The Bronx from my car

My fascination with the Bronx leads to many unanswered questions about urban planning and the role of gentrification in the future of the Borough.

How has the space been transformed by waves of immigration, de-industrialization, and methods of social control.

The Bronx Angel at Sears Automotive

The donut wheel on my Subaru made the streets of Harlem and the Bronx easy to handle as we made our way to the nearest Sears Automotive this afternoon.

Only one windshield watcher approached and tried to wash my car. I said no. With that he banged his fist on my door window, and yelled, "F--K You, suck my C--K" and then walked away. I was totally expressionless.

When we arrived at Sears Automotive, we were greeted by The Bronx Angel who gave us supreme customer service and personal attentiveness. First, she inspected our flat tire, determining it hadn't been slashed (the side facing the engine was ripped by one of Galvino's driving feats over a dividing curb). My resolve not to dwell on the possibility of the slash as a form of vengeance payed off.

Then Caroline contacted Sears in Massachusetts and Illinois (the last two places were I purchased tires) to find out if my tire was under warranty. It turns out that 18 months earlier, a Ghanaian sales man who had been brimming with joy over Ghana's advancement in the World Cup had added the coverage unbeknown to me when I last purchased tires.

Caroline wasn't driven to turn an unnecessary profit. She said that she believed in Karma and that we reap what we sow. The money would come back to her in other ways eventually.

Negative Chain Reaction

Following the parking rule of our neighborhood, Galvino went out yesterday morning to move the car. There he discovered we had a flat tire.

The "wrench" was missing from the tool kit, making it impossible to put on the donut. As the parking ban was about to start a passing police officer agreed not to give him a ticket for leaving the car on the wrong side of the street. This gave Galvino a window of time to buy a wrench at the local hardware store.

When he returned with the new tool, he discovered another cop had ticketed the car.

Then he locked himself out of the house. The "Sup" let him.

A mechanic inspecting the flat tire determined that tire had been slashed.

Gesu Bambino

The Gesu Bambino sculpture stolen from a Nativity scene in Greenwich Village was returned to its rightful place.

Century 21 frenzy

I decided to see for myself the feeding frenzy at Century 21, a local department store located right across the street from Ground Zero. I could take about 10 minutes of the rush to grab a sale.

Western Europeans flocked to the place with lots of Euros to spend.

In the men's shoe department, I searched for the perfect shoe for Galvino. Suddenly, a male stranger carrying tassle-free loafers by Via Spiga approached me. He had one question on his mind. He was seeking advice about what shoe to buy. "Do these shoes look good?" he asked in earnest.

I inspected his find and then met his gaze, telling him straightly that I thought "they look good".

End of fashion consultation.

Pregnant Subway Riders

This morning seated passengers on the 2 train incensed me to no avail, as I stood in the subway car watching them ignore a visibly pregnant woman standing before them.

As I took this picture, a man standing next to me searched my eyes in disbelief at my actions. I uttered my own disbelief that not a single person had offered their seat to her. After the man removed his I-pod earphones and I repeated myself with the same intensity, after which he made the following comment: "Yes, it happens here. It happens in New York. It shouldn't but it does."

Yes, sometimes I, too, misjudge a baby bump for stomach fat, but this woman's belly had dropped. She looked as if she were about to deliver as she swung from the hand rail above her head.

Shame on those passengers who turned the other way when a pregnant woman's belly was pressed just inches from their face.

Subway Mascara Fetish

Every few weeks or so I witness on a moving subway train the sublime art of applying mascara (I took this photo while on my way to work).

Are these women fetishists? Or, are they fulfilling the sexual needs of voyeurs who gaze upon them as they attempt such feats as applying lip and eye liner in a moving vehicle?

As a public service announcement:
Be careful, you might poke your eye.

Train yesterday morning

On my way to work yesterday morning, I counted five people sleeping in my section of the train car; another fifteen were wearing i-pods and listening to music.

Protein bars

I was deeply moved and inspired by the NY Times video package about Jorge Munoz, a former undocumented worker from Columbia, who donates his free time feeding Latino homeless men in Queens when he's not driving a school bus during the day.

In the last few months, I have found myself giving away spare protein bars to homeless people asking for a donation. Upon giving it to them, they usually inspect the packaging, perhaps at first mistaking it for candy. Usually they are pleased, as it constitutes a meal.

Tonight in front of Lincoln Center, as well-dressed, mature New Yorkers made their way to an evening performance, a homeless woman with long, gray hair - maybe a former actress in her other life - leaned on crushes and asked for money with a Starbucks plastic cup. After checking out the protein bar that I handed her, she seemed excited.

Cold stone stare from Naomi Wolf

As I was sharing an ice cream with family at Cold Stone on 6th Ave and 4th Street this afternoon, my eyes fell upon a familiar face. Fixed on trying to place this woman with piercing blue eyes, pale white skin, and thick flowing hair, I was greeted with her long fierce stare, as if to signal that I must stop intruding on her privacy. Galvino, who was seated next to me, noticed how the woman was staring directly to his right, only then to realize that I was locked in a staring match with her.

Was she a high school mean girl whom I had long forgotten from my days in the Framingham school system or was she a dorm room foe from college? Maybe, I thought, she was a 1980s sitcom star who had disappeared into the "where are they now" annals. When I looked away and then tried to discreetly refocus my gaze, she caught me again.

