Today our album of the day is brought to you by Tom Waits.
rain dogs
The list of personnel is endless, as is the list of instruments used in recording this album. 1985 never sounded so good.
Los Angeles has been creeping in on me for the last few days, so Waits seems all the more fitting here.
Raw, uncomfortable, commanding, thoughtful and meaty – this record shouldn’t have taken this long to reach me. Download here and enjoy yourself an off beat Wednesday.
The Roosevelt Island Tram ought to be more popular, more publicized, and come more highly recommended by locals to other locals. The gondola-esque tram is, in essence, a huge glass orb, offering 360° views of the Manhattan, Queens, and Roosevelt Island – where it once again touches land after several minutes suspended above*. The views up and down First Avenue and the East River are exceptional. I’m convinced I’ve seen postcards of this view. The Tram parallels the Queensboro Bridge. While most patrons on the Tram are evidently not regulars**, you’ll notice the bourgeois 30-something year-old guy in a tailored blazer. He’s carrying a leather satchel and reading Omnivore’s Dilemma or Finnegans Wake, and you realize, for the swipe of a subway card, he does this everyday, and it affirms how boring your daily commute is. He gets to ride on something you’d expect would be at Disney while you catch a bus that always runs late and transfer to a subway whose platform smells like piss and bleach.
Liftoff!
All of Roosevelt Island has this ethereal theme park feel, or gives you the impression you’re in Europe or at a remote resort, or ultimately, some place that isn’t New York. Things are cookie-cuttered. Competition for apartment rentals could be overwhelmingly cutthroat, so the property management is monopolized; all buildings seem to be owned by the same realty groups. There is a single avenue on the two mile by one-block-wide island. Why anyone would have a car here, though, is a mystery to me. I’d assume the exit for Roosevelt Island off the Queensboro bridge is an afterthought for most motorists driving between Manhattan and Queens. Like most of New York City, Roosevelt Island is pedestrian-dominated. Once there, you could get an overpriced drink at the only restaurant on the island, conveniently located right across from the Tram terminal, or you could opt to by a 99-cent AriZona Iced Tea from the Duane Reade.
Of note, there are a few soccer fields here where adult rec. league games are held. The fields are curiously oriented in a lateral fashion. So one team has the high-rises and hospitals of Manhattan as a backdrop, and the other, and industrial Queens backdrop. This leaves not only the possibility, but the likelihood of an errant ball landing in the East River. I’d imagine the joining fees of an adult rec. league whose games are hosted on Roosevelt Island are obscenely high, and that the prospect of losing balls is a consideration. Extra balls, are accordingly included in the budget and brought to the games in a large mesh sack. I’d imagine the members of such leagues are Dartmouth- or Columbia-educated people who joined in the midst of a quarter-life crisis and pride themselves on their late-game goal, impressive throw-ins, or at the very least, sleep easily knowing they got 60 minutes of exercise in over the weekend.
At the Northernmost end of the Island is an elderly residence converted from an old mental hospital. Considering the remoteness and inaccessibility of the island, the concept of such an institution is jarring, and for some reason, eerily redolent of Shutter Island.
Aside from walking around and making observations, there’s not a ton to do on the Island. Great place to respect and spend an afternoon, and for $4.50 round trip, it’s worth it just for the ride alone. Roosevelt is also accessible by the F-Train for the vertically fearsome. But, really, if you don’t get there by Tram, why bother going?
What's Up First?
* The Tram takes off from an elevated platform, one story above 2nd Avenue. By the time you cross four lanes of traffic, you’ve risen hundreds of feet above the ground. The Tram comes up steadily but not alarmingly and then plateaus for most of the experience, much like a chairlift or an edible, but before you realize you’re descending, you’re already on the ground.
** A mother with small children who didn’t obey her order to stop licking the railing (Nicholas! Stop it! Germs. GERMS!); Groups of teenagers with overstuffed rope-closure backpacks, using digital cameras and iPhones to snap pictures; An old couple carefully pointing and peering at everything throughout the ride.
Location: 60th and 2nd. Might as well stop and get a drink at Blue Room while you’re there, kitty-corner.
O’Neill’s was a Bar/Restaurant/Banquet Facility located in the Maspeth neighborhood of Queens. The institution, as I wrote on a cocktail napkin at the end of my meal, was the home to “great burgers (and) terrible service.” But for $5 burgers with unlimited toppings, I’ll put up with a forgetful waitress who doesn’t deliver with a smile. Unfortunately, O’Neill’s burned to the ground earlier this month in a tragic grease fire (hmm, maybe that’s why the burgers tasted so good). All 20 patrons and members of the staff were immediately ordered out of the building when cooks ran out of the kitchen. Let me repeat, all twenty patrons. 20, in a place that had the capacity to hold, in my estimation, well over 300 people. O’Neill’s was the subject of graffiti and smashed windows, and cars parked outside were victim to vandalism. So they were hurting – it’s still a shame.
