Native American Festival & Shad Fest

5th Annual Drums Along The Hudson: A Native American Festival and Shad Fest
Sunday, Apr 29, 2007
11:00 am - 6:00 pm
Manhattan

"Drums Along The Hudson celebrates the spirit of the drum that is the heart, culture and tradition of the Native American people. The event features a powerful get-together of mesmerizing drumming from around the world and includes intertribal social dances like the Round Dance, the Iroquois Smoke Dance, and the Jingle Dance. International foods, Native American crafts and artwork will be for sale.

Shad Fest celebrates the annual return of spawning shad to the Hudson River. Shad Planking demonstrations by Chris Letts of the Hudson River Foundation and free tastings are featured. "Planking " is a Native American cooking method taught to the European settlers. Shad, considered a delicacy, are the only fish that the D.E.C. permits to be commercially caught from the Hudson River because their life cycle allows them to remain PCB-free and, therefore, safe to eat."

Yesterday, I took a journey (and I really mean journey!) to Inwood Park in Upper Manhattan for the Native American Festival & Shad Fest. In what took, like, forever to finally reach my destination, I actually ended up having a good time.

This is the 5th annual festival, and its infancy kind of shows. The representation of tribes was minimal at best. The Iroquois nation made up the bulk of the tribes there, followed by some South American and Caribbean tribes. I felt like there should have been more US and Canada tribes present, and I wondered who was doing the PR for this event. The Algonquin nation is in New England and could have made their presence known too. I hope that in the future, we do begin to see many more tribes featured at this festival. After all, according to the 2000 census, there are over 40,000 Native Americans residing in New York City.

One area was set up for vendors, a lot of it was focused on arts and crafts. I didn't find the right kind of bear (muwin) pendant I was looking for.

Photos here.

Sutra

Friday night and Saturday morning seemed to mesh into one as I felt like I pulled double duty.

I was invited to my friend D's birthday party (she's on the right in the photo), which was a co-bash with another one of her friends. Originally, I assumed I would just stay for a few hours before going home. But, the fun was on and the night was long.

The party started at a club downtown called Sutra. I thought I was fashionably late, but I was the first one to arrive! Once D showed up, everyone else seemed to pop out of the woodwork with her. Soon, the spot was filled up and the music jumping. D ordered a vodka buffet of sorts and the barmaid arrived with a bottle of Ketel One, buckets of ice, drinking glasses, and several carafes of various drink accouterments (tonic water, club soda, cranberry). At least I was being abstemious with the alcohol (only a few to my credit).

Supposedly, Woody Harrelson was in the house. In another room is more like it. If it wasn't him, the bodyguard who was blocking the doorway to the backroom most certainly was acting like he was there. David Blaine made an appearance that night, but outside while D was out there. Me? I seemed to miss the celebs, but this weekend I did see Rachel Dratch (again) of SNL fame walk by me on my street. She was with another person, so I didn't have to see her bugged out eyes staring back. She lives in my nabe but stares at you like she can't place your face. Weird.

So, after the party cleared out, a small group of us were left and we decided to hot foot it to another club. With time not on our side anymore (2am-ish), we decided to go for Belgian frites on Ave A & 7th St. The night was to only get wackier. While waiting for our order, we noticed a man standing in the streets screaming at everyone. He was one of those crazies who stands there in front of the cars, waits for the lights to turn green, and begins acting up in order to hold up traffic.

We must have caught his attention because he came over and began declaring that he was born here, therefore in the neighborhood first, and people like us had no right to be there. Blah, blah, blah. Whatever. His face was covered with those poor looking jail-house type tattoos and he was obviously under the influence of something. I passed my pepper spray to one of the guys in our group who was being engaged by this weirdo while L called 911. The police never arrived!! Our order finally arrived and we escaped back to the front of D & L's house to devour our humongous bags of frites. They were lovely, but I made a mental note never to order a large there - ever.

The night ended nicely. It wasn't until 5am that I finally lay my head on my pillow, but it was worth it.

Happy St. George's Day

"Cry God for Harry, England and Saint George!"

Today is the day of St. George, who forced all the snakes out of...um, no.

