another report
Dinner and a show!
– photo by Mitch Waxman
On Friday nights, my neighborhood friends and I regularly gather for a “pub night,” at a bar which is found at the Times Square of Astoria – 42nd and Broadway. Now, since I’m all knowing, I can tell you a few things about this particular corner but for the purposes of this post – the NYC DEP has a storm sewer under the street here which leads directly to Newtown Creek’s Dutch Kills tributary. That’s important in terms of the totality of things, but what’s also important is that several of the local sanitary water sewer pipes conjoin into a junction at this corner as well.
Apparently, there was a “priority one” repair order sent out to DEP’s maintenance crews, regarding something involving the storm sewer having developed a leak.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Our little pub night gatherings involve sitting outside at the sidewalk cafe tables, and as always I have the camera ready and in my hands even when socializing. As the DEP crew got to work, so did I. Here they are noticing me.
Everyone at my table started waving and I started a chant of “DEP, DEP.”
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Unsung, these municipal heroes seemed to enjoy the respect they were being paid as they got busy.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The notoriously impatient drivers of Astoria, who seem to believe that their cars do not have a gear which allows them to reverse, turned the sidewalk into a vehicle lane for a short while. This stopped after a few minutes and presumptively the DEP crew set out cones at the northern corner of the block of 42nd street that they were working on.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Being the gregarious fellow I’m known for being, I walked across the street and introduced myself. This fellow was busy digging a hole. The head of the operation told me the circumstance of their tasks, which would involve exposing a broken pipe and replacing a section of it.
I congratulated him on the Friday night overtime, wished him luck, and headed back to my gathering across the street as it started raining.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
NYPD was called in, and towed a car which was perilously close to the job. The tow truck reparked this car around the corner on Broadway, and my friends and I were anxious to see the confused driver find their car somewhere else than where they had parked it, but alas…
At this point, everyone at my table started chanting “NYPD, NYPD.”
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Heavier equipment began to show up and set up shop.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
That’s the fellow who was digging the hole, and who was now guiding the operator of the excavator.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
More and more DEP crews kept appearing, carrying supplies and esoteric equipment. From what I could discern, one of them was a mobile welding unit.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
It turned into quite a party, happening across the street from my regularly scheduled Friday night party. Deciding that I couldn’t miss a minute of this, I ordered food and another drink.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The rain really set up in earnest at one point, but I was sitting in a carefully chosen spot under one of the pub’s awnings.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
You really have to hand it to these folks. As much shade as I throw at DEP’s management during Newtown Creek oriented posts and in person at meetings, I have nothing but respect for the folks that do this essential, difficult, and dirty job on behalf of the rest of us.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
A section of pipe was removed, another one welded in, and then the street was closed back up. Sated with food, drink, and a free bit of municipal dinner theater – a humble narrator then headed home to my little dog Zuzu.
You just have to love it. I do.
Upcoming Tours and Events
Friday, August 3rd, 6:30 p.m. – Infrastructure Creek – with Newtown Creek Alliance.
If you want infrastructure, then meet NCA historian Mitch Waxman at the corner of Greenpoint Avenue and Kingsland Avenue in Brooklyn, and in just one a half miles he’ll show you the largest and newest of NYC’s 14 sewer plants, six bridges, a Superfund site, three rail yards with trains moving at street grade, a highway that carries 32 million vehicle trips a year 106 feet over water. The highway feeds into the Queens Midtown Tunnel, and we’ll end it all at the LIC ferry landing where folks are welcome to grab a drink and enjoy watching the sunset at the East River, as it lowers behind the midtown Manhattan skyline.
Tix and more deatils here.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
last cleaning
Utopia, along the East River?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One had an interesting but short chat last night, with the always interesting and sometimes chatty Robert Singleton of Greater Astoria Historic Society, about a piece he had recently written for a magazine about colonial era Maspeth and how he framed his tale around the desires of those long ago and far away colonists seeking “utopia” in the so called “new world.” I haven’t read Bob’s piece yet, but I’m sure it matches up with his normal high standards (Bob is who I publicly call “the acknowledged expert” on the subject of colonial era history in Western Queens). It did spark a few thoughts in my mind though, on the utopian eidolon which drew so many of our ancestors to what would become the United States. For native born 21st century citizens of the United States and Canada, “freedom” is a fairly abstract idea, but to our predecessors who undertook the dangerous journey from Europe to North America it was crystal clear what they were trying to leave behind.
