Human vs Car

Crossing the street is dangerous. In a densely populated city like New York it's especially dangerous. Everyone's in a hurry and nobody has patience. Pedestrians jay walk, bikers "salmon", cars turn right without looking. Hazards at every corner!

As a recent New York Times article points out, even obeying the traffic laws don't really make you much safer. It's more a matter of luck. I once saw a police car, recklessly speeding, swerve out of control and crash right into the sidewalk corner, destroying some signs and someone's parked bicycle. Luckily no one was standing on that corner at the time, otherwise...

Every day I cross Eighth Avenue at 34th Street. This crossing is a particular mess. The left turn on green from 34th St is dutifully ignored by pedestrians as they risk their lives crossing into oncoming traffic. Even the traffic guard can't stop the mayhem. I've created a series of diagrams below to explain the ritual of dance between man and machine that occurs on this block every day. It's almost beautiful.

#1

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I hope I've captured hilarity properly. I had an earlier post about the terrifying electric bike delivery men. I guess I'm on a road safety kick.

The Crazy World of Arthur Brown

"I am the God of Hell-Fire!!!"

And so says the Godfather of Art-Rock, the Chancellor of Freak-Rock, the Minotaur of Goth-Punk. Arthur Brown's performances were a dangerous spectacle; armed with lighter-fluid induced fire and creepy druid-like costumes. His vocal style would range from the Wicked Witch of the West to the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz. He sang songs about God, the Devil and, of course, Fire. 

Predating Alice Cooper with his make-up and face-paint by a few years, Arthur Brown hit the British underground music-scene in 1967. He was known for wild performances that would sometimes spin out of control. One such instance was in late '67 when he wore a colander on his head soaked in methanol, lighting it on fire. This of course wound up accidentally lighting his whole head on fire, but the singer was saved by audience members dousing him with their beers. After this incident he designed a safer, metal crown that would keep the flames further away from his hair.

The Crazy World of Arthur Brown released their only album in 1968, produced by Pete Townshend of The Who. One of the songs, "Fire", became a hit in the UK (not to be confused with Jimi Hendrix's song of the same name). Check it out below.



Kinda crazy this song became a hit in the '60's. Pretty bad-ass and weird. Arthur Brown was a true iconoclast, and spoke out against religious dogma and conventional society. The song basically states that it doesn't ultimately matter what material possessions we collect over the course of our lives since we're all going to die anyway. Almost a nihilistic view-point. The opening spoken-verse in the song was sampled by Prodigy in the early '90's and was played at all the clubs and raves at the time. For years I never knew of the song that the line was attributed to until it came up one day on college radio. I remember thinking, "Oh! so that's where that comes from."

See 2 more movie samples below. The 1st one is from a really weird party; the type that people apparently threw all the time in 1960's England. The 2nd includes a humorous interview with Arthur Brown. I love when the interviewer asks if he's the God or the Devil, and after some rambling against the church, he simply states, "I see myself as Arthur Brown."

El Potrero Chico 2

A year after my last trip, Jesse and I (this time with our friend Jon) went back to El Potrero Chico; the sport climbing mecca of Mexico. The last time was such an amazing experience we knew we just had to go back. All those bolted limestone cliffs, within easy walking distance from the camp, and so many climbs left to do, the decision to return was an easy one. However, this trip was tempered by sickness, some bad vibes and tragedy (luckily not personal).
On my second day there I caught a bad flu-like cold. For the rest of the trip I was very sick, especially at night when it got really cold in the desert air. I would shiver with the cold sweats, every bone in my body aching, fever running high. I woke up every morning wondering if I should pack it in and go back to New York. But then I'd stick it out during the day and eventually make up for a few moderate climbs in the afternoon sun. However, it was not a good way to be and I didn't get nearly the same amount of climbing in as the year before. My longest climb achieved was the 6-pitch Dope Ninja, and even that one we botched the last pitch because of some confusing beta. 