Today is the day of St. George, where you eat haggis and...um, no.

Today is the day of St. George, where you wear either a daffodil or a leek or a...um, no.

I guess what I'm trying to convey is that many people really don't know whom St. George is. He is the patron saint of England. He also slayed a dragon. Top that one St. Patrick! The others I mentioned above in order of claim-to-fame are St. Patrick, St. Andrew, and St. David. No. I didn't put St. David last as some sort of cruel joke.

My sociology professor once told us this riddle:

Why don't the English have a parade down 5th Avenue?


Because they don't want to.

I think that sums up why poor old Georgie boy is a mere footnote in British history, while his other compadres get their own honors and celebrations in each of their respective countries. Yet, his cross graces part of the Union Jack, the flag of Episcopal church, and the front doors of BNP members. Ouch on that last one!

There is a campaign building steam over the pond in jolly old England to bring him back. Not from the dead silly! Back into the limelight, and with his very own bank holiday. This, I am completely for. It's about time the English dropped the PC attitude towards this dude and embraced something other than Celebrity Big Brother.

Since I am in the US, I decided to celebrate today by cooking a traditional English dish - toad in the hole. I got the recipe from How to Boil an Egg. It was decent, but the batter wasn't cooked all the way through on the inside. It wasn't runny or anything, just a bit "moist". I blame the fact that I partitioned too much of it out into a muffin tin, like many use for Yorkshire Puddings. Or it could have been the fact that I cooked it in a toaster oven. Yeah, could explain why. Lesson learned.

I figure by the time I perfect this dish, St. George will be a holiday over here.

High Chai - Russian Tea

In addition to the most beautiful weather we had today, I met up with my tea group at the High Chai tea room for a Russian tea brunch.

Pictures here.

High Chai is a combination tea room/bar/restaurant which is located on 18 Avenue B at 2nd Street. They specialize in exotic flavors, and are heavy on infusing unique flavors and flowers in their beverages. I arrived for the 12 noon gathering. Inside, the decor was a mix of quirky and beautiful. Mosaic tiled floors, bright wall colors, and a decorative tin ceiling. Basically, the kind of decor you would want for your own little abode.

Svetlana, the owner, gave us a quick talk about the Russian tea ceremony. When tea arrived in Russia it was expensive. To conserve the precious leaves, the samovar came into use. Invented in the city of Tula, this apparatus houses a pot on top, which holds a small concentrated form of the tea. The bottom of the samovar holds the water. You pour the concentrated brew from the top into your cup, and then dilute it with as much water as you prefer. This way, you make don't end up wasting your leaves.

It's probably not a surprise that I now want to own a samovar!

On offer for the brunch were sandwiches, Russian cheese pate with croutes, and a nice salad. For dessert were Russian cookies, and a chocolate fountain with fresh fruit for dipping. As a surprise, the owner gave us each a shot glass full of the rose petal infused vodka mixed with cold tea. Floating in the glass were actual rose petals. It tasted interesting - and flowery! I don't see myself ordering this in the future, but it was nice to try it out.

I got to talk with Svetlana, whom I found so lovely and accommodating. I am really, really positive about this place. I can't stress the pluses enough. Everything was wonderful. The food, the drink and the ambiance were absolutely perfect.

The group I was with was part of my meet up. The conversation flowed and I got to know many people, including the organizer of the group - Mei. I had heard from the others that they too were having a wonderful time. I also heard that the previous tea meet ups were a blast.

Since this was my first meet up with the tea group, I am really looking forward to future events.

Horchata

Stopped in at Burritoville for their most excellent, magnificent salsa. I was fixin' to make quesadillas and realized that the meal just would not be complete without my favorite tortilla topping.

While there, I checked out, and then bought, a beverage called Horchata.
Dubbed as "Mexico's Favorite Drink" on the menu, I thought I'd give it a try. With only four ingredients (non-fat milk, rice powder, sugar and cinnamon), it seemed to be something that would interest me. Plus, it played into my love of sweet milky drinks.

The verdict? Looks kinda like baby formula. Tastes like a liquid form of rice pudding, but heavy on the cinnamon-y side. I compare it more to a ghetto version of eggnog.

