leaden jars
Failure is often the only option, in today’s post.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One has been on a holy tear of late on the real estate development and gentrification situation here in Western Queens. I’ve been pissing off a bunch of people I know in government by doing so, and have received the usual “who do you think you are?” accusations and chides. My standard response is “I’m a citizen, and how dare you act like some sort of landed gentry towards me when ultimately all you’ve got is a government job.” It was common sense when I was growing up that taking a government job (as opposed to working for a corporation) was all about the security and pension benefits. What you didn’t get in terms of annual salary today, you’d get back in the long term during retirement. In my neighborhood – DSNY was considered a good career bet, as well as becoming a teacher, as they had the strongest Unions with the best “bennys.” My pal “Special Ed”‘s dad told us all that we should seriously consider becoming court bailiffs.
Of course, that’s my “working class” outlook at work, and back then the gub’mint wasn’t the pathway one took in pursuance of eventually securing a high paid corporate consultancy job.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Something happened during the Bloomberg era, however. “Gubmint” jobs suddenly accrued a new status and the suits from corporate America began to talk about “service.” They took the pay cut, accepted a position at this agency or that, and began applying the rules of business to government policy. Now, don’t get me wrong, these are pretty clever folks and the amount of brain (and Rolodex) power they brought with them to lower Manhattan is impressive. Problem being, they have an inherently profit based modus operandi due to their experiences in the “real world.” The “Gubmint” ain’t supposed to turn a profit.
Thing is, most of these “Gubmint” people aren’t from “here,” and they seem to regard New York City with a thinly veiled disgust.
For example – remember when Dan Doctoroff described the Sunnyside Yards as “a scar” he saw from his office window in Manhattan a couple of years ago? Mr. Doctoroff was born in Newark, but grew up in Birmingham, Michigan and then attended Harvard University. A suburb of Detroit, the demographics of Birmingham are 96% Caucasian (according to the 2000 census), and a mere 1.6% of the population of Birmingham lives below the poverty line. The median income for a household in that city in 2000 was $80,861, and the median income for a family was $110,627. Not exactly East New York, or the South Bronx, or Astoria. Mr. Doctoroff is famously Michael Bloomberg’s right hand man and the fellow who ran Bloomberg LLC while his boss was Mayor, and is accordingly quite affluent. He’s the very definition of the “one percent” and a leading member of the “elite.” I don’t imagine Mr. Doctoroff goes fishing in his penny jar for bagel money when it’s the Thursday before payday, has never had to “borrow from Peter to pay Paul,” or lived in financial fear that the City DOB might impoverish him with an unexpected order to repair or replace his concrete sidewalk.
In other words, what in hell does Dan Doctoroff know about life in working class Queens?
Doctoroff and his cohorts created the term “affordable housing” which the current Mayor has made his own. The question often asked is “affordable by who”? The Citizens Budget Commission boiled that down in this post from last year. The upshot of it is that in order to create this so called “affordable” apartment stock, which is unaffordable to the low income people it’s meant to serve, the rent on “market” rate apartments actually has to go up to cover the cost. This redistribution of wealth hits the middle and working class on two fronts – higher monthly rents, and the application of their tax dollars to subsidize the real estate development which reluctantly includes the so called “affordable” units.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Personal experience from having actually grown up in NYC suggests that whomever the politicians and planners set out to “help” end up getting hurt.
Having grown up in what would be considered a “low income” family under modern terms, we members of the Waxman clan migrated to the outer edges of the City (Brooklyn’s Canarsie section) where housing was found that we could afford. That’s where relative affluence and dire poverty comingled, and created a culture. This was possible due to a preexisting infrastructure of subways and highways that allowed egress to and from the commercial center in Manhattan, but there were still plenty of jobs to be had locally. Manufacturing, commercial, shops. If you played your cards right, you could earn a living and never once have to go into the City. That’s changed, and the ongoing loss of this manufacturing and commercial side of the working class economy is excaberated by this affordable housing craze which perceives any large footprint lot as being a potential development site.