It’s hard to imagine in modernity – the iron grip of the Hapsburgs, the Tsars, the Ottomans, the Popes, even the relatively “liberal” enlightened despots and parliaments of Western Europe – maintained a choke hold on thought, science, business, religion, and dissent in their lands. Especially after the French Revolution, and the appearance of Napoleon the antichrist, these governments maintained networks of domestic spies and employed forces of “Secret Police” to maintain their franchised version of “order and stability” at all costs.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Utopia is what Americans, and New Yorkers in particular, have been chasing since the first Dutchman cut down a few trees in what was once a forest that stretched from coast to coast, to began clearing a spot to build a house. Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness and prosperity? That’s the American Dream, right? The pursuit and concept of “utopia” in the years leading up to the Civil War of the 1860’s eventually morphed into “progress” in the late 19th and entire 20th centuries, and is currently being conceptually framed as the quest for “equity” and “fairness.” Translating that for those of you who aren’t wise to these DEP currents: ‘Murica.
Chasing the utopian ideal in the United States has actually resulted in and spawned a modern day dystopia, with a government that maintains the status quo with a domestic spying network and literal armies of police – both public and secret – who are tasked with maintaining order and stability at all cost. Ironic, isn’t it?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Over the years, I’ve had friends who espouse all sorts of solutions and often radical visions of how to “fix” America. Socialist and Communist leaning folks want to institute a one size fits all approach with a super powerful central authority that dictates behavioral and social norms via the redistribution of private wealth through the “state,” not realizing that at no time in history has this not resulted in the appearance of an “elite” group of administrators and politicians that resemble nothing other than “born to the manor” nobility. Business and militaristic focused people want a system of lassez faire government whose only role is “ensuring the general welfare” and national defense, which historical precedent suggests as resulting in the subjugation of individual liberty and fostering military adventurism and leads to the formation of an elite group as well. Both are extremes, neither results in “utopia.”
What’s the way forward then? What can we do to answer the dreams of our forebears? Do we launch colony rockets into space, hoping some future version of the Pilgrims or Waloons can figure it out? What is Utopia?
As mentioned, a chat with Bob Singleton is often interesting and thought provoking.
Upcoming Tours and Events
Friday, August 3rd, 6:30 p.m. – Infrastructure Creek – with Newtown Creek Alliance.
If you want infrastructure, then meet NCA historian Mitch Waxman at the corner of Greenpoint Avenue and Kingsland Avenue in Brooklyn, and in just one a half miles he’ll show you the largest and newest of NYC’s 14 sewer plants, six bridges, a Superfund site, three rail yards with trains moving at street grade, a highway that carries 32 million vehicle trips a year 106 feet over water. The highway feeds into the Queens Midtown Tunnel, and we’ll end it all at the LIC ferry landing where folks are welcome to grab a drink and enjoy watching the sunset at the East River, as it lowers behind the midtown Manhattan skyline.
Tix and more deatils here.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
poignant sensation
Underground philosophizing, in today’s post.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
A humble narrator does three things, generally, while riding in “the system.” One, I’m trying to get a few decent shots of trains coming and going into the station. Two, I’m usually listening to music of one sort or another on my headphones. Three, I’m struggling with some existential dilemma, which I tend to avoid thinking about when I have better things to do.
Since time spent in “the system” is essentially the exploration of a parabola of mindless intent, I figure you might as well use it to work out some deep seated personal conflict or other bull crap that’s slowing things down when you’re not on the Subway. I’ve been told by MTA employees that train operators (that’s the driver, the conductor is the one mid train who opens and closes the doors) loathe getting photographed, so I make it a point of doing so. One of the many things I plot, plan, and philosophize about are passive aggressive revenge scenarios against fairly unreliable and impersonal government agencies. It keeps me from pondering what sorts of debased life may be hiding in the sweating concrete bunkers just beyond the light puddles created by the station platforms, at any rate.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
In case you’re wondering why today’s post has little to do with what I did last week, it’s because the rain and high humidity basically cancelled out any and all plans that didn’t involve a humble narrator earning a paycheck. My time was essentially spent staring into space and bemoaning the climatological extremes, in between subway trips.