Don't see myself ever buying it again, but you don't know unless you try.

But Does He Pay Bus Fare?

From the Daily Mail -

Mystery cat takes regular bus to the shops

Bus drivers have nicknamed a white cat Macavity after it has started using the No 331 several mornings a week.

The feline, which has a purple collar, gets onto the busy Walsall to Wolverhampton bus at the same stop most mornings - he then jumps off at the next stop 400m down the road, near a fish and chip shop.

The cat was nicknamed Macavity after the mystery cat in T.S Elliot's poem. He gets on the bus in front of a row of 1950s semi-detached houses and jumps off at a row of shops down the road which include a fish and chip shop.

Driver Bill Khunkhun, 49, who first saw the cat jumping from the bus in January, said: "It is really odd, the first time I saw the cat jumping off the bus with a group of passengers. I hadn't seen it get on which was a bit confusing.

"The next day I pulled up on Churchill Road to let a couple of passengers on. As soon as I opened the doors the cat ran towards the bus, jumped on and ran under one of the seats, I don't think any of the passengers noticed.

"Because I had seen it jump off the day before I carried on driving and sure enough when I stopped just down the road he jumped off - I don't know why he would catch the bus but he seems to like it. I told some of the other drivers on this route and they have seen him too."

Since January, when the cat first caught the bus he has done it two or three times a week and always gets on and off at the same stops.

Passenger, Paul Brennan, 19, who catches the 331 to work, said: "I first noticed the cat a few weeks ago. At first I thought it had been accompanied by its owner but after the first stop it became quite clear he was on his own.

"He sat at the front of the bus, waited patiently for the next stop and then got off. It was was quite strange at first but now it just seems normal. I suppose he is the perfect passenger really - he sits quietly, minds his own business and then gets off."

Rent Control, A Perspective

I know, I know. I blather on and on about rent control. I confess, it is an obsession of mine, and Curbed is all too happy to supply my demand.

After posting my own thoughts on the subject, I came across this entry on Curbed, which should give one perspective on how it affects a building.

Portrait of a Lower East Side Building

It ended up leading me to this real estate site, where I looked up a few listings and found many more drool producing rents. Including one ground floor apartment on Henry St. One tenant in this building rents a two bedroom, 800 sq ft apartment - complete with an 1,150 sq ft "private rear yard". The cost for such a pleasure? $396 a month!!

April Shelter Duty

Last night was my turn for shelter duty this month. Again, I was alone this time, which was perfectly alright with me. Sometimes, I prefer it this way. The night went off without a hitch, with the exception of a guest who talked really loud in his sleep. I woke him to give warning, although I realize the idea of that is quite absurd. How do you curtail what you do in your sleep? I did it mainly to appease another guest who was near him, and who wouldn't calm down until I did something about his ramblings. It ended up working, and we were fine throughout the night. I actually got some sleep. Anyway, when our guests first arrived, my stomach dropped.

It was the return of *Jane.

I came in contact with Jane early last year. It was my first, and what I had hoped would be my last time. The night she arrived, everything was fine, save for a disruptive guest who was a bit of a bother all night. He woke up before the 6am wake up call being noisy and disruptive. Jane had much issue with this guest's actions. She went on and on complaining about him, mumbling and speaking in non-sequiturs. I spoke with the other guest, explaining the rules of behavior before wake up call, and everything was fine, except that Jane insisted on complaining. I gently explained to her that now she was being the disruptive one. After wake up call, she approached me, still angry that I had scolded her and defiant. I explained my position, but soon found out it was to be of no use. Viewing her behavior, it became quite clear what I was dealing with - schizophrenia.

Jane wouldn't let up, and proceeded to follow me around the shelter admonishing me. Finally, after much confrontation, I asked for her name. Because she wouldn't supply that information, I decided to best her and do roll call again; weeding out the names until I zeroed in on hers. In that short span of time, Jane managed to write up a five page manifesto on mini notepad paper, of why she was being "oppressed". Words such as "Jews", "Nazis", and "resistance fighters" peppered the pages. That is when I was truly aware that I had a live one here. After much back and forth, Jane finally pointed at me and exclaimed, "YOU, ARE A NAZI!!" After that remark, what could I do? I threw my hands up, walked away, and in a sing-songy "whatever" voice said, "Okay, so I'm a Nazi!"

