Posts Tagged ‘North Shore’
Many, many, ramps
Tuesday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
This particular scuttle, here in Pittsburgh, began with a ride on the T light rail. The plan, as it were, was simple – and involved a walk of about three to five miles. Your humble narrator was fully ‘kitted out’ camera wise, and the weather was somewhat chilly and rain was threatening.
Misty, it was, misty.
The T light rail was ridden all the way to its terminal stop on Pittsburgh’s North Shore. There’s a shot I wanted, one which hadn’t coalesced the last time that my presence was noticed in this area. Pictured is what it looks like when riding the service. The area that the rail unit was moving through in this shot was one of the busways, one which also has rails and catenary wires.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The T soon deposited me on the North Shore elevated platform that functions as a terminal stop, and after a quick adjust of all the straps and whatnot involving the camera and bag, one leaned into it. I was ‘wearing’ the camera under the filthy black raincoat in case it started raining, a long standing habit which started back on the deck of vessels in New York Harbor, all those years ago.
One descended down to the street, where he belongs.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
This area directly touches the football stadium where the Steelers dwell, and it’s sacred ground in Pittsburgh. Said holy spot is to the right.
A maelstrom of black fabric whipping about in the breeze, wrapping itself about a decaying human husk, wherein my brain inhabits, one began his fitful imposture of human locomotion and attempted to blend into the background.
This isn’t always possible, given how children point and cry when I’m passing by. Old Ladies clutch at their purses, men start forming violent posses, dogs howl. Cats are indifferent. Always, an outsider.
Thump, drag, thump, drag… that’s my walking rythym these days.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One cannot complain. Last year, it was questionable how much mobility I might have after the shattering of my left ankle. It has been an act of pure will (along with the attention and the expertise of a team of medical professionals) to get back to ‘doing my thing.’
What is ‘my thing’? Why is it ‘my thing’? Where do I go to do ‘my thing’? Is it just wandering aimlessly, or…? How is…
Best not to ponder such esoteric concepts and motivations, as the only ideation that really matters is to remain in constant motion, and enjoy the consequent unstoppability. Juggernaut, that’s the word you’re looking for.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One feels like a corner has been turned quite recently, and aspirational thoughts have been blossoming. Ambitions, goals, all that crap.
A Jedi craves not these things.
Thump, drag, thump, drag…
– photo by Mitch Waxman
That’s the Merchant Street Bridge, which was described in a prior post.
Thump, drag, thump, drag…
The mists then began to slightly precipitate. Wasn’t ‘umbrella rain,’ instead it was just a fine layer of droplets suspended above ground level. Very atmospheric, but had to clean the lens of moisture often.
Back 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.
Low energy adventuring
Monday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
As is my habit, after leaving HQ, a quick shot from the front yard to figure out a median exposure setting for the camera, and gauge average lighting conditions as a staring point for the day’s subsequence. This shot is looking up the fairly steep hill that I often mention. Shlep, shlep, scuttle, scuttle.
The plan for this walk was fairly wide open, and involved using the T light rail to deposit your humble narrator in an interesting area. I was hoping for serendipity, Y’see.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
HQ is located in Pittsburgh’s Borough of Dormont, and the neighbors really embrace Halloween around these parts. One of them set up a ‘Yinzer Cemetery’ in their front yard. It actually made the TV news.
The T Light Rail station is about a half mile, at most, from my front door. It’s just a bit of effort to drag my butt up the hills and get over there.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Another Dormont porch display of Halloween paraphernalia was encountered along the path. We get actual trick or treaters in Dormont, which is cool as heck, and the way things are supposed to be.
One leaned into it, and boarded a T light rail unit heading into the city.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
This time around, the service was used all the way to its terminal stop on Pittsburgh’s north side, nearby the stadium wherein the Steelers dwell. Your humble narrator vomited forth from the light rail car and onto the platform, a swirling contradiction of black sackcloth and camera gear. The filthy black raincoat, or as I call it – the street cassock – was covering my accursed back. I started moving, which began as a shamble but then sped up into a scuttle.
I was relistening to an old favorite amongst my HP Lovecraft audiobook collection on this walk – ‘The Shadow Out of Time.’ There were a few places on this scuttle where I popped the headphones out of my ear holes, wanting to remain ‘situationally aware.’
In other words, while moving through places where it makes a lot of sense to pay close attention to your surroundings, you should.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
A web of high speed roadways, on-ramps and off-ramps and such, are found in this area. There’s also the elevated trackway of the T up there in the vault. There’s a rail shot which I was ‘hep’ on trying to capture this day, but that ended up being a fruitless pursuit.
North, ever northwards.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
On game days, tens of thousands of people – all adorned in black and gold – can be observed using these sidewalk paths to get to the football stadium. The cops deploy dozens of officers to handle traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian. It’s really something to see.
Of course, wherever your humble narrator goes, it’s all just loneliness, rejection, and isolation. Crowds of children throw rotten fruit and vegetables, their parents light torches and form mobs. The cats hiss.
Back tomorrow with more.
“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.
316,800 inch long scuttle, part 1
Monday

