Posts Tagged ‘New York City’
good test
Friday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
While scuttling home from my beloved Newtown Creek one fine evening, I noticed this industrious fellow doing industrial things in Long Island City. That piece of equipment is called a Bobcat, and I’ve always wanted one – in case of zombies. The Bobcat has a safety cage to protect the operator from construction mishaps, which would prove a fine barrier to the living dead. The scoop currently installed on the Bobcat pictured above can be changed out, and you commonly see a snow plow installed on these units during winter months. Imagine outfitting an industrial meat grinder on the front. That’ll come in handy for Zombie plague COVID OMEGA – the last Covid you’ll ever need.
I always thought Zombie movies were unrealistic. People don’t act like that in a crisis, thought I. One also opined that after the shock of the Zombie plague ameliorated a bit, America would sort that shit out quick using our usual cocktail of explosives and engineering. Imagine it – six or seven Bobcats outfitted with meat grinders moving down Fifth Avenue and behind them FDNY using fire hoses to pulse the gore into the sewers.
Always figured that’s how we’d handle a plague, no matter how grim, in the American way – with guns, industrial engineering, and municipal union labor operating on overtime.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Instead; we got Jewish Space Lasers, Murder Hornets, Nanobots, something about Nancy Pelosi eating babies to stay young, and drinking bleach. Also, Liquor can now be ordered off the internet and delivered to your house.
I had to show my face at a political event last night, and what I noticed is that everybody who works for the Government was tightly masked up, and not once did they pull it down – even during “picture time.” “They know something they’re not telling us and crossing their fingers right now” went through my mind. Despite the fact that I was booster vaxxed, and that the organizers and establishment were literally and conspicuously checking vax status at the door, I did not feel at all comfortable in the room. Split early, after getting in a brief ass kissing session with a term limited “Lord of this World.” If you say a term limited and now retired politician’s name, they return like Voldemort, so I won’t.
I’ve also found out, as I’ve been making my holiday calls to glad hand and commiserate with allies and opponents, that the recent spike in Covid numbers isn’t a myth. Neither are the tales of breakthrough infections.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
On my way to the political “room” where I executed my ass kissing, I walked past my local bar and was informed by a friend that “tonight, it’s the Christmas party, and the owner of the bar was asking where you are.” Now, this particular fellow is the one who had potentially infected me with Covid back in September, which was thankfully a false alarm for all involved but especially him since he’s an anti-vaxx. His version of the conspiracy theory revolves around Bitcoin, Bill Gates, and Biden. He’ll end all of his explanations about the incredibly complex and perfectly actuated plot to attenuate your freedoms by exclaiming “NINE-ELEVEN” at the end of his messaging. Another friend of mine recently opined that Jan. 6th was a Civil Rights March.
I spent the rest of Thursday night wandering around Long Island City’s industrial sections, all by myself.
Bobcats with meat grinders. Trucks with meat grinders. Trucks made of guns, that shoot smaller guns instead of bullets. Guns that shoot pickup trucks out of their barrels. That’s the American way.
Maybe if we started describing the vaccines as ammo? Say that there’s a shortage of vaccine ammo because Nancy Pelosi wants China to dress your kids up for church in girl’s clothing and make them listen to woke comedy so the frogs turn gay? The only way to defeat Pelosi’s agenda is to annoy her by getting ammo’d? Own the libs by getting ammo’d and showing them what snowflakes they are?
I just don’t understand anything anymore.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
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“In the Shadows at Newtown Creek,” an 88 page softcover 8.5×11 magazine format photo book by Mitch Waxman, is now on sale at blurb.com for $30.
oddly corrobative
Tuesday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The routine one currently ascribes to involves a schedule of “one day out, one day in.” What that means is that if I’m out with the camera on Monday, Tuesday is the day I’m at HQ developing whatever I shot and delivering it to the Internet. One opines that internally lubricated parts like the knee or hip joints require regular flexion lest they lose function. Scuttling, always scuttling, that’s me. As a point of interest, the way that this shakes out this week is that tonight I’ll be out and scuttling.
One appears to be little more than a pile of filthy black fabric caught in a stiff breeze to most passerby, but for some reason I’m catching people’s eyes these days and I don’t like that. Some of the humans want to talk with me, whilst others are suspicious of my presence. Unfortunately, there are also those whom have seemingly developed a taste for human meat during the pandemic, and they gaze at me and my possessions hungrily.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Things have become odd out there, in this second winter of Covid. A winnowing of patience, the thinning of empathy, an acceptance of “that’s how things are now” has been arrived at. You can feel “the vibe” if you’re the sensitive type. Personally, I miss the illegal fireworks.