We were so relieved when the bus to pick up our guests finally arrived. Doesn't it always seem like forever when things are going pear-shaped?

And my shelter partner that night. Where exactly was she during all of this hullabaloo? In hiding folks. Now you know why I don't mind being alone.

A few months after this chaotic meeting, my friend and I were walking in my neighborhood, and to my surprise, we passed by Jane. She looked terrible. Judging by the look of her, you could tell that she was out of shelter system and onto the streets. There is a definitive look about someone who is on the street and knows how to handle that brutal life, and someone who doesn't. Jane was the latter.

Well, last night and this morning, Jane was her usual cranky self, but without the outbursts. My guess is that she got back on her meds. Even her appearance was different. Plus, she was more talkative with the other guests. She even approached me about a problem with the ladies' bathroom. I tensed up a bit knowing that whatever my response was could make or break her behavior. Thankfully, it was fine.

I was glad to see her go, but it left mixed feelings inside of me. Why would the pickup station put her on the bus when they were told that she was banned? Perhaps it was the passage of time that made them forget. But still. While my gut says I don't want her there anymore, my rational mind says that it's necessary to understand the plight of mentally disabled persons. Last night, things went off without a hitch. But that was only one night. Not to mention that I was on my toes all night about her presence there and that keeps me from doing my job properly. Who can predict that Jane won't ever act up again? My fear is that she will start up on someone else, someone who is new at shelter duty. What if it's worse and Jane hurts someone? I made the decision. I went with my gut. I am going to voice my concerns to the shelter coordinator and have her banned again. In the long run, it's for the best.

I simply must put my safety first.

*Names changed to protect the insane.

"So It Goes"

On April, 11, the nation lost a great author – Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

"So it goes"

I remember back in 2000, when Vonnegut’s Manhattan brownstone burned. I had returned to work after a weekend of visiting my father, where the news of the fire prompted him to recall his friendship with Vonnegut’s nephew, Kurt “Tiger” Adams. As I walked by the temporary receptionist's desk, she put down the newspaper and said aloud, “I used to be Kurt Vonnegut’s assistant”.

Small world. Weird coincidence.

Now, back to my father. In his youth, he had the occasion of meeting the author several times, even staying at his home in Barnstable, Massachusetts. Vonnegut had taken custody of his sister’s three children, who had become parentless through a set of tragedies. Tiger was one of those children whom my father was friends with. He also recounted the time when he was visiting their home, and the police arrived at the house for Vonnegut’s son Mark, who was evading the draft. My father also got to know Vonnegut’s daughter Edie, who later married Geraldo Rivera.

One of my favorite Vonnegut stories is "Harrison Bergeron", although Slaughterhouse-Five will always remain a classic favorite.

Guilty Pleasure # 68

Europe on an alphabet.

http://www.onanalphabet.com/

I love this site. Victoria Shephard travelled to 26 European cities, from A to Z (or Zed - she's a Brit!).

Her goal is to travel the world on an alphabet, but unfortunately, there are only 25 she can visit. There are no countries that begin with the letter "X".

I Always Feel Like, Somebody's Watching Me

An entry in Gothamist reported of the increase in private detectives hired by landlords to seek out illegal sub-letters. This got me thinking about my current living arrangement.

For those who don’t live in the area, to have a rent controlled or stabilized apartment is like hitting the real estate jackpot. I can’t really breakdown the nuisances of rent control and how it got that way, but what I do know is that those who have it are seriously envied. To put it in laymen’s terms - Let’s say you just acquired a rent controlled apartment for $1000 a month. For as long as you live in that dwelling, that is all you will ever pay each month. Sure, there are some exceptions (income restrictions and non-repair work), but that’s pretty much the gist of it.

Fortunately, or unfortunately (however you want to look at it), after the rent-controlled tenant decides to vacate the premises, the rules allow the landlord to raise the rent to the full “market rate”. I put market rate in quotes because that amount is totally subjective. Naturally, this has created a business of seeking out those tenants who are illegally subletting their apartments in order to throw them out and raise the rents. Although this is not news to me, it’s certainly surprising the lengths some will go to in order to kick someone to the curb.