– photo by Mitch Waxman
One has finally managed to break the pernicious five mile walking threshold which has been actively blocking my activity since September of last year, due to the broken left ankle and dislocated foot incident. I know that five miles – or 316,800 inches – sounds like no big deal, and normally I’d be the first one to say so, but it’s taken me months of physical therapy and self guided exercise to get here.
So, huzzah.
The endeavor began when I walked the hill which I live at the bottom of on up to the T light Rail station, here in Pittsburgh’s Boro of Dormont. I did take a picture of the train I actually rode in on, but the shot above is of a train set heading in the other direction made for a better opening shot.
Lighting, yo, lighting.

– photo by Mitch Waxman
The T was ridden to its terminal stop, which is directly across the street from the actual center of the Pittsburgh universe – Acrisure (Heinz) stadium. On this walk, I was still consciously avoiding uneven or angled paths, as such terrain still gives me a bit of trouble. Instead, I decided to try and work a few flights of stairs into the equation to spice things up.
As I’ve mentioned, a bit of PTSD seems to be floating around in the old Gulliver these days, which is centered around stairs.
Given that the ankle shattering occurred while I was walking down a set of steps it’s fairly understandable, but when confronted with a set of steps these days I freeze up a little bit and get overly cautious. This set of psychological reactions actually endanger me while negotiating a set of stairs, which causes me to move stiffly, in an almost robotic manner, and sets my nervous side on fire.
I’ll get past this because I have to. My whole life has been ‘have to.’

– photo by Mitch Waxman
Luckily, the T station has escalators, which don’t fill me with dread despite being stairs and all the horror stories my pal Hank the Elevator Guy has told me about these devices. Industrial meat grinders use the same design, he opines.
I exited the station and headed north west. I’ve been carrying a little compass with me these days, and like to check in on the cardinal directions periodically to maintain my bearings. Pittsburgh is still very much a foreign place to me, even after a couple of years here.

– photo by Mitch Waxman
Passing by an abandoned building along the way, one was amused by the ‘SPQR’ graffiti. If you don’t know what that means, you should read more, specifically the classics of the pre modern era. The decline of the Roman Republic is very much a to[ic you should be familiar with these days.
Edward Gibbon… read Gibbon. Marius and Sulla are next, for us, and that’s where it gets bloody. Caesar is absolutely coming, but is still a few decades away. It will be very exciting for people to watch on tv, all this. They will feel things… indignation, fear, anger, pride… all of the seven deadlies. They will microwave burritos and watch.
Me, I’m just walking here.

– photo by Mitch Waxman
The major crossing over water for the day was Pittsburgh’s West End Bridge. It crosses the Ohio River, roughly at the waterway’s point of navigable origin where the admixture of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers occurs. It’s yellow.
The specific yellow is a color called ‘Aztec Gold,’ which – if memory serves – is manufactured by Pittsburghs own ‘PPG’ or Pittsburgh Plate Glass.

