DocRorlach at 06:01 MEST

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New York City is not a particularly private place; as urban conflagrations go it tends to be more intrusive than others, partially perhaps because nobody gives a damn' about anyone else. This is, of course, a two-edged sword and more often than not you end up in somebody else's life. Cell phones, subway or bus rides, sitting in a park, the ubiquitous Starbuck's: the natives appear unfettered by social norms that may apply elsewhere in the civilized world. Discounting the effectively asocial rejects from the various asylums, who are most likely holding conference calls with themselves, my favorites are couples and their public foibles. They may well be the most communicative post-Neanderthal humans - at least towards the irreverent outside world - if only they could apply that self-same eloquence towards their own cause..!

What follows are recounts; tales noted down right after they took place, but flawed nonetheless. All I can hope, at all times, is to preserve the spirit, the means if not the end. I even might add some more at a later stage.

She: a Paris Hilton imitation, down to the skinny legs and skimpy mind, and not a very attractive copy at that. The empty glass beside her elbow seems to have had a few refills.

He: a bored because unexitable young jock whose interest in sports far exceeds his interest in his female companion. His drink appears to be orange juice, or a mixer thereof.

It: a typical sports bar in lower Manhattan; it is Sunday night, thus it could perhaps have happened just about anywhere. The bar is long, and dotted with screens showing different sports events in progress. The couple sit on the first corner, which is why I could spot them from the street.

At first I was impressed by the ardency of the fellows attentions showered on the girl. As I approached the waterhole I could seem in a series of lasting hugs, kisses on the cheeks and neck, and more hugs. I almost smiled at the rarity of such overt behavior by what looked like the prime candidate for an Alpha Male. That was, until I came closer and saw the vapid stare in his eyes, aimed at something I could not see. Sufficientlyintriguedd I entered the bar and now saw the couple from the other side: she was obviouslyenamoredd by her partners affectionate behavior. Which is when I spotted where his stare was aimed at: the television set right behind her back, displaying the Yankees being clobbered by the Mets during the Subway Series. At last the final inning played out, just as his fond visitations upon her ceased. He quickly paid, and they walked out hand in hand, with her happy and none the wiser.

She: there's a whiff of organic perfume about her; the seemingly deliberate mismatch in her attire - clearly free of sweatshop stains and other foreign additives - is to denote her higher plane of individualism; her voice, using innumerable repeats of the verb "like", consists of a monotonous drone that knows neither pitch nor pause nor tempo.

He: an equally liberated specimen of the eternal student of life; slightly frayed at the aged edges but free of red meat and unethical dairy products, he is a earnest supporter of medical, politically correctly harvested Marijuana; his current dilemma is manifested in his fiddling with his iPod (pink), unsure as when he will be able to put the earplugs (pink) back where they belong, into his ears, without getting locked out from this week's sexual escapade.

It: a subway train returning its late-afternoon cargo to Brooklyn; the car while not really crowded, contains the typical New York City menagerie of local demographics - I count at least fifteen different ethnic backgrounds - all of which sooner rather than later shoot annoyed glances at the woman. Mostly they would prefer to take a nap, doze until their ascend back into the real world above, or peruse the leftovers of today's newspapers and tabloids. They would, were it not for the ongoing lament of that She about the petty and pitiful jealousies at her workplace and the unenlightened behavior of everyone but herself.

Rescue comes from an unlikely but ultimately truthful and wise source: about five minutes out of the Union Square station a little girl of maybe five, six years stands up and points at the women from a close range:

"Mama says if you could please talk a bit louder." The small voice is clear and devoid of malice. "Maybe then they can hear you in Africa."

The child returns to her seat next to her deeply blushing mother, as innocent as she was before her comment, not quite understanding the loud guffaws and chortled laughter from the thankful crowd. For the remainder of my ride the even breathing of the dozers, and the rustle of old newspapers could be heard beside the trains' rumble. And He grinned sheepishly, earplugs in place.

Posted by DocRorlach at 04:48 MEST

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