O'Neill's; Northern Wall
But no fear – Maspeth has a ton of great food. Fame Diner, Connolly’s Corner, Maspeth Ale House, Hush, and Good Eats, all located on Grand Avenue offer excellent food, and , at the risk of sounding cliché – at great prices. Believe me – I’ve been there.
http://queenscrap.blogspot.com/2011/05/oneills-restaurant-destroyed-by-fire.html
Location: in our hearts, and (not-so-) fond memories.
I haven’t spent a whole summer in the City yet, but I don’t see why Astoria wouldn’t be New York’s go-to summer spot. For your exploration are beer gardens galore and hookah bars in Little Egypt. Plus, the greatest Irish bar I’ve ever stepped foot into is in the area. I won’t give up the name of it, but it’s very small, dark. The books on the back shelf are real and I’d assume hand-picked by patrons and staff. The restroom is down a steep narrow stairwell, with – if I recall correctly after a Guinness or four – has a padded wall at the bottom of the steps, just in case. The aged booths are intimate and the walls pop-out in the summer for a wonderful open-air feel. As the nights get warmer, I am more and more eager to trek up to 30th Ave. in Queens.
An important thing to remember about Little Egypt is that, just like in Egypt itself, alcohol is prohibited. From the vantage point of a sidewalk patio, not a single liquor store can be seen. The adherence to culture and tradition combined with the entrepreneurship and coercion of storeowners is impressive and serves as a reminder that while you’re having your leisure time, others are working hard. While they offer sodas, teas, coffee and specialty beverages, plan ahead and make a hookah lounge your last stop of the night. That, or sneak in a fifth of spiced rum.
Arabian Nihiiights
As for the beer gardens, they open while it’s still light out for a reason; day-drinking.
BierGarten
Location: Make your way to 30th and Steinway and wander from there.
Merrion Square. Twelve Words: Free Burger with Every Beer, Free Dozen Wings with Every Pitcher.
Within walking distance from the ballfields in Central Park. Great Pizza nearby, but that’s entirely not necessary considering the exorbitance of food.
Where: 1840 2nd Avenue, between 95th and 96th. Upper East Side
Proud Supporter of Local Brew
The first thing you notice when entering Tom’s Restaurant is that this isn’t where Seinfeld was actually filmed. There is no “booth,” and the whole place is much bigger than you’d anticipate.
behold! looks familiar...
Tom’s Restaurant is a diner of Greek-descent style. That being said, the menu is a book. Its greasy, laminated pages have food categorized arbitrarily. Words are misspelled throughout the menu as if it were printed hastily. The owners opted to exercise every acceptable spelling of omelet (omelette, omlet). I wonder, why not choose one spelling and stick with it? Menu items are listed multiple times between page one and page eight, and I’d wager my tip that it was never proofread.
Regardless of menu idiosyncrasies, my approach upon getting into Tom’s springy leather booths was to close my eyes and imagine exactly what it was that I wanted in front of me. The kitchen is an arsenal. If I want something, they can make it. Sesame bagel, toasted with cream cheese. A side of bacon. Coffee. Simple yet delicious. Next time I go I hope to order something definitely not on the menu, but feasible considering the variety of foodstuffs in the kitchen. Something along the lines of a breakfast sandwich served on a glazed donut. Imagine it: you’ve seen a breakfast sandwich – eggs, cheese and bacon – served on toast, on a bagel, an English muffin, hell, even a croissant. Why can’t the serve one on a glazed donut. Even if it’s not on the menu, just make it – charge me an extra buck. I’d like to try this creation from Tom’s before Dunkin’ or DQ starts mass-producing it.
From what I recall, Tom’s didn’t have a Big Salad on the menu. The Greek entrepreneurs missed their chance to capitalize on the pop-culture reference, but in sum, they don’t capitalize on their famed location in the first place. If you inquired with any of the waitresses about the show, expect an underwhelmed response. They seem like the type of folk who judge people who just stop in because they recognize the façade from Seinfeld, like they’d instruct the cooks to spit on a sandwich if they caught wind you’re a tourist.
Location: 2880 Broadway at 112th St.