– photo by Mitch Waxman
The ankle was behaving itself. I felt no clicking or the sensation of cords being pulled in my heel or on the top of the foot. I was consciously altering my pace and ‘leaning in’ while walking. A couple of times my brain sent orders down the spine for the legs to move as they normally would have prior to all this trouble. I moved quickly!
Couldn’t sustain it for more than a couple of city blocks at a time, but your humble narrator managed to scuttle along a great deal faster and more surely than at anytime in the last six months.
Top of the world, ma, top of the world.
Back tomorrow with more.
“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.
Vir Bonus
Wednesday

– photo by Mitch Waxman
The shot above was captured on an entirely different day than the two following it, but it makes for a nice ‘establishing shot’ of where this particular walk started out for me. On the evening that this photo was actually captured, I was attending a work event at the Carnegie Science Center that was produced by the Adobe software outfit.
There was a mixer with food and drink, and a presentation about the company’s latest offerings. The mixer part of the night was fun, and I got to meet a few local artists and photographers. We were allowed out onto an elevated terrace at the Carnegie Science Center, one which overlooks the center of things here in Pittsburgh.
Later in the week, when the other shots were gathered – it was a short walk sort of day. After a ride into town on the T light rail, your humble narrator could be observed scuttling down the very road pictured above.
There wasn’t really a game plan for this walk, other than to just keep moving and kick my feet around.

– photo by Mitch Waxman
Whenever I’m in this area, a visit to the Mr. Rogers memorial occurs.
It’s always a good thing to be reminded that trying to be a good person doesn’t mean that you always are one, but that the most important thing is to try. Everyone is special, in their own way, Mr. Rogers opined. Also, he liked people just the way they are. Try some of that today, I’d suggest. Be kind.
Gosh, the world was a better place with Mr. Rogers in it. It’s no mistake that I wanted to live in his neighborhood (which was actually Pittsburgh’s Squirrel Hill section where I could not afford to live, I’d mention, but there you are) in this part of my life.