If a building went up in the 1970’s or 80’s, which included low income housing, that had a separate entrance or “poor door” there would have been bloody riots.
The reason for that is the City planners and “Gubmint” officialdom were mostly native New Yorkers who lived in and were loyal to the neighborhoods they oversaw, and who understood that “it’s not all about Manhattan.” Doctoroff and his acolytes see the City as the solution and not the problem. The looming infrastructure crisis this rapid development is causing will impoverish the City. A century ago, when the newly consolidated City of Greater New York was being similarly developed – the politicians built the subways and sewers first, then they sold off or awarded the adjoining properties at bargain prices to their cronies like Cord Meyer and Fred Trump.
The infrastructure investments made between 1898 and 1940 allowed NYC to grow beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Unfortunately, these days we are doing the opposite, and allowing the buildings to be erected first. The bill for all of the municipal machinery will come after the population loading is finished.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
wholly beneath
Detestation of the water lizard, in today’s post.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
“There’s so many of us” is a choral from a song by the LA Punk band Fear, specifically their “Lets Have a War” anthem.
One is reminded of this ditty continually, and as I often find myself chiding narrowly focused members of the municipal governing class during meetings concerning the Newtown Creek situation – and effect upon the waterway of ongoing population loading of North Brooklyn and Western Queens – you have to think holistically about the “system.” The old adage about a Butterfly fluttering its wings in Borneo triggering a series of random atmospheric reactions which eventually result in an Atlantic hurricane often seems to apply. What’s one more truck? C’mon, it’s one truck…
What apocalyptic effect is just one more apartment house going up in Hunters Point, or Flushing for that matter, going to have? Who cares? That’s Corona, don’t you live in Astoria? Worry about yourself. Mind your own business.
That’s what people say, and I respond “think holistically.” That truck has to cross a bridge and drive down local streets, then it has to reverse out. Every truck trip is two truck trips, and it doesn’t just go through Greenpoint – but Bushwick and or Maspeth too. Maybe even Astoria, if it’s headed for the bridge.
The political districts of Western Queens and North Brooklyn serve to carve up the real estate development scenario and make things seem like the rising residential towers are individual examples of a series of an isolated and unconnected series of projects – not some vast littoral construction site that stretches out for a few miles – along the east river and between the Queensboro and Williamsburg bridges. It’s exciting to see the future taking shape, I guess, in the same way that a kitchen fire is exciting.
There is meant to be no cumulative relationship whatsoever between the Greenpoint Landing and Hunters Point South developments, which are separated by the Newtown Creek and connected via the G line subway. The 7 line crowding in Queens is (politically speaking) a Jimmy Van Bramer issue, the impending L line shutdown in Brooklyn a Steve Levin problem. When the L shuts down, MTA will be adding an additional car to the G and they plan on directing the L passengers to Court Square – where they’ll transfer to the 7.
Then they’re both going to have the same problem, the first of many such issues which the interconnected mega development of the east river coastline of Long Island is going to present.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The reason I haunt the transit corridors is precisely because that’s where you can discern the size and scope of the enormous build out that’s occurring across the boroughs and Queens in particular.
If you ride the 7, you are well aware that the entire transit corridor is booming with new construction, from its eastern terminus in Flushing right through Roosevelt, Corona, Jackson Heights, Woodside, Sunnsyide, and LIC, to its western terminus in Manhattan at the “Hudson Yards” megaproject. The so called “international express” is packed to the gills with commuters the whole way, even late at night. The City’s answer to mass transit congestion has been the creation of bike lanes. Bike lanes aren’t a bad idea by any means, but they don’t address the issues of how people will “get there from here,” and they leave an awful lot of older and disabled people behind.
You have to think holistically about the route of the 7, and the municipal needs of the people who are intended to inhabit all of these newly minted “deluxe apartments in the sky.”