This lead to some bad vibes. I felt really left out when my friends went on 2 really long day climbs without me. I mean, who could blame them; I didn't expect them to miss out too. But nonetheless I was marginalized to the role of the sick guy who couldn't hack it. Some of the fellow climbers in our camp weren't much help in regards to support either. There were a few all-natural hippie-types who would say it was all in my mind, or that I was too stressed out from city life, or I must have chronic health issues. The fact is, sometimes people get sick. Lay off the conspiracy theories when it comes to the common cold!

Finally, tragedy struck on our last night when a local band was senselessly kidnapped and murdered after performing at a nearby party. Tourists aren't targeted, but northern Mexico is a violent region, terrorized by organized crime and drug cartels. I don't see how it will ever end.

However, I don't want this post to be all bad news. Among the hard times were many good experiences. My friends Jon and Jesse had a really great time and got to do a couple classic climbs. Below are some photos of one of the longest climbs in the valley; the 15 pitch Yankee Clipper.

Preparing for the belay at the base of Yankee Clipper.

Climbing!

 Rappelling off Dope Ninja.

I also did some sketching while I was grounded with the flu. Here are a couple of sketches I made, looking up from below. I labelled them based on the climbing routes on each mountain.

Finally, I met some wonderful people while down there. This one guy, Marco, was setting a new route called Pitch Black. He was up there every day and night, cleaning rocks off the route. Nice guy too. Also, met a couple of really funny guys from Scotland/England. They were such good climbers with a keen sense of humor. Climbing hard but drinking every night! Just being young and bumming around the Americas for an undetermined amount of time. And finally the local people of Hidalgo. Such warm-hearted smiles, giving people a lift into town (this one young guy who picked me up was smoking a joint while listening to The Doors - didn't speak a word of english). When I went to the town's only Pharmacy, the employees were blasting the Macarena and dancing behind the counters.

So goodbye, El Potrero Chico. You challenged me this year. I probably won't be back next year, but maybe someday. Adios!

R.L. Burnside

In 1996 I went downstairs to the Philadelphia Record Exchange to look at the new releases. This was a weekly ritual; I was passionate about music and, although I didn't have much in the way of money at the time, most of my expenses could be attributed to the art form. I saw "A Ass Pocket of Whiskey"; a curious album with Jon Spencer and an old blues man by the name of R.L. Burnside. I had been a fan of Spencer for sometime and trusted his judgement. So without so much as blinking an eye I laid my precious 10 dollar bill down and took the album upstairs where I lived.

The music that leaped from out of the speakers was raw, distorted and beautifully live; as if taped with a handheld microphone on a porch in the south (which, as it turned out, it practically was). I was a fan of Jon Spencer at the time, and had heard blues legends like Robert Johnson, John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters, but nothing had prepared me for this. This gut-wrenching rhythm bleeding out of the speakers, ripping my heart out of my eardrums. I kept the album on heavy rotation for the rest of the year.

Little did I know this was just a bookend to the long life of a Northern Mississippi blues singer that had spent his years in juke joints throughout the south, trying to make ends meet as a sharecropper and, for a time, a factory worker in Chicago. R.L. Burnside was born in Lafayette County, Mississippi in 1926 and picked up guitar in 1948 after hearing the John Lee Hooker single, "Boogie Chillen." In the late 40's and early 50's he lived in a rough section of Chicago, where he lost his father, two brothers and an uncle in the violence of the era. He returned to the south to raise a family, only to be thrown in jail after killing a man during a game of dice. Burnside later said, "I didn't mean to kill nobody...I just meant to shoot the sonofabitch in the head. Him dying was between him and the Lord." Well, just another example for the need of way-overdue gun control!

After enjoying some fame in the '90's from the indie-scene (thanks in part to Fat Possum Records and Matthew Johnson), R.L. passed away in 2005 from heart failure. I just want to feature some examples of his music I found online. The most striking thing about him is his sense of rhythm. All the pieces featured here showcase him as the sole instrumentation; just vocals and guitar. And yet he carries the whole thing by himself. You can hardly keep your feet still, the rhythm is so infectious. Go, R.L., Go!!!