– photo by Mitch Waxman
This walk was but a part of my plans for the rest of the day. After the effort, Our Lady of the Pentacle and myself would be meeting up with friends back home and attending what turned out to be an incredibly lame ‘Ghost Tour’ of the Dormont suburb that HQ is located in. What the narrative turned out to be was essentially the top five Google hits for ‘unsolved capital crimes in Dormont.’ Disappointing.
Reflecting on Mr. Rogers’ message of positivity, however, the host did her best and brought a group of thirty or so strangers together on a Friday night for fun. Bless.
Back tomorrow with more.
“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.
Vanderbilt Mansion 5
check out the prior Vanderbilt Mansion posts: 1, 2, 3, and 4
I’m in a bit of a conversational mood tonight, lords and ladies… forgive the indulgence of a personally opinionated voice in this posting-
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The rest of the Eagle’s Nest Estate are landscaped grounds, whose manicuring has certainly seen better days. No sleight is meant toward the current custodians, of course, but one must assume that the status minded Vanderbilts undoubtedly spent a great deal more on gardening than a museum can. Observation revealed many places where the unlimited budgets of earlier times would be helpful in shoring up the estate.
note: I’ve been to the Hellenic Republic, commonly called Greece, a few times. Those people have the good taste to just accept ruination of aging structures.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Built fancifully, to satisfy the whimsy and taste of landed gentry, the buildings that dot the Eagle’s Nest are all in differing stages of dissolution. Researching the Vanderbilt Mansion, here at Northport, repeatedly turned up tales of financial strife. The property was willed, ultimately, to the State of New York which has inconsistently funded it. Forced to accede to popular culture by financial reality, the planetarium presents Laser Rock shows- a vestige of Long Island’s 1970’s and 80’s “head culture”.
note: despite the reputation of the five boroughs of New York City as the center of mortal sin and drug culture in the tri-state area held by suburban residents, the psychedelic culture calls Long Island, New Jersey, Upstate New York, and Connecticut home. How many Fish bumper stickers do you see in Brooklyn?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The actual mansion is a hodge podge of architectural themes and styles. Bas reliefs, which repeat and amplify the hideous battrachian implications found on the Hall of Fishes, seem to be randomly placed throughout the main building. On the lowest level of the place is a room of taxidermy, whose prize possession is a whale shark. An accidental byproduct of the stuffed skins is produced by the searching horror of their glass eyes. I chose not to showcase this section of the trip, as blood sport is not something which Newtown Pentacle editorial policy is very fond of, and because of some misguided sympathy for the long dead animals which line this rich man’s walls.
note: Your humble narrator is a carnivore, and is more aware than most of how an animal’s flesh hits his plate. The companionship of many a Vegan has been enjoyed at Newtown Pentacle HQ, and that group of folks aren’t exactly shy about sharing their viewpoints with me. Hypocritical, I nevertheless don’t see the value of publishing a photo of a stuffed Tiger skin which is caked with dust.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
As is the case with many quasi public-private institutions, signs adjuring the practice of photography abound. I can understand a regulation saying “Not Tripod, No Lights”, but am flabbergasted by the notion that a public building or Non-Profit corporation which welcomes visitors forbids the collection of photons. As mentioned in the past, your humble narrator is employed sometimes as a photo retoucher and all around desktop publishing guy at major metropolitan advertising agencies, and has developed a rather sophisticated knowledge of intellectual property law and custom. Did you know that the Empire State building itself, I mean the actual building, is a zealously protected and trademarked intellectual property? If you want to use an image of New York and the Empire State appears in it as a main element (over 30% of the shot), you need to seek permission from some landlord.
note: Yes, I claim copyright on the photos and text that appear in this blog. Yes, I want to use a “creative commons” approach, but counsel has informed me that while it sounds great, there is no significant legal precedent or body of case law covering such status- especially in international agreements. Yes, the Empire State people need to protect their “brand” and try to make a few bucks at the same time. Should the Catholics claim copyright on the cross, by this logic?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Remnants of the Eagle’s Nest’s role as a port can be observed just at the water’s edge, beyond fences of brush and bush. Shame, the beach was unreachable along any path I attempted. Signage forbade the use of stairs as unsafe, but I felt that the area was closed merely in the name of not having to maintain it in the expensive manner required for disabled access which would be demanded under state law. The entire estate, incidentally, was not geared well for wheelchairs or other ambulatory contrivances. It is constructed on a steep and sloping shoreline which is subsected by a series of smaller yet remarkable hills and the connective tissue of the place are stairs.
note: Northport hosts many impressive and attractive homes, and is obviously a moneyed community even today. My family has one of its branches here, in nearby Melville, which established itself in the 1960’s as part of the enormous eastward migration from Brooklyn and Queens of the same ethnic urban hordes which the Vanderbilts and other “bosses” had established these country home communities to escape from in the early 20th century. I would mention that my Uncle’s down payment for his house near “Old Country Road” was accomplished via the GI Bill and the sweat of his brow, not by inheritance. He’s a depression era Jewish kid from Brooklyn.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
