New York 2005 to Miami 2017

I've had the lyrics to this Billy Joel song running through my head during the past few crazy, anarchic days in the City. The song is about the destruction of New York City...and the exodus of the survivors to Miami. The lines in particular that I've been humming:

I've seen the lights go out on Broadway
I watched the mighty skyline fall
The folks were waiting at the Battery
The union went on strike
They never sailed at all
They sent a carrier out from Norfolk
They picked the Yankees up for free
They said the Queens was saved
They blew the Bronx away
They sank Manhattan out at sea

It's been 25 years since the Transit Workers Union went on strike. I have no recollection of that event; I was only 9 years old and I walked to school, unaffected and probably oblivious to the strike. But my parents said they rode their bikes for 11 days to work. Funny how certain memories don't exist for me from childhood. I do remember the day John Lennon died, however, later that same year.

The TWU had been threatening to strike for several weeks since their contract ran out last Friday. They extended the deadline and continued to negotiate with the MTA all weekend and all day Monday into the wee hours, to no avail. We woke up Tuesday morning to discover they had struck. Baby, did they ever bring the City to its knees. Say what you will about New Yorker's resilience and pluck, stoicism and resourcefulness, it was tough going for everyone who commutes, but particularly for those of us who have to cross water to get to work. In our case, getting from Brooklyn into Manhattan was...um...interesting. I stole this image from the New York Times. It's kinda pretty - but it doesn't accurately represent the hordes of Brooklynites who hiked back and forth across the Brooklyn Bridge every morning and every evening since Tuesday. We carpooled and car-serviced our way into the City on Tuesday, but getting home was another matter. We couldn't find a taxi that would take us across the bridge, so we took one to the base of the bridge and then walked across it. It was 32 degrees out. I never thought about the utility of the Red Cross until we encountered them at the Brooklyn side, handing out hot coffee and hot chocolate and cookies. I was ever so grateful to see them. We then walked deeper into Brooklyn until we reached a major intersection (Atlantic Avenue and Smith Street), called a car service which miraculously materialized within 10 minutes, and got home 3 hours after we set out from Manhattan.

Wednesday we again carpooled and taxi-ed our way into Manhattan, and had an early afternoon exit from work so we could leave for Newark Airport in Jersey. Getting to Port Authority to take New Jersey Transit was the hard part for me. Luckily, I left myself enough time (nearly an hour) to get from 92nd and Lex to 42nd and 8th, and found myself taxied by a driver who regaled me, oddly enough in the random way that these things occur, with cooking stories. Johnny Johnson, an African-American from Georgia, told me how he came to New York 30 years ago to work in the Catskill resorts cooking "Jewish food." He then proceeded to explain, in minute and colorful detail, the best recipes for 1) matzah balls and 2) gefilte fish. Thanks to Johnny I was able to forget the stresses of the past few days, and enjoyed my ride (and came away with some good culinary advice.) Got to Port Authority just in time to catch our bus to the airport. Our trip to Texas was the easiest part of our commute this week!

The strike is now over but it remains to be seen what the MTA and TWU will negotiate that will please everyone. The whole experience appears to have been very damaging to the union, sadly. I don't think New Yorkers will soon forgive the massive inconveniences, particularly because of the poor PR job the union did explaining their grievances.

Ah, but it was sort of exciting while it lasted.

Sascha Comes To Brooklyn

Sascha was in NYC for a good long week over Thanksgiving, and came back to Brooklyn with us after the big food orgy. The next morning, we lounged around a bit, but soon set out on Sascha's mission: to acquire some official Brooklyn Cyclones gear. Since 2001, Brooklyn's own AAA team (a Mets farm team) has played in a beautiful new ballpark down at Coney Island, restoring baseball to Brooklyn after a 44 year absence (people here still mourn the departure of the Dodgers.) Sascha wanted to take a piece o' Brooklyn back to San Francisco with him. So we obliged, and hopped into our borrowed car to make the drive (thanks, mom and dad!) Luckily, the store at Keyspan Park was open, so we browsed for quite some time until he had the perfect cap. And Mets tee for good measure. And keychains and other paraphenalia to boot. Then we walked up to the famous boardwalk, where icy winds didn't stop some of the track suited local populace from taking their afternoon jogs. Crazy people, those Coney Islanders. It was sunny but a frigid 35 degrees. Sascha, outfitted in a medium-weight handsome but impractical little suede number, and his thin new Cyclones hat, was astonished that people live in New York in the winter at all. How quickly we forget - I guess 14 years in California will do that to a guy. And I guess Andres and I, in our down coats and scarves and hats, are old and jaded NY'ers now. Sigh.

We attempted to show Sasch the Warriors mural that glorifies the eponymous film that took place in these parts - we had photographed it last fall - but it mysteriously was not hanging any more. So here it is, Sascha. Warriors....come out and play-ay-ayyyyyyyyyyyyy!

However, the Shoot the Freak gallery was on abandoned, wintry display for all to see. A trash-littered alley in between the refreshment stands and a few rows away from the rides, Shoot the Freak promises "live human targets." All we could see were some scary faded old clown heads, a torn mattress and other random detritus. I suppose a theme-park anthropologist might have alot of fun explaining the significance of what looked like so much garbage to my uninitiated eyes. As we approached the alley we could see a sign strung up...but at first we didn't catch the S in Shoot. Next summer let's Hoot the Freak y'all!!

Then we had the obligatory hot dog and fries at Nathan's Famous. Goodness, they were good. However, we didn't live up to my dad's usual standard of 2-3 dogs each. We must have been too full from Thanksgiving. But we'll be back next summer for more Cyclones games! Hopefully Sascha will join us for more good times on the Island of Coney.