I’ve been observing the sort of things which hint at the continuing unraveling of civil order, encountered malign actors on the deserted streets, and have taken to swiveling my head around more than previously. Blame whatever you want to for this, I don’t care what others say, and I’m sure there’s a political narrative you’ll find comfort in. It’s going to be a real shit show when the Cops start doing their jobs again, which I predict as coinciding with the arrival of a new local political regime in January. It’s likely too late for that to have any real meaning, however, as the Djinn has escaped its bottle.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Pictured above is a frontline of next year’s political bullshit here in Astoria. A mega project offered by the Kaufman Astoria people called “Innovation Queens” is slated to begin paying off local “voices” to sing the song of gentrification. If you want to know what it costs to buy off these voices – it’s about $5,000 a head. You’ll get all the usual characters – the street minister who’s secretly a gangster, the well thought of community leader who’s secretly the secret gangster’s mistress, the odd local business owner who was planning on selling his bar soon anyway. These sort of characters were all in for the LIC rezonings, the BQX, Amazon, etc. – whatever big idea City Hall and the EDC were flacking at the time and writing checks for. That’s why I can tell you what and how much they cost, because that’s what they cost the bosses last time, and the time before that. Five grand isn’t even bagel money for the real estate people.
The Innovation Queens people describe this little industrial zone along Northern Boulevard as “dark, deserted, dangerous.” In actuality, it didn’t used to be, but ever since they started acquiring/emptying/blighting the properties hereabouts…
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
Buy a book!
“In the Shadows at Newtown Creek,” an 88 page softcover 8.5×11 magazine format photo book by Mitch Waxman, is now on sale at blurb.com for $30.
swelled alarmingly
Wednesday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Three in the morning is exactly when Penn Station is at its best, I believe. The adjoining streets are populated by background extras from the movie “Taxi Driver,” and the cops randomly close several of the entrances to the train station because “because.” After stomping around with about 25-30 pounds of gear, and a week’s worth of clothing, one finally found an entrance which I could enter through after stepping over a few unconscious lunatics and an inebriate or two. I had a date with Amtrak, one which would culminate at 3:30 a.m.
The phrase “dystopian shithole” kept on going through my mind, as well as an accounting of the roughly thirty eight cents of every dollar I earn, disappearing into the black hole of New York City and State’s municipal coffers. Tax breaks for Billionaire Real Estate developers are clearly the logical thing to spend my tax money on, rather than a functioning transit system or a functioning social welfare network or a functioning Police force or a functioning anything. If you solve the problems, what are you going to run on in the next election cycle? Priorities.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Late night, they don’t use the sparkly new Moynihan Station for Amtrak, instead they use crappy old Penn Station. The first leg of my travels rendered a humble narrator sleep deprived, but the world doesn’t run on my scheduled comforts. The electronic boards didn’t tell me that the train was boarding, in fact, they didn’t tell me much of anything. An Amtrak employee suddenly materialized and began shouting out the number of the train and its destination. Indications were offered as to which staircase to descend, which led to the tracks below.
Shit. It’s all shit. We pay forty cents on the dollar for shit, and are told we should be lucky we got that. I’m so tired of fighting it at this stage of the game. Why, oh why does everything in NYC just suck?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Descent into the stygian depth of Penn Station found me boarding my appointed train. Settling into the seat was easily accomplished and the train was about half full (see, I’m an optimist). Fatigue would be my traveling companion for much of the next four days, but nevertheless I was quite excited to be finally embarking on this long planned trip around the northeastern United States.
At the beginning of the summer of 2021, an Amtrak rail pass had been purchased, which allowed me thirty travel segments. All told, I ended up using 22 of them over the next week (two of the segments were used on the Burlington trip). I was also traveling solo this time around.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The train began rolling, and I cracked out one shot of the part of Penn Station you don’t get to see. I tried a few shots from the moving train on the other side, but it was just too dark to get anything worth talking about. For the first, and not the last time, on this odyssey – I nodded out and fell asleep.
For those of you who know me, the idea that I fell asleep in public is surprising. It’s surprising for me as well.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The train arrived at its destination at 7 in the morning, where I had planned about a seven hour layover into my schedule. I had lunch plans with an old friend at 12:30, and the interval would be filled with photographic pursuits.
One had roughly planned out an intended path, and given the amount of time allotted to this leg of the journey – needed to work quickly and efficiently to capture some images.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Day one – and Washington D.C., beckoned.
More tomorrow.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
Buy a book!