There’s no possibility, you see, that I cannot react to this vulgar display of financial power without comment. Another one of the little things about history that emerged when researching this series of posts is this- the Vanderbilt family won the battle. So did Carnegie, and Rockefeller. Their wealth, won by the literal slaughter of their workers, built a series of these monumental structures across the Americas and endowed University, Library, and Charitable Organ. Within a mere three generations, who they were and what they did- these Robber Barons- is forgotten by the population at large. The names of these men and women are carved in modern stone as benificent, yet their business practices and corrupting influence over government and finance are overlooked. Philanthropy, as a strategic tool of historical reputation, works.
note: I ain’t no commie, don’t get a humble narrator wrong- however- the obscene splendor enjoyed by these few at the expense of the many resulted in a lot of death and trauma in the 19th century. Conveniently, the working class then as now were willing to focus in on comical personnages of the “dirty politician” like Boss Tweed- who had risen from their own social group- rather than focus on the real bosses in the overclass. The banks, the trusts, the corporations- Andrew Jackson and Dwight Eisenhower warned us a long time ago. Tea Party? I drink coffee. Black.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The Eagle’s Nest was built in 1910, same year that Henri Rousseau died and the Earth passed through the tail of Halley’s Comet. In Tibet, the 13th Dalai Lama was forced to flee to India, and Typhoid Mary won release from Blackwell’s Island, while over in Manhattan, and Brooklyn, and Queens- the immigrant working class found themselves fighting over crusts of bread. There was real fear of a communist revolution in the United States in this period, and the Robber Barons built concentric rings of security into their houses. William K. Vanderbilt II felt the need for a porticullis, for instance.
note: Our society’s lack of what I’ve termed “institutional memory” is what is going to destroy us in the end.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Your humble narrator started working at 7 years old, shining shoes in a mafioso barber shop in Canarsie. It’s been a series of humiliations since, once I enjoyed a job whose task list included- literally- shoveling shit. For a while, I was an Aquarium Service Technician and found myself in Gypsy Rose Lee’s former mansion, down the block from the Vanderbilt Library in midtown Manhattan (which was owned at the time by the painter Jasper Johns- nice guy). Another professional incarnation found me laboring as a Fine Art Mover, installing Giacometti sculptures in a private gallery in Croton on Hudson. Corporate jobs have included work at a midtown investment bank, on the night shift, which had the portrait of George Washington that is found on the Dollar Bill prominently displayed in its executive wing- literal corridors of power. I can tell you this- the bosses don’t care about you, and view everyone outside of their social class as either inferior and lacking in ambition or worthy of pity.
note: OK, that sounds pretty “commie”, but the inequitable split of capitalist reward is a trend which had abated somewhat between the Great Depression and the 1980’s and has been operating in a retrograde fashion since the Reagan years. The death of organized labor and collective bargaining, as well as the cult of Ayn Rand and the smaller government mantra is a disturbing trend and an example of “the rubber band stretching back to its original shape”.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Inside the mansion, the offices and drawing room of William K. Vanderbilt the 2nd. From here, expeditions were launched across the seven seas which plumbed the benthic depths, searching for some elusive prize. Organic specimens and detailed charts were compiled, hidden knowledge organized, and ancient mariner’s secrets revealed in the pages of worm eaten books. What secrets were uncovered, and hidden from coarse eyes?
note: you don’t really believe that what the Vanderbilts made public was all they found, do you?
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Go take a look for yourselves:
from vanderbiltmuseum.org
Vanderbilt Museum April Hours
March 27 – April 5, 2010 (Closed Easter)
Mansion, Marine Museum, Natural History Exhibits and Grounds Open Tuesdays and Fridays 12-5. Saturdays 11-5 and Sundays 12-5. Closed to general public Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays except by appointment. For more information please call 631.854-5579. Please check back for May and June Hours.
Observing Friday Nights (weather permitting)
[The closing times listed above is for the closing of the Buildings/Grounds and Exhibit Areas. The ticket booth will close one hour earlier. The last mansion tour is one hour before closing.]
Directions:
Vanderbilt Museum
180 Little Neck Road
Centerport, New York 11721-0605
From the LIE Exit 51, The Northern State Parkway Exit 42N, and The Southern State Parkway Exit 39N:
Drive North on Deer Park Avenue, bear left at the fork (at traffic light), onto Park Avenue. At 3rd light, make a right turn onto Broadway, continue for 4-5 miles until you reach Route 25A. Cross 25A (to left of Centerport Automotive), and you are on Little Neck Road. The Vanderbilt Museum is 1.5 miles on the right.
From the South Shore:
Take the Sagtikos Pakway North to the Sunken Meadow Parkway north. Take the last exit, 25A West. Travel about 8 miles and make a right at the Centerport Automotive in Centerport, onto Little Neck Road. We are 1.5 miles on the right.
From Route 110 or 25A West:
Travel north on 110 to Huntington Village. Make a right turn onto 25A/Main Street. Travel about 4 miles to Centerport, at the flashing yellow light, bear left onto Park Circle, then turn left onto Little Neck Road. We are 1.5 miles on the right.














