Posts Tagged ‘Astoria’
delvings into
Adjusting to the frozen realities of our time.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
As a housebound invalid, which is what these frigid temperatures reduce one such as myself to, it has been a bit of trial accepting the simple fact that the burning thermonuclear eye of god itself will never again shine down upon and warm the good land of Queens. One can really get a sense of why the events which would signal the oncoming Viking apocalypse (Ragnarok) were called the “Fimbulvetr” – which translates as “awful, great winter” – after the last couple of weeks. Eschatology notwithstanding, a humble narrator wishes that something – anything – would happen, even an oncoming storm of vengeful Valkyrie, just to break the monotony of the “Frozone.”
– photo by Mitch Waxman
At this stage, it seems that I’ve watched everything which Netflix offers. I can recommend “Lilyhammer” without reservation, and I’ve finally caught up on “Sherlock” and can understand what everyone has been going on about. I’m rereading David McCollugh’s “The Great Bridge” and endeavoring to finally slog through the final chapters of “Gotham” by Mike Wallace and Edwin G. Burrows. Also, planning for this years series of walking tours is underway.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
I’ll be doing an event at Brooklyn Brainery in February, which will be discussed in a post later this week, and preparation for this will occupy a bit of my time, but like my little dog Zuzu – I’m bouncing off the four walls right now. I should have become a slave to Opium at some point in the past, so as to pass through intervals in the frozone in a cloud of nepenthe.
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rattling carts
“Last stop for gas” spake the feckless quisling.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
For some reason, NYC’s Gasoline Filling Stations keep on catching my eye, but I think they’re supposed to do that. Probably, this interest has a lot to do with all the history posts about the Petrochemical industry along Newtown Creek, but it just might be something as simple as the usage of bright primary colors used in their trade dressings as I am simple and foolish. The one above is in Maspeth, at a location which is neither tick or tock but is instead found between them.
from wikipedia
A filling station, fuelling station, garage, gasbar (Canada), gas station (United States and Canada), petrol bunk or petrol pump (India), petrol garage, petrol station (Australia, Hong Kong, Ireland, Malaysia, New Zealand, Singapore, South Africa and United Kingdom), service station (Australia, United Kingdom and United States), or servo (Australia), is a facility which sells fuel and usually lubricants for motor vehicles. The most common fuels sold today are gasoline (gasoline or gas in the U.S. and Canada, typically petrol elsewhere), diesel fuel, and electric energy. Filling stations that sell only electric energy are also known as charging stations.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Worry about imaginary Police reports, ones which describe a suspicious middle aged man that has been taking photos of fuel stations in Queens, have crossed my mind. So much so that the last time I had the ear of my local City Councilman – my paranoid imaginings were mentioned. He promised me that he wouldn’t let them take me to Guantanamo Bay, but couldn’t offer any specific guarantees about Rikers. Either way, the elected fellow promised to ensure that I got extra cookies with my dinner, should I end up in either institution.
from wikipedia
Gasoline /ˈɡæsəliːn/, or petrol /ˈpɛtrəl/, is a transparent, petroleum-derived liquid that is used primarily as a fuel in internal combustion engines. It consists mostly of organic compounds obtained by the fractional distillation of petroleum, enhanced with a variety of additives. Some gasolines also contain ethanol as an alternative fuel. In North America, the term gasoline is often shortened in colloquial usage to gas. Elsewhere petrol is the common name in the United Kingdom, Republic of Ireland, Australia and in most of the other Commonwealth countries.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Most of the pumps I see are the modern kind, dressed with digital payment terminals and all sorts of fancy kit. One suspects that there’s probably more computing power in a modern gas pump than would have been found in a high end desktop pc from just ten years ago. I’ve actually seen the old timey style pumps still at work in certain quaint hamlets in the backwoods of Vermont and Massachusetts as well as standing extant in the vast archaea of Crete.