Perk: Nobody rides the “3” Train after 3:00am. You’ll have free reign of your car.
orangutangin' and documentin'
The neighborhood of Inwood poses a great argument to anyone who claims that Manhattan isn’t affordable. Perhaps the proximity to and accessibility from the Bronx has something to do with it. Located at the Northern tip of Manhattan, Inwood is even more remote than Washington Heights and the formerly-ill-reputed Harlem. My assumption is that residents of the Upper West Side are embarrassed to share the same landmass as the dwellers of Inwood. But the eclectic neighborhood has a wonderful sense of community; the streets are alive, corners are bustling with shoppers, families, vendors and energy. Men do pull-ups from bars and women walk yapping dogs. Kids exercise and prepubescent teenage boys engage in flirtatious activities in the form of throwing waterballoons at females their age, who shriek and race towards them in response.
watching the world
What’s notable about Inwood Park is how the litter reflects the patrons of the area. Juice barrels overflow from green-painted and ruster TRASH receptacles. Small bags of cheap chips stir in the breeze. A log atop a hill overlooking the Harlem River is host to several blunt wrappers and multiple small emptied Ziploc baggies, suggesting what goes on up here, something that can’t go on in public in 99% of the city. Some of the least-urban waterfront area is in and around Inwood Park, and in my personal experience is one of the most peaceful places to walk and humor your thoughts on a free afternoon.
"L" remnants
Van Cortlandt Park is a place I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve never run before. It is home to classic cross-country courses and holds the annual national-qualifying meet for high-schoolers sponsored by Foot Locker. Granted I was never a national caliber athlete in high-school (or college for that matter) I feel as though I ought to pay this site a visit. I’ve raced New England’s equivalent of a fabled cross-country course that is Franklin Park, through the woods and past Bear Cage Hill. VCP is virgin territory to me, and although it and I are both contained within city limits, we couldn’t be any further apart: The park lies in the Northwestern quadrant of the Bronx, nearly in uppity Westchester county. It’s so close to almost-out-of-the-City that there is an eighteen-hole golf course there. I, on the other hand live very deep into the industrial neighborhood of Bed-Stuy in Brooklyn. Any time I leave my apartment I face a short stretch of the G train before I can get anywhere else. The maxim “you can’t get there from here” is particularly applicable in the scenario describing the trek to the park from my apartment. Google Maps estimates it would requires two subway transfers and take well over 90 minutes to get there. That’s not including my actual run and the return trip! In mathematical terms, my time spent running over the time of the round-trip commute would be 45/180, reduced down to ¼. In real-life terms, that’s one part running to four parts sitting on trains. Four hours away from a comfy couch. Come a sunny Saturday and an ambitious boy, I’ll make the pilgrimage.
xc history at vcp
Experience: Entry Level
Requirement: 2 years relevant experience
abuhh?
You can’t get the job without experience; you can’t get experience without the job.
I discovered this band the good old fashioned way. Radio! After biking to work I like to exercise in the gym and take a shower. (It’s the best move I’ve ever made.) We have our radio in the gym and I tuned to XMU – I like to watch the bands scroll across my desk all day, but I never listen. I like Jake Fogelnest, he does decent interviews and doesn’t talk too long. He brought me some new chillwave (thanks, Rusty, for introducing to me what to call this genre) Washed Out. Although they are on the list of worst performances (maybe?) at SXSW, but their new track got me into the sound. With Toro Y Moi and Dirty Beaches (by Monday I’ll have seen both) I’m finding myself drawn to the euphoric, romantic lo fi (yet highly digital) sonics. So we have our album of the day. Download here.
washed out
Their (Ernest Greene, a Georgian) new record comes out July 12. So far, the album covers are just as catching as the sounds.
apparently the photo appeared in cosmo?
And if you’re looking for a hit about Obama that doesn’t involve Osama Bin Laden (and if you are, here’s an interesting piece with unusual ideas) Vice Magazine brings us their Friday Tyrant.
After a shit storm of a work week, with lots of things changing and getting busier every day, I had a nice find online – a fresh sound. Unknown Mortal Orchestra, record out June 21, also lo fi with some catching drum beats. Check out this new track.
Last night I saw Tame Impala and Yuck. A great show full of rock music and trippy sounds from Aussies and Englishmen (respectively) – their last show together on this tour before Yuck goes to headline themselves (that’s right, they were the opener). I’m glad I got to see it. I got myself a tee shirt with the great Yuck art, done by their lead singer/songwriter, found on their record (download here.) I also asked for any extra posters and they gave me the one right from the front of the venue. All around successful night. Enjoy ya’ll.
yuck (also my favorite onamonapia)
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