The Church Street Boxing Gym

I giggled as I descended to the basement level of a building where the Church Street Boxing Gym is located and where I was about to take an introductory boxing class on Friday evening.

A woman who had signed up for the class and was changing in the locker room told me that she thought taking up boxing was a great way to meet men.

My great concern about MRSA in the locker rooms, another woman came forward and showed me her infected forearm. She had open wounds on both her arms. This person claimed the staph infections had gone away but were back. Did she consider that she might be putting other people as risk by exercising in the gym?

I was appalled at the sight of the gym member's open sores and then later asked the manager if there had been similar cases at the gym and what measures they were taking to prevent it. He assured me that the gym was sanitized each night. I'm still haunted by the woman's arms.

Okay, watching me jump rope, punch a bag and a trainer's mitt is no substitute for being a spectator at a round. I have new found respect for the legacy of Joe Louis and M. Ali. I want to return to the gym for a kickboxing class but must first decide if I should report the MRSA case to the authorities. I could be exiled from the premises if I snitch.

After my class, I called Gavino who sang me the theme to the film Rocky and then made me pasta and pesto from scratch for dinner.

30 Days of Nothing

Over the weekend I was coerced into watching the film 30 Days of Night. Maybe th vampire horror genre ceases to hold my imagination. Perhaps this is because there is no psychological element playing with my head. Other than the anticipation of 30 days of darkness, audiences know little more about the vampires that go on a killing spree.

Yes, there is an aesthetic to the film that is halting. Maybe it's the juxtaposition of stark whiteness, darkness, and splatters of blood. But it's all cosmetic. The spatial setting could have been anywhere, such as in outer space where the films Alien, Aliens, and Alien 3 took place.

Maybe I wanted an ethnographic film to emerge with this horror film. There were no Inuits to share their folklore and knowledge with the survivors. All the protagonists, but for one doomed indigenous character, are rugged whites who understand how to live under harsh conditions.

I was relieved to find that the female characters were not the main target of the vampires' blood thirst. Horror films seem to target the bodies and minds of females too often. The film, however, is not without it's moral message, which I could have done without. Moral of the story: sometimes we must sacrifice ourselves for the survival of the group. This could make for an effective corporate message for youngsters thinking about an MBA or medical school sometime in the future.

Goodwill

The Goodwill store on W79th between Amsterdam Ave. and Broadway is a tightly packed gem with a cast of charters roaming about its premises. With a handful of finds, I soon discovered that they do not have a dressing room (though the warning on the wall suggests otherwise for some patrons) but put to use a back room as a make shift open space where patrons can throw items over their existing clothes.

There was something strangely sensual about watching each other simulate the art of dressing and disrobing without a private barrier between us. One woman went as far as to pull her pants down to her ankles after successfully stepping into a skirt. A male patron paraded in front of a mirror a coveted designer shirt. I, of course, sought the advice of strangers to find out if an ill-fitting blouse had potential or not.

As I mulled over the sweater rack, I met a diminutive, elderly women dressed in casual black, and wearing a dab of red lipstick that contrasted with her pale white skin. Her appearance instantly suggested to me that she was a longtime resident of NYC. She was closely inspecting a crimson colored pullover when I reached for a red vest that might fit her. I asked her what she thought of red as a color to wear. She told me that she approved of burgundy as part of her fashion palette. She then proceeded to take me on a tour of the store, showing me all of the Armani items she had discovered on the racks. As we critiqued her finds, she disclosed to me that she used to be a designer for an Italian fashion house.

I asked if she only wore black to which she responded "no". Then I asked what she thought of brown tones to which she told me she loved them and that they were fabulous.

6th anniversary of 9/11

It's raining on the 6th anniversary of 9/11.










A link to a list of those who perished on that day


Strike 911 promises a protest at Ground Zero. They recommend a day of "no work, no school, no shopping." Is that what our lives are all about?


Will I make it downtown? More later.

Dark Days

Dark Days is an outstanding documentary about a group of homeless people living in the subway tunnels of NYC. Marc Singer's project involved living underground with his subjects, collaborating with them on the production, and as a result has successfully humanized his subjects in ways most films about homelessness have not.

Museum scams/Don’t get caught touching the artwork!

My husband –whom I shall call Gavino- and I have visited the Met on two occasions since arriving in the City. During both trip we witnessed three reoccurring patterns.

1. Every time a patron touches a sculptor, no matter how far from the museum attendant watchful eye within a five seconds that culprit is reprimanded. I touched a Hindu sculpture, away from the policing eye and bam. “Don’t touch the artwork”. Busted. My favorite thing to do at museums unsuccessfully pulled off. In one of the great airy Greek/Roman sculpture rooms, a tight gal-without a blond strand of hair out of place – caresses the foot of a Goddess. Bam. The attendant who is chatting with a crony twenty feet away walks up to the culprit and gives her a swift warning.
2. Museum attendants don’t look happy about their jobs. I suspects it’s because they are standing eight hours a day while wearing bad shoes.
3. One elegant elder who likes to draw sculptures might be pulling off a great scam. Twice now, he’s seated in the same spot rendering a pencil sketch of a complex sculpture. Each time his drawing is in the same final stages and he’s is lightly touching up the same area. I cannot confirm if my two visits occurred during the same window of time. It’s possible. He’s a genius either way.