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Holistic, as in totality, informs and instructs. Despite the tens of thousands of new neighbors – and to my knowledge – there are no new fire houses, hospitals, or police stations being planned or built along the corridor and route of the 7. We’re getting every last dollar out of the Bowery Bay sewer plant in Astoria, going strong since 1939, but there isn’t a new one in the works to handle the tens of thousands of new toilets being installed in Queens. Neither the Cops, nor DSNY, seem to be staffing up either.
In many ways, we could really benefit from the advice and talents of the late Robert Moses at this stage of the game. Moses thought holistically, and no matter what he built – there was a park attached to it. Did you know that the difference between expressways and parkways is that the latter has wooded shoulders that count as “parks”? That’s one of Moses’s, who was some kind of evil genius. If Superman was real and lived in NYC instead of Metropolis, Moses would have likely been his Lex Luthor.
Or we can extend the bike lanes into the subway stations, as “There’s so many of us.”
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
philosophic resignation
Happy Halloween, y’all.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
This year, I didn’t carve a pumpkin. That’s a Jack O’ Lemon above.
Before I delve into the folderol, as mentioned last week – I’m going to be in front of Doyle’s Corner Bar on the corner of Broadway and 42nd street here in Astoria after three tomorrow if you’re in the neighborhood. I’ll be taking pix of the Halloween costumes, and if you want to get yourself photographed, that’s where I’ll be. I’m planning on staying there through the evening, until I get drunk or cold.
So, the Halloween post is here, and despite my best efforts I couldn’t find a new ghost story this time around, so it was decided to explore some genuine NYC mythology. Remember when you were a kid and went trick or treating? Remember that Mom had to “check” your loot before you could dive into it?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
In my neighborhood back in Brooklyn, the suspicion was that a “crazy lady” was sticking pins into the candy bars. There’s also a variant of the “crazy lady” story that involved ground glass, or straight up rat poison. The tainted candy mythology isn’t limited to the big city, either.
As is the case with all things “urban myth” related, a visit to snopes.com is recommended.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The “common sense,” as presented by my mother, thing to do was to avoid anything that wasn’t commercially packaged that had found its way into my Halloween bag. You didn’t want to take any loose candy as they were likely illegal drugs, for instance. This sort of giveaway, by the way, is nothing that any drug dealer I’ve ever met indulged in. They generally don’t give things away for free. Drug dealers are pure capitalists.
A giant red flag was always a piece of fruit, which the crazy old lady would have adulterated.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
You didn’t want to run into a razor blade secreted inside of a crunchy Apple, for instance. There’s an adult version of this razor blade story that the Viet Nam Vet guys used to tell us about enemy prostitutes, but that’s kind of a racy story, and the instant reaction of every male teenager whom they told their tale to was an instinctive and protective grabbing of the crotch.
The Viet Nam guys always liked to mess with people, btw. My buddy Frank the postman used to start stories with “don’t make me talk about Nam…” at which point we would heartily tell him not to, and then he’d launch into one gory tale or another designed to make every one of his listeners squirm. Frank would laugh, and laugh.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
In addition to the Jack O’ Lemon at the top of the post, I also carved a Jack O’ Range.
Happy Halloween, back tomorrow, and remember to let your Mom check your candy. Lots of crazy old ladies out there.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
subterrene horrors
Wrapping up “manic week,” in today’s post.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
So, last week we handled “depressive” and this week did “manic” with a bit of compulsion, obsession, and a whole pile of disordered thoughts thrown in. Thanks for indulging me, but as mentioned recently – I’ve really needed a vacation from the tyranny of the now (and then). Next week we get back to a couple of historical matters, and there will be a few nice dishes served to you should my current plans for the week all work out.
I’ve decided that there is going to be one more tour in 2016, incidentally. A grueling endurance march, the all day Creekathon will be scheduled and announced next week. Not quite sure how I’m going to structure it yet, and the specifics involving date, time, and organizational steward are still being worked out. Actually, walking the entirety of the Newtown Creek and visiting all the nooks and crannies of LIC, Maspeth, Bushwick, and Greenpoint?
