An Ass, in nyc

So there I was, minding my own business, finishing up the last bites of a slice of ultra thin crust pineapple and ham pizza when I looked up and saw a mule pulling a small wagon down Isham Street toward Inwood Hill Park.

Yes I was surprised, we don’t see large four legged animals up in my neck of the woods. Dogs, yes. Mules, no!

So I did what any self-respecting blogger would do, I hot-footed it home to grab my camera. (Perhaps I should start carrying a small point & shoot with me at all times. Of course that would necessitate me buying a point & shoot….)

Fortunately they stopped for a brief moment in the park, and I snagged this shot. Quite profound wouldn’t you say? The mule gazing off into the urban distance.



The mule & owners ended up spending the night at the Van Cortland Park stables in The Bronx.

It turns out that the couple (Bud & Kenny) are planning to travel the world on foot. You can read about their travels, gawk at their solar powered trailer, or donate to support their journey at http://www.usonfoot.com/.

Anyway, it’s just not something you see every day on the streets of New York.

-Bitter

The Phone Jack in My Apartment, not included

Problem solved!, originally uploaded by HOARY HEAD.

Due to the fact that none of my neighbors with unsecured wifi decided to be online last night, this post comes to you a little later than planned.

As you might have guessed from the paragraph above, I don’t have internet service at home. And yes, I’ve been one of those people, using the open Wifi connections from my nice neighbors, whether they’re in my building or the one across the street, to check my email and blog an occasional post from home. Hey, they’re either leaving it open on purpose to share, or don’t know enough to password protect it. I always assume it’s the former, because in this day and age, gheesh, securing your networks are one of those no brainer types of things.

However, I finally reached the point where I need a constant, stable, connection that runs faster than 11 kbps. Yes, you read that right. 11.

You see, I have grand plans for my site, and lots of cool stuff to design, upload, and give away for free. But it requires a connection of my own.

So like any self-respecting paper-pusher, I researched my options for the cheapest connection possible. Yes, I even looked up free-wifi spots in the City. But unfortunately, most of them are in mid-town and below. And no, I don’t want to haul my laptop out 100+ blocks at 11:00 pm to check my email or blog a new post. Let alone, the thought of me and my 20” iMac G5 sitting on a bench in Bryant Park. Can you picture it? I thought not.

I looked at cable options, they want you to buy the TV, phone, and internet combo for $100/month. Um, no thanks. I haven’t used a land line as my primary phone since 2002. And haven’t plugged a phone in the wall since 2004. Besides, I don’t need cable tv. As an aspiring author, the time suck that happens when I sit in front of that beautiful glowing screen is impressive. Whole weeks disappear at a time, unaccounted for. I think it’s a conspiracy.

So, no. No TV, no need for a land line, so I don’t need my internet provider to be cable.

And then I found Verizon. If I signed up online, I could get DSL in my apartment for $25/month without local phone service. It was perfect, sign me up, I want it now.

I opted for the free DSL router. If I ever decide to get wifi, I’ll invest in a wireless router later. (And yes I’ll share, and yes I’ll block people that hog my bandwidth, and yes I’ll permanently block people who watch porn over my network. It’s my bandwidth, I’ll share, but only a little. The phone company won’t like me, but tough.)

I scoffed at the $199 option to have a phone tech come to my apartment to check my lines, and run a line to wherever I wanted my computer. Being pretty handy, I decided that if I wanted my computer connection in a different room, then I’d just buy a 25 foot phone cable and run it there myself. So I clicked, no thanks.

A warning box popped up. Was I sure that I didn’t want someone to come? And second, was I sure that I had a phone jack?

I know where the cable wires run in my apartment. I’ve seen them in my bedroom, and how they run through my kitchen to the front room. So I knew the phone line couldn’t be too far away.

I clicked yes I’m sure. And another prompt come up announcing that if I changed my mind and had a tech come to my place, a fee would be assessed later.

I laughed, clicked okay, and continued my merry way through the rest of the contract.

I should have known better.

As a writer, couldn’t I have seen the foreshadowing? Why the multiple notices and offers to come check the phone line in my apartment? Why the exorbitant charge?