While I sympathize with landlords, after all, this is the city of tenant’s rights; I have to admit I’ve become hardened through my experiences both directly and indirectly with them.

I recall my shock and slight jealous disdain years ago upon learning that a co-worker and his family were living in a four bedroom apartment in Little Italy and paying only $400 a month in rent. When I expressed such outrage (most likely done out of apartment envy), he bluntly explained that no one wanted to live in Little Italy several years ago when it was one big shit hole, and now that it’s fashionable, why is it not okay to have these types of rents for those who stuck it out through the difficult times? His comment really sat with me.

I see the gentrification of Harlem, especially now that Columbia University has snapped up tons of land in neighborhoods now deemed undesirable. What’s going to happen to the current residents once NoCo (I just know that’s what realtors are going to christen this area!) becomes a hot address? Will the newbie’s to the area paying thousands of dollars going to be so understanding once they find out that the apartment above them occupied by someone for decades is paying a miniscule amount in rent?

There are times when being angry at a tenant’s lucky deal is indeed warranted. I remember back in the day when I was pounding the pavement, Village Voice real estate classifieds in hand, looking at potential roommate situations. This was pre-internet and pre-pre-Craigslist. While looking at one apartment share in Alphabet City, it was brought to my attention by the girl that the tenant below her in the same configured two bedroom apartment was paying only $36.00 a month in rent! You didn’t read that wrong. Can you imagine that? Her cable bill was more than her rent. To me, that is just wrong. How are the owners supposed to pay anything on the maintenance and upkeep of their buildings I ask?

I heard that there were some sleazy tactics done by my landlords in order to get people out of their apartments. One tenant was told that she was illegally subletting because she took over her ex-boyfriend’s place. Actually, she was unknowingly following the law. In the city of New York, if you are living in a dwelling and paying the rent using your name on the check or money order, after a set amount of time, if the landlord doesn’t call you on it, the apartment is considered yours. Some might say that she deserved the false eviction for not looking into and standing up for her rights. But, I think it’s pretty smarmy for them to even approach a tenant in the first place knowing they themselves missed the deadline for taking action.

And then there was the great freeze out of March 2006.

The boiler broke, and according to our landlords, the repairs were going to take “several days”. Well, several days turned into two weeks. All this time we were without heat. By law, we tenants should have been provided some sort of alternative heat, but we weren’t, and the slumlords wouldn’t listen to our complaints. Most people in the building stuck their heads in the sand and quietly complained. Me? Like the Lone Ranger, I took them to housing court. We all knew damn well what they were up to. They wanted us to be sick and tired of the situation and look for an abode elsewhere. What they got were indignant tenants who swore we would never leave, especially after this incident. Because rent-controlled tenants are often prisoners of apartment privilege, deep down, we knew we really couldn’t afford to leave.

I’ve become more of a proponent of rent stabilization laws than rent control in my time here. Rent stabilization is where by law your landlord can increase the rent only about 4% a year. This helps landlords with the upkeep of the building and stops the $36.00 a month tenants. I don’t think it’s fair for one person to have several bedrooms to themselves when there are people in the streets who desperately need homes. Also, there are building wars because controlled tenants have more rights than non-controlled tenants.

There has to be a happy medium somewhere, and stabilization, seems like a better answer. To the non-controlled tenants paying heaps of rent, I do understand their plight, but aren’t you taking out your frustrations on the wrong people? Is a crumbling tenement apartment worth some of the extravagant rents you see out there that landlords demand? No. However, my landlord just found a loophole that got my apartment off of rent control and onto stabilization, yet I’m angry about it. I don’t think my apartment qualifies for de-control. But that is simply my opinion and not the opinion of someone who desperately needs a home.

To quote perfectly from a great article on controlled tenants who get too big for their britches (“Rent Asunder”), “I'm the first to admit that it's totally unfair, but I would be crushed if I lost it. I wouldn't live the life I do without it”.

That is so true.