While on the train, I pondered why so many Democrats describe themselves as “progressives,” as they don’t actually seem to know the mean of the word (Robert Moses was a progressive, as in “progress”) and why so many Republicans call themselves “conservatives” since they too seem ignorant of what that term indicates. Progressive is “you need to move, since the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and the many need an eight lane highway instead of your house,” and Conservative is “things are pretty good the way they are, so I’m going to resist anything but incremental change.”
As a note, one thing I don’t wonder about are the incorruptible human remains of Saints. They were embalmed in honey. Honey is basically a time machine. They pull jars of the stuff out of Egyptian tombs that are pretty much edible 5,000 years later. In ancient times, if you received a wound, they’d put honey (liquid gold) in it. Then they’d layer some odiferous powder like Frankincense on top (to defeat the olfactory senses of flying insects), and splatter a resin like Myrrh on top to seal it. The whole affair would get wrapped in clean linen. Y’all don’t need three wise men, you have me.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One spends a pretty good amount of time wondering what the steel dust choked air, combined with the electromagnetic spill over from the energized third rail and the nitre coated concrete walls of the subways, is breeding underground. You’ve got all you need down there to replicate the early conditions for life on Earth – electrical fields, organic molecules, lots of solute choked liquids…
Who can guess, all there is, that might be festering into life down there?
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
always inclusive
Summer Friday odds and ends.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One is always puzzled by this sort of sight, when a piece of heavy construction equipment rolls by on area streets. A buddy of mine in construction once opined that some heavy equipment handlers, who are apparently the construction workers you’ll see who wear brown helmets with a bunch of stickers on them, aren’t allowed to leave the vehicle alone on the job site. They are obliged to use it for transportation from site to site, and even use it if they’re just picking up lunch somewhere. That doesn’t sound right to me, but I only wear a hard hat occasionally and when it’s required for visiting a work site I’m photographing, but the heavy equipment I’m rolling with is a camera.
Still, screw your bike lanes, “I wants me one of dose tings” pictured above. If I couldn’t find parking, I’d be able to dig a hole for it to live in.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Next week promises to be more of the same, weather wise, and my schedule is lightly packed. Perhaps I’ll spend some time down in the sweating concrete bunkers of the MTA and raise the suspicions of bored police officers again by photographing trains. I don’t know, I make things up as I go along. One has to be open to serendipity when you’re staring at the world through a camera’s diopter. One has to go the City a couple of times in the coming week to accomplish a few errands, so I might try to find some time to hit the zoo or a museum while I’m in town.
Been meaning to wander around lower Manhattan at night again anyway.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One of my errands is to get a discounted camera maintenance and sensor cleaning session over at Beards and Hats on Sunday, which will eliminate some pesky dust motes that have resisted all my efforts at removal. You can only discern these occlusions in long exposure and tight aperture shots, which are exactly the direction that my proverbial muse is currently pointing at.
It’s always something.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
positive humour
Can’t we all just get along?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
“History is filled with the sound of silken slippers going downstairs and wooden shoes coming up,” is what Voltaire said, but of course he said it in French and that philosophic author was – in fact – kind of an elitist douche in my opinion. Voltaire was a pen name, the fellow was actually named François-Marie Arouet, and he was the son a royal treasury official and a low ranking noblewoman. Voltaire was a member of the upper class, spending most of his days around money and royalty. He hated the church in particular, and despite his douchiness – was far ahead of his time.
In 1763 he said “It does not require great art, or magnificently trained eloquence, to prove that Christians should tolerate each other. I, however, am going further: I say that we should regard all men as our brothers. What? The Turk my brother? The Chinaman my brother? The Jew? The Siam? Yes, without doubt; are we not all children of the same father and creatures of the same God?”