But now I know. Not having a phone jack in your NYC apartment must be a lot more common that I thought.

When I saw Spiderman 3 a few weeks ago, I thought it was quaint when Peter Parker called Mary Jane from the payphone in his hallway. I remember thinking, are there really places still like that?

No, my apartment isn’t as bad as Peter’s. It is at least two times better, the layered paint is there, the bowing lathe and plaster walls, the smells of old building, but it’s larger, my door opens quite easily, and with the two dead bolts I installed myself, quite safe. (Yes they work.)

But both Peter and I have no phone. I searched high and low, along baseboards, and through cupboards. In the back of my mind I knew it must be there, that I’d find it eventually. How could I have missed something so simple? Maybe it’s behind my bed, and even though I’ve already moved the bookcase in my front room, I feel the urge move it again.

How is it I wonder that an apartment could make it to 2007, and antiquated as they are now, still not have a phone line installed? I think the line should have been installed in the 50’s at least. Right?

So a few NYC rental questions for you all you ‘in the know’ out there. If there is no phone jack in my apartment, is it legal? Is my landlord required to have one installed? And I suppose more to the point, who should pay for it? Me or my landlord.

On a side note, I saw my Super this morning on my way to work. I asked him in passing, “If I were to have a phone jack in my apartment, where would it be?” He suggested the front hall closet, and said he would check with the management. The hall closet. I never would have thought about that.

Tonight, when I get home, I’ll be going through all my closets. Particularly the one in the entry way, the one I haven’t opened since I sealed it shut.

Why did I seal it shut? Well, because it sucks all the smoke from the inscent burning lover that lives below me and sends it up to mine. Sans scent, aka smoke only.

And why does my super not know where the phone lines are? Well, I think he only uses a cell phone like me.

Welcome to the 21st Century, caught between the old and the new, moving forward one jerky step at a time, while trying to save a buck.

-Bitter

Update 6/28/07: I found a phone jack in my front hallway, now I just need to see if it works. Cross your fingers for me.

Three Steps More Ghetto, than harlem ever was

, originally uploaded by Susan NYC.

Earlier today I surfed by the Inwoodite, an online spot for news in my hood, and found out that first, gunfire must be a lot more common in my neighborhood that I thought. And second, that like, Inwood is like “3 steps more ghetto than Harlem ever was.” (see number 43)

I guess my moving checklist back in January should now be expanded to five items.

1. Stay in Manhattan. -Check.
2. Find, at least, a 10 by 12 foot space to rent. -Check
3. That won’t leave me broke at the end of the year. -Semi-check.
4. Dump roommates. -Check.
5. Move to ghetto. -Check.

4.5 out of 5. Not too shabby, if I say so myself.

On a side note, it took me 2 hours and 15 minutes to ride the F and A trains home from Coney Island on Saturday night… On a brighter note, Mermaid Parade photos coming soon, stay tuned. :)

-Bitter

The Race Across the Sky, and how i missed it

With the Space Shuttle Atlantis and the International Space Station flying across the sky in mind, I grabbed my camera and tripod and hoofed it over to the Hudson River to take pictures of the sunset and get ready for the fly-by.

People were fishing, others were staring off down the river idling the night away. Kids dressed in their little league outfits played ball on a field just a stone's throw away, and off in the distance a car stereo played salsa music.

I watched fishermen impale worms on ugly metal hooks then cast their lines far out into the river, weighted by diamond shaped blobs of lead, with murmurs of catfish. Bells anchored to the end of their poles tinkled every now and then when some fish decided to take a nibble, but nothing was reeled in while I watched. And though I don’t speak Spanish, I now understand that the look ‘My fish got away!’ is universal.

I set-up my tripod and started taking pictures of the sunset and its reflection across the water, then as the colors faded, I turned my camera south, toward the George Washington Bridge, happy that the bridge lights were on and that there was still a bit of color on the horizon.

Long after the sun had set and the soft yellows had begun to turn into the muted grays of night, a single engine prop plane flew up the river. With one of its lights out, it looked oddly asymmetrical as it flew overhead. It wings wobbled back and forth as it made a U-turn over the river and headed back to the Jersey shore and lower Manhattan.