I Don’t Mind The Swim, But The Roundabouts Are A Problem!

1. Go to Google
2. Click on "maps"
3. Click on "get directions"
4. Type New York in the first box (the "from" box)
5. Type London in the second box (the "to" box) & hit "get directions" on the same line
6. Scroll down to step #23

Hair Did For $7.49? Priceless.

On Good Friday, I decided celebrate the commemoration of the passing of our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ, by getting my hair done for the weekend. Since time was of the essence, I didn't want to bother with primping the whole time. Plus, it was to be a family filled weekend, so I knew that cameras might be out in full force. I didn't want any more bad hair days committed to photographic posterity.

Since I am unusually cheap, and was in need of a scrub down, I decided to head down to the Creative Beauty School. Yep. You read that correctly, Gramercy sashayed her little old self into a beauty school for a shampoo, wash and blowout. Ain't no shame, baby. Ain't. No. Shame.

The cost for this treat? $5.95. With a conditioning wash? A total of $7.49. Can you believe it!?

Now for those who don't indulge, the average cost for such a process is usually (depending on hair length) between 20 and 40 US dollars. Because of this, it's considered by me to be only for special occasions.

Now, back to the beauty school. The funny thing was that they dispense the conditioner out like rations into little scoops. You know, like the scoops that come in Country Time Lemonade mix, or something like that. I thought it weird, but maybe there had been some huge conditioning scandal way back when, which necessitated this strict policy.

Anywho. Since you have an actual live learning person working on you, the process can take a bit longer than usual. That's okay, I had the time. I was told by my student stylist that it was finally fun to work on a younger person. Huh? I looked around and noticed what she meant. The median age of their customer base had to be a 65 year old who needed a blue tint and roller set. Youza!

Looking around, I saw that the decor hadn't changed much since back in the day when I was a poor student in need of cheap hair cuts. Well, after an incident with a student, whom I discovered afterwards had been nicknamed "Edward Scissorhands" by her beauty classmates, I never set foot in that place again. Fast forward to now. Since I needed something that didn't involve chemical altering or sharp instruments, I was much more comfortable.

Once she finished, and I saw that she did a terrific job, I walked out knowing I had just got the deal of the century. I ended up tipping her almost 100% of the cost of blowout.

Just as the Creative brochure promised me, "Dreams Do Come True. It Can Happen To You!"

Oh Yeah. They most certainly do.

A Triscuit, A Trasket

Have you tried the new Triscuits Thin Crisps? If you haven’t, then run, run, run; don't walk, right out and buy some. And while you're at it, pick me up another box. I'm just about out. These are so good! Takes a bit of the guilt out of my naughty night time grazing ritual. I normally buy the reduced fat brand, but these are even lower in fat. On the plus side, you can eat more per serving. It still has a lot of salt though, which doesn’t bother me.

Compared to the original Triscuits, these are downright nutritious, and they can be found almost anywhere.

Serving size 15 crackers (30g)
Calories 130
Calories from Fat 45
Total Fat 5g
Saturated Fat 1g
Trans Fat 0g

Whole Wheat, Soybean Oil, Salt, Monoglycerides (I've never seen so few ingredients in a Kraft food product in my lifetime)

The back of the box even has a coupon for Athenos brand hummus. Imagine that. Hummus has gone all national and soccer mom-ish and stuff!

The 10 Best of Everything

First off. Can I tell you how much I just love the library? There's not more than two weeks that go by where I'm either on the NYPL website or inside one of their branches. If I didn't have access to such an excellent library system, I would have to seek out a storage garage for all the books I would then have to acquire that peak my varied interests. Another plus about the library is that you don't have to make too much of a commitment to books. You can simply take out what looks good and not worry if it turns out to be crap. It's completely guiltless and your money stays in the bank.

Whilst perusing the shelves of said library, I came across a neat book called, The 10 Best of Everything: An Ultimate Guide for Travelers. I wouldn't go so far to declare this a travel book. It's more like a best of everything, if you happen to be traveling. Otherwise, the armchair travelers can certainly get enjoyment out of it as well. A lot of the foods and products are available online, so no worries about feeling left out. Besides, some things really have nothing to do whatsoever with travel.