Now that’s manic, yo. I’ll fill y’all in when all the details have been concantenized and so on.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
If you’re in Astoria on Halloween, specifically the Broadway or southern side of the ancient village, and you’d like me to photograph you – in your costume of course – come on by Doyle’s Corner Bar on the intersection of 42nd street and Broadway. I’ll be there by about three in the afternoon and plan on sitting at an outside table while shooting the amazing sidewalk parade of costumes that’s passing by until I get cold (or drunk), which has become something of a Halloween tradition here at Newtown Pentacle HQ. I’ll be the strange old man in a filthy black raincoat who’s waving a camera at strangers while drinking.
Astoria Halloween costume all-stars get featured in a post at this, your Newtown Pentacle, so…
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One is still looking for a Day of the Dead dealie to attend on the 1st. I’ll also take an All Saints Day thingamabob if it’s all I can get, so if you’ve got one or the other… let me know.
Additionally, if anybody is experiencing a haunting or is possessed and you want to tell your story here at the Newtown Pentacle for Halloween, shoot an email to me at newtownpentacle@yahoo.com or just DM me at the Twitter address below.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
loathsome laughing
Anxiety is my anti-drug, as is malingering.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Ever drink too much coffee? Caffeine-induced anxiety disorder is a subclass of the DSM-5 diagnosis of substance/medication-induced anxiety disorder (DSM-5 is the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition, which is the bible of mental health providers in the United States, and our associates). It manifests in the form of panic attacks and generalized anxiety. Caffeine will be absorbed almost entirely into the blood stream in about forty five minutes, and it has a half life of two and a half to four and half hours in normal adults. It generally makes people somewhat antagonistic, which explains a lot about the morning rush hour, by my reckoning.
It’s a vasoconstrictor, which is why it wakes people up and also causes them to poop. If you drink enough coffee, you can develop a cardiac arrhythmia, insomnia, and experience mood fluctuations. If you’re on medications like Xanax, or have anti-anxiety prescriptions for drugs such as benzodiazepines, caffeine can chemically interact with them in bad ways.
I’ve always been positively paranoid about cell necrosis and cytotoxicity, as a note.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Full of shame, living in squalor, hoarding animals, and generally feeling apathetic about the whole shebang? You might suffer from Diogenes syndrome, therefore. Named for a minimalist Greek scholar who lived in a jar and masturbated in public, it’s also known as “senior squalor syndrome.” Diogenes was a cynic, which also used to be a “thing,” but I’m not sure how the masturbation figured into things. Yuck.
The world is a scary place, so much so that some people suffer from Encopresis – a psychological and physical condition wherein you hold onto your poop until the inevitable occurs and you need a new pair of pants. A common remedy for being in an excited state would be to pour out an alcoholic drink and “get a hold of yourself,” but then you’re dancing with Korsakoff’s syndrome as well. Even a waking life lived poorly is preferable to those unavoidable spells which come upon me wherein I pass out and hallucinate.
I like to read the DSM-5 at the witching hour, around three o’clock in the morning, whilst standing wet and naked with my feet immersed in a tub of iced salt water, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror. Sometimes, I’ll quaff a glass of boiling hot gin while doing so. You gotta do what you gotta do.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Often, one wonders if he is lost in some Oneirophrenic trance, but I’ve never abused Ibogaine, at least to my knowledge. As mentioned earlier in the week, two gentlemen of the street were having a conversation about some blood drinking reptilian specie whom the Bush family are a part of which I overheard – which made me wonder if perhaps the DEP is adding Ibogaine in the water, and we’re all just collectively dreaming all of this distopia of ours. What is real? Personally, I’ve never been much for the screaming type of madness, as I’m more of a whimperer, but I have been pricing out “the end is nigh” sandwich boards. So far, Amazon has the best price, but I’m trying to spend money locally and support the small businesses of Queens rather than national retailers.
Back to my tub of ice water and the glass of scalding hot gin…
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