Electric Delivery Bikes

Please allow me to go on a little rant here while I talk about these electric delivery scooters we now see all over our city streets. They're like a virus; menacingly slithering its tentacles across each and every neighborhood, putting us all in imminent danger of being mowed down.

These "bikes" are absolutely silent and they go..FAST. They often drive at night, in the bike lane or even on the sidewalks, never following traffic laws. I've seen them without lights on, going the wrong way on a one-way street, zipping by at 20mph. So dangerous. And, I've heard they're illegal in the state of New York. City politicians have managed to double fines on the owners, and apparently the DOT has even made visits to the restaurants delivery men work for, to make sure they're licensed and trained on traffic laws. But to no avail. I guess the restaurant owners have found it's financially worth the risk of getting fined and even occasionally sued in order to make a fast buck on quick deliveries night after night.

I have had so many run-ins with these damned delivery scooters, almost getting hit by them several times while crossing the street. You can't hear them coming and since they go faster than the average bicycle, you have little time to react. They scare the crap out of me when they come up from behind while I'm riding in the bike lane at night. 

I hate these things but I see them everywhere now. It's definitely a recent phenomena and I'm hoping the laws will eventually catch up with the trend and put a stop to them for good. Until then, watch your back people!

Middlesex

Jeffrey Eugenides' novel, Middlesex, has me perpetually wrapped up in its pages and as each chapter unfolds I become more absorbed and anxious of reaching the inevitable end. I don't want it to end, I love this book.  

Eugenides' uses the gender paradox to explore themes of societal alienation, the battle of free-will versus conformity and, ultimately, the strength of the human spirit. He covers today's common affliction known as the fear of intimacy extremely well. The lead character's disconnected relationship with Julie Kikuchi, which pops up throughout the book, will feel very familiar to the many lovelorn people of the 21st century. A line that really hits home for many is one of my favorites; "I never know what to feel until it's too late."

Here's a passage that occurs during the lead-up to the story's catharsis. I was almost reduced to tears in the middle of the subway car on my commute to work reading this. The "Obscure Object" is referring to the girl who is the subject of our protagonist's affections. Again, the fear of intimacy is inferred due to the fact that this important character doesn't even have a name and is simply referred to as "obscure."

The stretcher was wheeled down the corridor and my arm stretched out towards the Object. I had already left on my voyage. I was sailing across the sea to another country. Now my arm was twenty feet long, thirty, forty, fifty. I lifted my head from the stretcher to gaze at the Object. To gaze at the Obscure Object. For once more she was becoming a mystery to me. What ever happened to her? Where is she now? She stood at the end of the hall, holding my unraveling arm. She looked cold, skinny, out of place, lost. It was almost as if she knew we would never see each other again. The stretcher was picking up speed. My arm was only a thin ribbon now, curling through the air. Finally the inevitable moment came. The Object let go. My hand flew up, free, empty.

Black & White Berlin II

As I mentioned 2 posts ago, I took some photos with my Canon FT QL 35mm while in Berlin. One roll of 400 tri-x pan film. I already posted black and white photography from the trip (mostly architecture) but these came out so much better than the digital ones I think.

Tacheles in Mitte. Former SS headquarters turned artists commune. Due to gentrification the future of this building is unknown.

Sammlung Boros in The Bunker. Built by the Nazis as an air raid shelter, it has concrete walls up to 2 meters thick. It is now a private exhibition space.

Breath-taking examples of modern architecture in Berlin. I believe this building is part of the Gemadlegalerie complex.

Jewish Museum by Daniel Libeskind. This building was one of my obsessions during the architecture school days, so it was great to finally see it in person.

It was such beautiful weather while I was in Berlin in October. Look at that sky.

Sexy gargoyle time in Potsdam.