The chapter entitled "The Ten Best Products", gives shout-outs to brand names that almost anyone with some dosh (or not) can acquire. There's no reason to fly to Switzerland to purchase a TAG Heuer watch. As for landmarks, I'm just going to assume that everyone reading this lives within driving distance of at least one landmark or important site.

I mean, come on! They have Starbucks on the best coffee list. Starbucks! I think you get what I mean.

It's just a nice glossy and fun book full of eye candy.

Actually, I Quite Prefer Limey Town

So the Brits and their American counterparts are coming out in support of renaming the block of Greenwich Avenue between 12th and 13th streets "Little Britain". This little enclave in the West Village celebrates all things British.

Stores and businesses in the West Village have banded together to get their neighborhood around Greenwich Ave. officially renamed "Little Britain" - putting it in the same category as other famous ethnic enclaves such as Chinatown, Little Italy and Spanish Harlem.

Now wait a minute. Hardly a "ghetto" in its more correct term, especially since there is already criticism and charges of conduct unbecoming on our own shores, and it doesn't involve taxation without representation (that's just so 1776).

While I think the idea is brilliant, I hope that the many people behind it realize that there can be no comparison to these other neighborhoods mentioned in the article. If that is the intent, it would be quite insulting to compare British expats to the other immigrants who have settled here. The West Village is not and will never be comparable to the trials an tribulations of the immigrant communities of say Jackson Heights or East Harlem. There are no British people fleeing war, poverty or starvation. British immigration to the Americas is strictly financial and/or artistic in nature.

Since I am a halvsie, I had already considered this area to be Little Britain, or "The Ghetto" as I lovingly call it. And I giggle a bit because it reminds me of the show of the same name. I do have reservations only because I want it to remain my own little secret.

So, anytime you need your fill of anglophilia, you can just head over to the West Village and stock up on fresh pies, Bird's custard and Ribena all at Myers of Keswick. Head over to Tea and Sympathy for Sunday roast or afternoon tea, and go next door to the chippie for some faboo greasy fish n' chips.

And Bob's your uncle!!

Walking Art

Yesterday, while going about my day, I stopped off at a street art vendor in Union Square Park whose work I greatly admire. I had been to this guy's table before and got to talking with him. Come to find out, he also has a website called, Walking Art (make sure to allow pop-ups). Looking at the site, you can get an idea of his technique.

Flipping through his work, I became so taken with a print, I couldn't stop thinking about it. You see, I lived in this city all through 9/11. I heard the first plane, I saw the buildings come down with my own eyes. I remember the absolute sheer horror of that day, and the depressing aftermath that followed. Some time afterwards, I began to look for art which would represent the Twin Towers, but I never found what I wanted. Also, it didn't matter how long it took in order to locate exactly I wanted. I kept a strict list of criteria:

* It could only be one defining piece of art. No shrines.
* Nothing large or that dominates its surroundings.
* No typical shots.
* Something personal, which spoke directly to me. Something I could look at and remember not only the towers, but what the city was like prior to the attacks.

Several years later, in this artist, I finally found what I was looking for.

The print is somewhat similar to this one. Not only does it show a view of the whole church, but it's been manipulated and the negative purposely damaged to create a certain effect.


This was St. Nicholas Church. A Greek Orthodox church, it used to stand right there in the shadow of the Twin Towers. You see, prior to these buildings, stood a once thriving neighborhood. It's pretty hard for a lot of people to imagine that a neighborhood was torn down in the 1970's in order to create the World Financial Center. St. Nicholas was one of the last survivors of that era. Look at the photo to the right. The church has a parking lot around it. That's how much it had survived. It just stood there while others built around it. On that horrible day, Tower Two collapsed right on top of it. The church now ceases to exist.

I thought the juxtaposition of religion and commerce, combined with a mixed of old and new was stunning. Not to mention the power of resurrection in the face of both the church and the towers (both are going to rebuild). Remembering this church is like recalling an old friend. I always thought the World Financial Center was a bit dull. The church however in its beauty and simplicity, always made me chuckle a bit, knowing it was sticking out like a sore thumb in order to prove a point...That it survived.