The guy next to me spoke the first and almost the only English I heard that night. “That’s illegal you know.” The Spanish accent fit with the music quietly drifting over the cove.

“What?” I said.

“They’re not allowed to turn right here, they’re supposed to fly further up the river.” He turned to point north, up the Hudson to where the sky had dimmed to dusky purple and the river narrowed.

I nodded my head and said, “Oh.”

“Did you see how it was wobbling in the sky?”

“Yeah, maybe he was saying hello to someone.”

He looked at me like I was crazy and shook his head.

I explained. “My grandpa was a pilot, he used to wiggle his wings when he flew over his house to say hello.” We talked a little more, but I could tell he was unconvinced by my story. I had to admit I agreed with him. In hindsight, it was probably some inexperienced pilot bending the rules to hurry and land his plane before full dark.

By this time, I had taken roughly three hundred shots of the bridge, varying the length of time for each exposure, while hoping I would stumble upon the best one for the moment. Lacking technical experience, I had covered my bases by taking multiple shots with different exposures throughout the evening. Once I review the photos, and discard the ones that don’t work, I’ll learn what works best.

About forty minutes after the sun had set and the last bit of yellow and orange had disappeared from the horizon, I turned my camera to face north-west eyes strained and watching. The lap of water against wooden beams and the shore soothed as I waited for two lights to appear that would stream across the sky like shooting stars.

Every thirty seconds or so, I would check the time on my cell phone, five minutes to go until 9:20. I took a couple pictures of the moon and set my camera to manual focus.

I checked my phone again. It was only 9:16.

I attempted to take a shot pointing upriver, framing the river, and a person leaning against a railing looking over to the cliffs across the river. It most likely didn’t turn out. I checked the time again, 9:17.

It was a long five minutes.

9:20 finally arrived, and I renewed my watching. I looked in the direction of where the sun had set, west north-west. And watched, and watched, and waited, and nothing appeared.

Just about the time I gave up, a man nearby pointed to the sky in the east. His Russian accent lay heavy on his words, but I understood his meaning completely. I followed his pointing finger and found the space shuttle Atlantis and International Space Station streaking across the sky at a fast clip. I held my fist to the sky, they really were a fist width apart, a thrill of excitement raced through me.

And then reality hit, I’d missed my photo op and the entire arc across the sky. I should have been looking more to the north. I hurriedly pivoted my camera around and snapped three shots just before they hit the tree line. Of the three, one worked out.

For those of you who missed it. Here you go.



Shortly thereafter, I packed up my tripod and schlepped my stuff home. Happy that at least I’d spent a pleasant evening near the water, gotten to see what I’d waited for, and managed to get a shot of the moment. Not the best shot, nor the one I’d planned, but a shot none-the-less.

-Bitter

Friday Photos, the hike up to the cloisters

This set of Friday Photos is brought to you from The Hike, straight up the hill, to The Cloisters through Fort Tryon Park.

The Beginning.



The First Set of Stairs.



The Stairs Begin to Curve.




The Spot Where You Stop and Pretend to Admire the View, as Your Heart Jumps Around in Your Chest.



Oh Good, One Last Set of Stairs Until it's Over.
Editor's note: If you double click on the photo then open the original size, at the top of the stairs to the left near the lamp post, you'll see a perfect stone for sitting. Not that one needs a place to sit for a while, I'm just mentioning another spot to admire the view.



Unfortunately, When You Get to the Top of the Stairs, You See This.



Fortunately, It is the Last Set. Once More, Here's the View from Above.



And Why Would Anyone in Their Right Mind Climb these Stairs? Why to See The Cloisters.



And then Suddenly it Turned to Night, so I Snapped a Shot of That Too.



Question: Is there a way to see The Cloisters without climbing the stairs?
Answer: Yes, but it is the wimpy way. Take the A train to 181st Street, take the elevator up to the top of the hill, detour around the panhandler asking for $$, then walk through the park 15 minutes to The Cloisters.

Question: Isn't there something that can get me closer?
Anser: Yes, a cab..................Well, actually, there is a bus, but you're on your own figuring out which one.

............Okay, okay, I'll play nice. Use THIS, to help find your way. There. Are you happy now?

-Bitter