The Newtown Pentacle

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Ask anyone who lives here and they’ll tell you- Astoria Queens rules.

It’s one of the last places in New York City that actually still looks like New York City, and people who live here are generally idiosyncratic and gregarious types who enjoy life’s simpler pleasures wholeheartedly. The ancient village has its problems- of course, too much traffic, a disturbing amount of public inebriation, and when “it hits the fan” around here- things quickly tend to get messy.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Our streets seem to be collapsing, our sewers back up routinely, everything costs too much, and the new neighbors are noisy. The kids have no respect for the older folks, and litter in a casual manner. The deli guys let bums drink in the back yards of their storefronts, and the social contract which dictates that one should find an appropriate commode for the elimination of bodily wastes seems to have been forgotten. We still haven’t forgotten about the “Great Astoria Blackout of 2006″ or the week we spent in the dark while a proverbial “Emperor Nero” fiddled away in City Hall and claimed nothing was wrong.

City services are applied haphazardly (at best) here, except in the case of handing out fines to homeowners and businesses- something handled by the authorities in a fashion best described by the aphorism of “Russian Efficiency”.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

A background hum- caused by highways and rail yards and millions of air conditioners, automobile engines, and oscillating fan blades- colors the air. There is always some sort of yelling, invariably in some foreign tongue, within earshot. Alternatively- kids are playing and squealing with delight, old ladies shuck beans on their stoops, and old men gather in loose groups to complain about the Mets and Rangers or brag about their grandkids.

Everywhere, one might find sidewalk cafes and tavernas glistening with vibrant crowds.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Indecent development by the real estate industrial complex crowds in on the older building stock, disillusioning long time residents and inflaming the passions of preservationists, but what are you going to do about it? People have a right to do what they want with their own property, and the Astoria way is to mind your own business, unless something directly affects you. The interesting thing about Astoria, as well, is that the whole “race thing” isn’t so much of an issue here. The kids in the neighborhood don’t run in ethnic packs like they do in other parts of the city, it’s more a block by block sort of thing. Brazilian, Irish, Italian, Greek, Korean, Egyptian, whatever- they’re all just “one of the boys” from this avenue or that block or those buildings. Doesn’t matter- as they’re all spoiled rotten, don’t know how good they’ve got it, won’t amount to anything, had it too easy, and all the other things that the old ladies say while making a “tsk tsk” sound.

This is what one might see on the streets, what it’s like to actually live here, and this posting is a response to something someone said to me a couple of weeks ago while I was over in the city- the actual quotation was: “Astoria, I love it there, it’s so diverse”.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

What does that mean? Every description I’ve ever heard of Astoria starts with the “diverse” thing, which connotes that the standard for the rest of the world is rigid social segregation along racial and ethnic lines, and that Astoria is some sort of gulag for foreigners who haven’t figured out that they should shop for clothes at JC Penny at the mall on Queens Blvd. and learn to lose the accent. Additionally, on the “diversometer”, do we score higher than Flushing or Ridgewood or Greenpoint?

If one more Manhattanite asks me if I’ve ever been to a) Elias’s Corner, b) the Bohemian Hall, or c) the Museum of the Moving Image- a humble narrator might just go screaming off into the night.

Anyway, Astoria Queens rules.

You got a problem with that?

- photo by Mitch Waxman

I’ve got a boo-boo.

On May 12, your humble narrator conducted a walking tour of Dutch Kills and Newtown Creek which ended at the Newtown Creek Nature Walk in Brooklyn. Having concluded the day’s exertions, the pathway back to benighted Astoria followed the familiar route of crossing the Pulaski Bridge.

At mid span, I noticed a tugboat- the Franklin Reinauer- waiting for the bridge to open, and decided to take advantage of its static position to gather a few shots.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Franklin Reinauer has been featured here in prior postings, and in an attempt to capture a slightly different angle of the vessel (as I’ve taken virtually identical shots of it from this very spot in the past), I decided to climb up on the weird wooden “art thing” which is installed mid span on the bridge.

Happy with the quality of light and the positioning of the ship in my shot, I noticed that the DOT bridge crew had shown up to open the Pulaski and allow the tug access to the Newtown Creek. Desire to get shots of the tug entering the Creek from below infected me and I tucked away my gear and attempted to dismount the “wooden art thing”.

That’s when it happened.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

The injury wasn’t severe enough to preclude me from flying down the stairs and getting the shots I desired, as evinced above and below, but the swelling had already started.

As I was climbing down from the “wooden art thing”, I put my left hand down to steady myself as I descended back to the deck. My left thumb then exceeded its normal course and bent approximately forty five degrees in the wrong direction. While I didn’t hear the cracking sound familiar to anyone who has broken a bone, there was a distinct and rather disturbing “pop” that travelled up my arm.