from wikipedia
The first gasoline pump was invented and sold by Sylvanus F. Bowser in Fort Wayne, Indiana on September 5, 1885. This pump was not used for automobiles, as they had not been invented yet. It was instead used for some kerosene lamps and stoves. He later improved upon the pump by adding safety measures, and also by adding a hose to directly dispense fuel into automobiles.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
cold and cramping
Lurid shimmerings of pale light, that’s what I’m about.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The hours one spends marching about Queens are severely impinged upon by weather during the winter months, a fact injurious to both health and morale. A humble narrator attempts to fill the empty hours productively, but there is little solace for one such as myself in hours spent in the office. Perhaps relocating to a warmer climate is in order? That would mean that New York City had finally beaten me, and that a life long grudge match had been lost.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The various medications which my staff of doctors prescribe to manage those ailments which bedevil and weaken my material form have a certain downside – inducing a particular fragility to my homeostasis when the temperature dips down. Simply said, cold weather such as that which the City is experiencing is actually painful. Vital ichors run away from the extremities, and one begins to experience the sense of being in a long dark tunnel which terminates in a distant but brightly lit aperture. I call that aperture “April.”
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The hard reality of this, I’m only a quadragenarian after all, has made me truly love to see the oil companies delivering the fuel that stokes all the furnaces and boilers. I propose a new secular holiday, one which celebrates the constancy and efforts of the oil truck man, without whom we’d all surely freeze to death. Brr.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
rusty impediments
Your motive is loco, man.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
So few places to go, no one to see. The gray frigidity has me down, lords and ladies, and it is not impossible that over the last few weeks, I’ve watched everything on Netflix- including a couple of episodes of “Power Rangers Jungle Fury.” Playing with the cords on my hoodie, counting the floor tiles, bored. That’s me. Cabin Fever, I think they call it.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Been reading lots of good stuff, including a marathon exploration of the dissimilar topics of leprosy and the genetic consequences of multi generational incest- both of which led to the Hapsburgs. None of this relates one little bit to the history of Newtown Creek nor Queens, which actually has been my intention. Little projects like mine tend to drag you down a long drill hole, and you become so focused that you lose sight of the bigger picture… which somehow includes leprosy and incest.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Its cheerier reading than I normally do during this time of year, when my google searches have historically included “stages of putrefaction of cadaver” and “common practices of yeast distillation in 19th century america.” Hey, a guy gets curious about things. Its better to know something, well… some things… than to remain willfully ignorant about unpleasantries.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
wisely advised
Another year gone and deeper in debt.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Repent! is something which one has always wanted to shout at strangers, whilst wearing a sandwich board that proclaims dire future times and the arrival of an era of tribulation. A declaration of steadfast faith is what that would be, and I don’t really believe in anything except Superman, so my argument for repentance would hardly be convincing unless it involved Braniac. These are all imaginary characters, of course, so my supposition is silly.
Looking out my Astoria apartment’s window on Christmas Eve, this imaginary character was observed moving casually down the avenue towards the subway. Perhaps steadfast faith in not believing in anything is as silly as believing in Father Christmas or Braniac, especially when one of them walks past your house?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The little break enjoyed over the last couple of weeks has been refreshing, if fattening.
Ribald Christmas gatherings and feasts have been attended, and all met have been basted with cheery sentiment and seasonally appropriate call and response exchanges (merry christmas, happy new year, kwazy kwaanza etc.). Fear that my disingenuous lack of holiday spirit was apparent to all manifests in me, but what can one such as myself say to such accusation, other than stating that I do not – in fact – care?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Not too much of interest passed before me, at least that was worth photographing.
This giant pile of blood appeared in my path just last week, across the street from Doughboy Park in Woodside. Could have been a bloody nose, I suppose. Stab, maybe? I’ll get the boys in forensics on it when they’re back next week.
Speaking of Doughboy Park, (I’m talking to you George the Atheist) weren’t they supposed to repaint that day glow green stuff which appeared here last year?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
I have no information on the blood, other than it tasted like Type A and whoever spilled it really needs to cut down on the fried food. The flavor profile was quite salty/fatty, and it smelled like freedom fries, but the stuff had a nice mouth feel to it.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
The Newtown Pentacle 