Funny thing is, whereas Voltaire was offering that little diatribe in the name of enlightening his 18th century chums, a modern day “leftie” would turn red in the face and start lecturing him about defining people by their nationality and in the case of terms like “chinaman,” gender specific pronouns.
Perspective.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
About twenty years ago, I did a historical comic based on the conquest of Aztec Mexico by Hernan Cortez and the nascent Spanish Empire. As is the case to this day, I went to extremes in terms of research. I started with a biased but first hand account by Bernal Diaz, who was one of Cortez’s soldiers and was present for the entire campaign. Then I dove into scholarly MesoAmerican studies literature, and learned everything I could about the Mexica (which is what the Aztecs were actually called), the Triple Alliance of Lake Texcoco, and the predicate religion and culture that their nation emerged from. I learned a few things and got busy with the writing and scribbling pictures.
One of the things I learned during my research for the Cortez comic is that it is impossible to read about the past without modern day political bias filtering in. When I started the comic, I wanted Cortez’s portrayal to be negative and reminiscent of what I would likely do with Mao or Hitler, but the thing is – you had to put yourself in his shoes when writing him – and think about his perspective. It made me understand that nobody ever thinks of themselves as a villain.
Perspective is key.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The Aztec Empire was still forming up when the Spaniards arrived at Vera Cruz in April of 1519, which was coincidentally the date on the Aztec calendar which was prophesied as being the day which an anti-christ analogue would arrive and destroy the world. Cortez was lucky, showing up on the day – and at the time – he was supposed to. He also fit the physical description offered by the Aztec priests, and had miraculous to their eyes technologies at his command. Guns, horses, armor, cannons, galleons. The Aztecs were no slouches. They commanded a million man army that controlled about 50% of modern day Mexico. These Warriors were armed with spear and dart thrower equipped swords called “Atl Atl,” and Aztec missiliers were observed driving obsidian glass darts through the trunks of trees. The Atl Atl, when used in hand to hand combat, was a war club arrayed with obsidian glass razors that could decapitate or disembowel with ease. The Aztecs were conquerors, who had just bloodily assembled an Empire. The Spaniards, on the other hand were the inheritors of the wars of El Cid, and in the case of many of these Conquistadors – their fathers had served with the great general in pushing their own long seated Moorish conquerors out of what became Spain and Portugal. Basically, both sides were – from the modern point of view – bad guys.
Revisionist history often neglects to mention the Tlaxcalans and other tribal nations who threw in with the Spaniards to push their Aztec out of power. Aztec Emperors taxed their subjects heavily, even to the point of demanding children be sent to their capital at Tenochtitlan for use as human sacrifices to Tlaoc, Huitzilopochtli, Xipe Totec, Coatlicue, and a host of other deities. When the Spanish first defeated a numerically superior Aztec army in battle, the Tlaxcalans essentially said “Thank you gods, for sending these men.” Cortez honestly believed, according to all reports and in his own diaries, that he was sent by God itself to stamp out a devil worshipping group of infidels.
Both sides had fathers that wore Voltaire’s wooden shoes, and their kids who did the fighting in Mexico were wearing the silk ones. Both sides were enslavers, and conquerors, motivated by greed and amplification of power over others. If you were to suddenly drop into Caligula’s Rome or Mongol Babylon, accompanied by a fully supplied battalion of modern day United States Marines, what would you do?
Thing is, and I had to translate this situation into a modernist perspective to understand it, Cortez was sort of like a space alien that looks just like Jesus Christ (as described in the New Testament Book Revelations, bloody robes and riding a lamb) who blunderingly lands his flying saucer in front of the Vatican on Easter Sunday. This alien then displays magical technologies, and is coincidentally accompanied by 400 and change of his “angels.” The alien soon realizes that Europe has been caught in a military tournament between the United States and Russia for most of the last century, and that there’s a long standing mythology about a returning Messiah which he can cloak himself in, who then sets about changing and exploiting all that. What the happy Europeans don’t realize, as they see both American and Russian armies crushed, is that the Space Alien is planning on setting himself up as the king of Rome afterwards.
Perspective.
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