It immediately began to swell.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

By the time that the shot above was captured, an ugly and redolent bruise was spreading around the joint, and the big muscle at the heel of my hand (where the thumb joins the wrist) had swollen up and it appeared as if I had an apricot growing in the shallow part of my palm. Ibuprofen and an ice pack were applied back at HQ, and the swelling subsided after a day or two. Full range of motion, and normal gripping strength, were confirmed and no doctoring seemed to be required. Today, it is still sore, but on the mend.

This is the tale of my boo-boo.

At least I got my shots.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

This Saturday, for a change, we’re not going to present a “Project Firebox” posting, and will instead talk a little bit about the holiday weekend. What the British (or most of the rest of the world) might call a “bank holiday”, the truth of what the three day weekend represents is lost within the dross usage and little understood idioms of the modern tongue.

The truth of the term is met by merely sounding it out. This is a secular holiday, a “holi” “day”, or holy day.

From a representative democratic point of view and sensibility, this “holiday” is meant to be like Yom Kippur or Good Friday- serious business.

from a November 2009 posting, “Tales of Calvary 2- Veterans Day“, about the antipode of this seasonal holiday- Veteran’s Day (which discusses the monument in some detail)-

The statues here at Calvary’s Soldiers Monument seem to have been the original castings of a much reproduced statuary design. Placed here in 1866, they predate the identical statues found at Green-Wood Cemetery, and exact issuance of the mold has been confirmed in New England, North Carolina, and all over New York State. As early as 1875, fumes from a nearby Ammonia Factory at Newtown Creek were graving pitted marks into them.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

The original intent of the holiday was to honor the dead of the Civil War… well, all wars, supposedly… but they were really talking about the Civil War in 1868 when Memorial Day (then Decoration Day) appeared on the American Calendar. Someday the eleventh of September will replace Labor Day, as the term “Union” will mean little to future generations, and summer will end “officially” in the second week of the ninth month rather than the last of the eighth. Some politician will have assigned it a name by then- “Never Forget Day” or something, I’d wager.

There are some wounds which will never heal, even in the fullness of time.

from wikipedia

Memorial Day is a federal holiday observed annually in the United States on the last Monday of May. Formerly known as Decoration Day, it originated after the American Civil War to commemorate the fallen Union soldiers of the Civil War. (Southern ladies organizations and southern schoolchildren had decorated Confederate graves in Richmond and other cities during the Civil War, but each region had its own date. Most dates were in May.) By the 20th century Memorial Day had been extended to honor all Americans who have died in all wars. Memorial Day is a day of remembering the men and women who died while serving in the United States Armed Forces. As a marker it typically marks the start of the summer vacation season, while Labor Day marks its end.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

The smell of BBQ will rise above Queens and Brooklyn, as always, and the Manhattan people will order take out Chinese and I really couldn’t tell you what will be happening in the Bronx and Staten Island. There will be parades of Veterans, kids will skin their knees playing ball, and many of their Moms and Dads will get way too drunk. Fatty meats and cold drinks will swell many bellies.

All the kids will get sunburns, and go to bed knowing that the freedom of summertime has finally arrived.

Somewhere far away, however, other American kids with rifles in their hands will nervously stare out into the darkness of the desert, or listen intently for movement at mountain passes, and desperately hope that this will be a quiet night. Their BBQ is back at base, and like freedom- home is infinitely far away.

from usmemorialday.org

Memorial Day was officially proclaimed on 5 May 1868 by General John Logan, national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, in his General Order No. 11, and was first observed on 30 May 1868, when flowers were placed on the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery. The first state to officially recognize the holiday was New York in 1873. By 1890 it was recognized by all of the northern states. The South refused to acknowledge the day, honoring their dead on separate days until after World War I (when the holiday changed from honoring just those who died fighting in the Civil War to honoring Americans who died fighting in any war). It is now celebrated in almost every State on the last Monday in May (passed by Congress with the National Holiday Act of 1971 (P.L. 90 – 363) to ensure a three day weekend for Federal holidays), though several southern states have an additional separate day for honoring the Confederate war dead: January 19 in Texas, April 26 in Alabama, Florida, Georgia, and Mississippi; May 10 in South Carolina; and June 3 (Jefferson Davis’ birthday) in Louisiana and Tennessee.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

The Memorial Day holiday was created by those who would implicitly understand the situation of the latter. They suffered the same sort of dysentery, horror, and mission- and also watched friends get cut down by anonymous artillery fire in some faraway land.

By the end of the Civil War, there were no victors, only survivors. These survivors wanted us to learn from their trials, and set an annual date for us to sit and think- long and hard- about how high a price certain things are worth.

