IPW

Everyone FREAK OUT!!

Blizzard comin'. Nor'Easter. I like to imagine old men in New England squinting at the sky at drawlin': "Looks lahk a Nor'Easter Tom." "Yea Ed, looks lahk."

I don't know if that's accurate, but here in NYC people are freaking out. I remember when snow was forecast for Seattle, despite a miserable record of accuracy on the part of the weathermen, people would get really excited and run around like crazy. Here people seem to get really worried, like Armageddon is coming in the form of a soft white powder from the sky. We just left the "Super C" Supermarket on havermeyer street near us where the worried citizenry was stocking up for the coming storm. Tons of orange juice and frozen pierogis. When snow is forecast, or any storm above a certain size, the forecasters declare it a Nor'Easter. I think they just like saying that, also imagining the same New England drawl. The Definition of a Nor-Easter seems to be whenever something interesting happens weatherwise in the North East. So interesting we can't take the time to annunciate the 'th' in North. Nor'Easter! Sorry! No time to annunciate!

Indeed the snow has started falling so what better time to catch up on the blog?

So first of all the most important thing, and perhaps the biggest challenge to this blog so far: TV. We've spent the last six months without it since our landlords are in some sort of a staring contest with Time-Warner over their installation policy. It was actually sort of funny trying to sort it out for about three minutes, then it got dull. Ms. Lefkowitz, management's flunky, told me that they had contacted TW and they had refused to install (Huge corporations always refuse money after all). I called TimeWarner myself and they told me that they had sent a package to the landlords that they needed to fill out and return before they could do anything. From the point that the paperwork was returned to them it would be up to three months before anyone in the building could get cable. After learning this I informed Ms. Lefkowitz that she was in possession of papers that should be filled out and returned. She had no idea what I was talking about. I had this exact same series of conversations with both parties two times before I got bored. Not to be racist, though that's hard when making sweeping generalizations about one group of people, but I suspect the confusion stems from our landlord's (who are Hassidic) complete inability to communicate outside of their community. This and the fact that there are a bunch of surly New Yorkers on the other end of the line with their "Not my problem" attitudes. The guy I talked to could not have cared less cared if we ever watched another minute of TV or not. This is contrary to the stated policy of Time-Warner though. Somewhere it is written in the Time Warner manifesto that every American should use every minute of their free time watching television. Finally, frustrated by the stalemate, we called Dish Network and within a week had joined the other fifty satellite dishes lining the roof like round, flat-faced birds. Unfortunately the result of having a TV signal is that we now must watch it.

We had 6 months of commercial free bliss. After three days of catch-up television (Who's 'Lost'? Why are the Housewives Desperate? What terrible tragedy befell the writers of Will and Grace?) we are bleary eyed and paralyzed by indecision. Which of these thirty-three thrilling deodorants should we use? Which fat-cell blocker should we run, not walk, to purchase and ingest in great handfulls? Why are we paying good money for MegaCorps™ to grind our noses in their products? We still have no answers. Thanks to the magic of satellite TV we have access to seventeen thousand channels with all manner of garbage to assault our senses with. The problem is, how to find anything interesting? When we do, how to find it again? We are overwhelmed. But enthralled. This magic box is talking to us! It loves us! It wants to be our friend! Horray! Everyone needs friends.

Meanwhile, my computer is sneering at us from across the room. Electronic jealousy is thick in the air. WE had an interaction. I don't batter you about the head and shoulders with ads for hemorrhoid creams. Through ME you can talk to the world and bore others with your thoughts instead of them boring you. You are right Computer, you're right, but, it's so colorful, hehe look! A puppy selling meat! O! How far have I fallen?

Far. But I'm back at the keyboard, the snow is still falling outside making up for weeks of balmy, spring-like weather that has made NY seem downright enjoyable in winter. But snow is fun too. Hopefully it will shut the city down like it did last year. Unfortunately it is on Saturday night, also like last year, some kind of a plot by the Republican Bloomberg administration to avoid business interruption in the city.

Our other pre-city-crippling-storm excursion was to the Williamsburg Public Library. It's a Carnegie. The Robber Baron/Philanthropist built a slew of public libraries across the country in his day, the only thing he asked, a small thing, was to have handsome plaques bearing his likeness placed high on the walls so he could over-see and be over-seen by library-goers forever more. I know it isn't fashionable to not be cynical but let me sing a little praise for this little house of books, then I will get back to being a jerk. First, there were people there. They were reading. There was a child checking out a book about Nelson Mandela. The people at the counters were friendly and helpful. Folks, people were learning! They probably have Hassidic landlords who wouldn't let them have cable.

Two nights ago we went to see the Aimee Mann concert at Town Hall, a fine music venue up near Times Square. The concert was great, we are big fans of her stuff ever since PT Anderson created the excellently weird "Magnolia" around the songs he asked her to write for him. On the way home we saw something in the subways that was thrilling. Long ago, just before our move to NY, my Mom asked me to keep an eye out for "The Money Train" a mythical subway train that rolls around the transit system collecting proceeds late at night. Like Santa. But a train. That collects money instead of giving toys, so, not like Santa at all. This train actually exists, but like the Z train, no one I know has actually seen it. That night, we didn't see it either. We saw something better: The Trash Train. It blew through the Bryant Park station like the wind. The stinky wind. It was made up of an armored engine car, and it pulled behind it two box-cars full of the day's underground garbage. Then, with two blows of it's horn, it was gone, following the tracks of legend back into the black tunnel of myth where it will no doubt go pick up Zeus' cigarette butts.

I'm going to go stare out the window at the storm and see if I can watch anyone actually freaking out. It occurs to me that I might be the only one.

Posted by ian at February 9, 2006 11:22 PM