“In the Shadows at Newtown Creek,” an 88 page softcover 8.5×11 magazine format photo book by Mitch Waxman, is now on sale at blurb.com for $30.
portentous meanings
Wednesday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One found himself at the Maspeth Avenue Plank Road site recently, attending and photographing a Newtown Creek Alliance cleanup event that occurred on a lovely Saturday afternoon. One of the property owners nearby this site has recently been compelled to do some remodeling of their shoreline. I’ve known about this for a bit, but given that I’m usually here either at sunset or after dark, haven’t explored the new situation.
It’s not a good idea to be poking around in the bushes after dark in Industrial Maspeth, and especially so if you’re on foot and alone. Given that NCA had a fairly large group here, scooping garbage and debris off of the shoreline, I figured “why not?”
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The shoreline in this spot has been fairly impassable during my years at Newtown Creek, and largely ignored by the industrial operation which worked busily on the other side of a large concrete and steel fence. An artist I know had briefly set up a small structure back here which he used as a hangout and ad hoc painting studio. That structure had been taken over by some mendicant in the last year or two. Artist, structure, and mendicant are all gone now and there’s all sorts of geographically appropriate plantings here now.
This is where I got into the fight with a raccoon back in 2020, during which I had to poke at the thing with my tripod.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
That’s the mouth of English Kills, the Newtown Creek tributary that flows all the way back to Johnson Avenue in Bushwick. It’s also where water quality along the Creek sharply drops off. If you think Newtown Creek is bad, as everybody including the Federal Government does, you should see English Kills. Yuck.
Back tomorrow with more from my beloved Creek.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
Buy a book!
“In the Shadows at Newtown Creek,” an 88 page softcover 8.5×11 magazine format photo book by Mitch Waxman, is now on sale at blurb.com for $30.
terrific thundering
Monday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
It’s been a long time since I was inside of Grand Central Station, I tell you. After my visit to the Times Square Ferris Wheel, detailed in last week’s postings, a quick walk found a humble narrator heading towards the 7 train which allowed some quiet time for contemplation. In recent months, I’ve been avoiding listening to music or audiobooks through my headphones in the name of pure paranoia and wanting to ensure that my auditory “early warning system” was and is in no way impeded.
The streets ain’t so friendly these days, especially at night in the relatively deserted and depopulated midtown business districts of Manhattan. I mean… that photo above is Grand Central on a Monday night at about 8 o’clock. Outside, it was like a zombie movie, only with groups of teenagers riding around on bikes and texting each other after they rode past you.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
My plan for getting out of dodge involved taking the 7 line subway back to Queens and then transferring over to an Astoria bound N train. What I was contemplating in this particular interval isn’t for public consumption quite yet, but there are weighty decisions being weighed behind my eyeglasses, even while you’re reading this post.
The saturated color profiles of today’s photos were intentional, incidentally. Always playing around with look and feel, me.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Descending into Manhattan’s depths, it was absolutely bizarre moving through this particular space in solo fashion. Grand Central is defined by crowds and masses, and unending hordes of the human infestation. It’s beyond odd to be solitary anywhere in this building, let alone riding an escalator designed to carry thousands every hour all by yourself.
The 7 station here is very, very deep.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
My pal Hank the Elevator Guy will expound endlessly about how deadly escalators can be. He points out that the actual mechanism of an escalator is fundamentally the same as that of an industrial meat grinder. It apparently doesn’t take much in the way of mechanical malfunction for the stairs to open up and pull you inside.
Most of that electronic sign’s messaging equipment in the shot above is burnt out, but the surviving LED’s on it say “Children should.” It doesn’t say what the children should, it just says they should. It is, after all, the MTA.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The most terrifying of MTA’s escalators are on the 7, incidentally. The Grand Central ones are just claustrophobic and deep, but it’s the ones at Hudson Yards that are actually vertigo introducing. Many have been the times that I worried about falling down a set of these moving stairs to an ignominious death.
I don’t mind the thought of dying. I mind the thought of dying in a stupid or comical way. Having an air conditioner fall out of a window on me, or down a flight of steps, or in some ironic circumstance. “Yeah, you heard what happened to Waxman? He died in a vat of molten wax at a candle factory.” At the beginning of Covid, I swore that I wouldn’t get sick as I couldn’t take a chance on dying at the Javitz Center. That’s a punk place to check out, yo.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
At the 7 platform, deep under Grand Central, the IRT Flushing Line – or 7 train – arrived just as I ran into a friend from LIC whom I haven’t seen since New Years of 2020. Good times, taking the subway.
Back tomorrow with something entirely different at this, your Newtown Pentacle.
“follow” me on Twitter- @newtownpentacle
Buy a book!
“In the Shadows at Newtown Creek,” an 88 page softcover 8.5×11 magazine format photo book by Mitch Waxman, is now on sale at blurb.com for $30.
The Newtown Pentacle 