The same can be said of the veterans of every mechanized “modern conflict” fought since the advent and introduction of the war machines in the 1860′s.

from nycgo.com

Memorial Day isn’t just an excuse for springtime sales and a three-day weekend—it is, first and foremost, a time to honor those citizens who’ve served the United States in times of war. NYC honors our fallen heroes with parades all over the City. The Little Neck–Douglaston parade in Queens is reputedly the largest of its kind. You can also attend Brooklyn’s Memorial Day Parade (145 years old!), which begins at Third Avenue and 87th Street. In Manhattan, head uptown for a smaller parade in Inwood that begins at Broadway and Dyckman Street. Check the City’s events calendar for a full list of events and start times.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Given that this is also “Fleet Week”, might a humble narrator suggest that if you see a Marine or Sailor at the bar- have the bartender anonymously send over a beer on your tab.

Thanks of a grateful nation, and all that.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Just a short one today, a few unconnected images, and hints of what is to come. For the last couple of days, I’ve been out on the harbor, photographing Op Sail. I’ll have some shots for you to see in a day or two, lords and ladies, as a colossal amount of editing and digital darkroom work is underway here at HQ. Initial passes at the images are quite promising, as I shot the whole shebang from the water and the atmospherics were dramatic, to say the least.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

There’s also a couple of announcements coming shortly regarding walking tours in June, at the Creek and elsewhere, and the Working Harbor Committee “Hidden Harbor” tours are about to kick into gear again so there will lots of fun things to do next month (and beyond). July is shaping up as well, and I hope to be able to offer a Newtown Creek boat tour mid month, but this is still forming up.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

The last week or so is kind of a blur, you see- as I’ve been in four of the five boroughs, five if you count the harbor as the sixth- in the last few days. Must have shot something like three thousand photos since last Thursday, in fact. Sorry for the short post today, will be back tomorrow with something a bit more substantial for you at this, your Newtown Pentacle.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Torment and dread dog my steps, while an inescapable clarion of shame and self doubt provides texture to an otherwise fetid expanse of despair. The person which one pretends to be in the company of others is mere facade, a vainglorious edifice erected solely for the selfish aggrandizement of a fool. In the cold realities and jurisprudence of inquisition, your humble narrator is little more than some assassin of joy, an avatar of meaningless experience, and chronicler of topics best forgotten or swept away.

from wikipedia

Anthropophobia is an extreme, pathological form of shyness and timidity. Being a form of social phobia, it may manifest as fears of blushing or meeting others’ gaze, awkwardness and uneasiness when appearing in society, etc. A specific Japanese cultural form is known as taijin kyofusho.
Anthropophobia can be best defined as the fear of people in crowded situations, but can also go beyond and leave the person uncomfortable when being around just one person. Conditions vary depending on the person. Some cases are mild and can be handled while more serious cases can lead to complete social withdrawal and the exclusive use of written and electronic communication.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Vastly inadequate both personally and physically, the quaking surety of an intangible manifestation of malice lurking at my perceptual threshold is omnipresent, and solipsism rules. Extant paranoia and newfound phobias paint the landscape in thick impasto, with remote possibility and hazardous outcome providing chiaroscuro and contrast. Behind every unopened door or unexamined alley will surely lurk some horrible and quivering menace, perched lewdly on the threshold of sanity.

Truly- who can guess, all there is, that might be buried down there?

from wikipedia

Panphobia (from Greek πᾶν – pan, neuter of “πᾶς” – pas, “all” and φόβος – phobos, “fear”) also called omniphobia, pantophobia, or panophobia, is a phobia known as a “non-specific fear” or “the fear of everything” and is described as “a vague and persistent dread of some unknown evil”.

- photo by Mitch Waxman

Abandoned, bereft, confused, disillusioned, entangled, fragile, grandiose, histrionic, ipovlopsychophobic, jealous, kainophobic, limp, manic, narcissistic, onerous, passive, quadrumanous, repellant, sophistic, trite, unctuous, venal, xanthophobic, yonderly, and zoocytious- this is how your humble narrator spells his “abc’s”.

I’m all ‘effed up.

from wikipedia

In cognitive models of social anxiety disorder, social phobics experience dread over how they will be presented to others. They may be overly self-conscious, pay high self-attention after the activity, or have high performance standards for themselves. According to the social psychology theory of self-presentation, a sufferer attempts to create a well-mannered impression on others but believes he or she is unable to do so. Many times, prior to the potentially anxiety-provoking social situation, sufferers may deliberately go over what could go wrong and how to deal with each unexpected case. After the event, they may have the perception they performed unsatisfactorily. Consequently, they will review anything that may have possibly been abnormal or embarrassing. These thoughts do not just terminate soon after the encounter, but may extend for weeks or longer.