On the train home her portrait struck me as the author Naomi Wolf. Someone whom I have never thought too seriously about as a feminist and writer, but since seeing her interview with Steve Colbert, I suspect she is feeling a bit paranoid these days for taking such a risk with her new book.

Red Sox Nation

I was in "Red Sox Nation"this past weekend visiting family, and driving for the first time with my freshly minted new NY state plates (representing the arch nemesis of the Red Sox). The countless vanity plates extolling the virtues of the Red Sox have exalted the team to religious status. After the Red Sox won against Minneapolis, Sox fans stayed at Yankees lose on a TV screen to the Fenway to watch the Orioles on Friday night, a loss that clinched the Eastern division title for the Boston team. Baseball, that archaic, never ending game from the turn of the 19th century, is central to New England life. It unifies people, across social class, ethnicity, age and gender.

During my drive back through New Haven, I tried to unsuccessfully photograph a special message taped to a truck driver's window. It read: "Show your Hooters". Hmm. The "o"s had eyes, obviously signifying the graphics of a national restaurant chain. Do women flash their breasts at truckers for cheap kicks?

While stuck in slow traffic I observed the most bizarre occurrence: A male driver -ambiguously "Mediterranean"and middle aged in appearance - stopped his sports car on a ramp while his blond female passenger beat him. Later the driver nearly swerved into me because his passenger, whom I would describe as in her early 40s, was striking blows to his face and body. In fact I thought a police siren was passing but instead it was the woman screaming, crying and waving her arms. When she wasn't striking the driver, she was frantically searching the floor of the car for something that she dropped. Could it have been her prescription drugs? After all he was unresponsive, as was his twin brother seated in the back seat. Meanwhile, I briefly considered notifying the authorities but eventually lost sight of them.

The driving was aggressive all the way to NYC. My consumption of countless espressos gave me the will to drive through such traffic but left me wound up upon arrival.

9/11/07 Ground Zero: Place of Remembrance and Protest

I missed the official memorial held this morning for the victims of 9/11. As I approached the site I found myself capturing visceral moments that were never photographed. Each visual "snapshot" was a frozen reminder of people's loss and grief. As I got closer to the site my emotions were hard to control. There was the sound of a solemn church bell tolling for the dead. As I crossed the street and my path intersected with an NY Fireman in uniform, I nodded in respect and he returned the acknowledgment. Then I passed two adults, a male and female, from across the street I could see the face of a loved one emblazoned on their identical t-shirts.

What I did "capture" on film was a mounting protest. There was no visible tension between the protesters and law enforcement. Alex Jones was the charismatic presence behind the march. I left as torrential rains came down while the group was chanting "9/11 was an inside job". Another undocumented moment occurred on the train ride home. Standing near the doors of the subway car stood a beautiful lone fire fighter. He was wearing his uniform and pinned to his jacket was a picture of a mature man, maybe his former captain or maybe his father. The young man got off at W79th Street alone in his grief.

DirtySexyMoney

Why is it in multicultural New York City that we have another New York based television program with an all white ensemble cast slatted for network broadcasting (Sex in the City, Friends to list two). The premise is cliche and a lily white cultural storyline to boot. What's most infuriating, though, are the ubiquitous poster ads throughout the City and underground in the subway system. The contrast between the mediate representation of NYC and the everyday demographics make a striking contrast in realities.

The Parking Dance

My husband just called from his cell phone saying that there is a police car at the end of the street ready to give out tickets to anyone parked on the banned side when the clock strikes 9:30am. One minute past the ban, parking tickets are already being posted on windshields. Gavino has been down there sitting inside our car, double parked, reading a book since 9:15am, the time at which he moved the car.

At 9:32am the cop leaves the neighborhood, and my husband returns home, leaving the car double parked on street. He is confident no one will ticket him. In fact, everyone else in the neighborhood has also double parked and returned to their errands.

At 10:30am, I descend to the street, enter my car and wait. My neighbors and I move our automobiles simultaneously to the banned side once we have seen the street sweeper pass.

It is a choreography of habit.

We never park and leave. The fear of being ticketed is high and the topic of most conversations. We know that as long as we sit in our cars the police will not bother us. As the clock nears 11am my anxiety mounts anticipating the lifting of the ban. Only a few brave drivers dare to leave before the ban, ignoring the urban legend recounting numerous examples of last minute ticketing. Finally, as eight or nine of us emerge from our automobiles ready to face the day, we glance at each other in acknowledgment of beating the Man once more, knowing full well that we'll see each other again in three to four days.

shouting matches

i dared to walk home today with 15 pounds of cat food and a lumbering scratch post in hand. the heat and humidity made outdoor exertion unpleasant.

in the distance i heard a chorus of rhythmic shouting from two different locations from the street. a disgruntled man standing by a newspaper stand shouted "fat pig" to which the object of his inflammatory remarks said "dirty disgusting" the name calling involved taking turns. it sounded like an engine. "dirty disgusting", "fat pig", "dirty disgusting", "fat pig", "dirty disgusting", "fat pig".

the female involved in the shouting match, a proprietor or employee of a small nearby store, stood by the open entrance to her shop. she was strategically positioned to swiftly escape behind a lock door if the match became physical. it appeared as if neither one intended to retreat verbally as both were committed to having the last word. their fading voices blended into the city sounds as i moved northward. the rhythmic dance of their name calling reminded me of school yards where children often first learn to say cruel words and to exclude each other from their games.