First Date with Siri

So I got an iPhone. Two years on Blackberry, then two years on Android, and finally I've admitted that it really is just a great interface. There are still a few things I miss from my ol' Droid, but even after one day I'm rapidly getting used to it.

A colleague came with me to the store to get it, and on the way back to work he asked a question the magnitude of which had not previously occurred to me:

Have you used Siri yet?

Of course I've heard and read about Siri (Speech Interpretation and Recognition Interface), the "intelligent" software that acts as a sort of personal assistant and voice-activated search engine. Mostly, I'd read the funny responses Apple engineers had pre-programmed in to certain questions like: "What are you wearing?" (Answer: Aluminum body with glass front and back), or "What's the meaning of life?" (Answer varies, I got: "I don't know, but I think there's an app for that."). Sometimes Siri needs extra information to help you out, as in when you say "I need to hide a body." Siri responds, "What kind of place are you looking for?" with options to search for nearby reservoirs, metal foundries, mines, dumps, or swamps.

But there's a bit more to Siri than that. I've heard several people commenting on "her" personality. Around Christmastime, even my mom talked about Siri as if she were an old friend who helps her out--and just happens to hang out in her purse.

So, walking down the street with my colleague, new iPhone in hand, I considered what my first interaction with Siri would be. I admit, I was a little nervous. What should I ask first? How do I introduce myself? What if she doesn't understand me? What if she doesn't like me? I held my finger over the button that activated Siri for a moment, then:

"Hello?"

"Hello, Andrew."

"Um, how are you today?"

"I am well. What can I help you with?"

"Um, nothing right now, thank you."

"Ok."

It seems Siri and I are off to a polite, if a little cool, start. We're still working a bit on our rapport, but I'm sure we'll get there. Even this morning I asked Siri to remind me to do something later, and was surprised at the accuracy of the dictation. I was a little skeptical, but I think I might be coming around.

Then I discovered Siri's Australian accent in the settings. Oh my, I think I'm in love.

Shag Now or Shag Later?

Shagging in public--the scandal!

I expected this post to be about shagging. In Ottawa. It's cold up there, you see, so one of the more enjoyable ways of keeping warm is to shag long into the night. I'm speaking, of course, of the annual Shag Explosion dance event and competition.

Alas, it was not to be. Lynn had unfortunately taken ill, and the weekend was instead spent watching movies at home.

But, that's not going to stop us from shagging as much as possible. In public, no less.

Collegiate Shag, like all of the swing dances that arose in the early part of the twentieth century, has a somewhat hazy history. Terms like "shag," "swing," and "jitterbug" were used more broadly to label any of the swing dances being danced in those days. (People from that time period would laugh at how specifically we label our dances today; to them Swing, Charleston and all the rest were interchangeable and determined only by the tempo and style of the music.) It's thought that Collegiate Shag as a distinct style arose out of New York City in the 1930s. From the ferver of fast-tempo dances this particular style of shag was adopted by the younger--you might say, collegiate--set of dancers.

It looks a little something like this:



Lynn and I have been learning shag from Tony Fraser, who is an awesome, energetic teacher. He and his partner Jamie Shannon are pushing the limits of the style and really having fun with the dance. What I enjoy most about them is that they really emphasize the playfulness of the dance, always encouraging everyone to put their own spin on the style. There aren't a lot of shaggers in NYC these days, so we're building on the small community here. And I'm happy to say that those who did make it to Ottawa, like Eryck and Liz shown in the picture above, did exceptionally well.

Here's Tony and Jamie:

Writing More

I'm hoping to write more. There's no big secret strategy here, just the good old brute-force method. I'll make some time regularly to site and write.

The good news is, I actually have been writing a very little bit more lately.  Just before the holidays, I wrote a post for Tor.com concerning the recent announcements out of CERN. Two research teams on different detectors are narrowing in on the infamous Higgs Boson, completing our understanding of the Standard Model of subatomic particles. Fascinating stuff.

Painting a giant movie poster.

More recently, I wrote an article on the very site I work for. Outside my office window I can see a 14-story-tall advert for movies, and every six weeks or so they paint over it for a new movie. It's fascinating to watch, and I've always wondered how it works. So I documented it with pictures and did some research to find out the process. Yes, they actually are painting--by hand--the entire side of a building. The article can be found here.

So yes, I've been writing a bit. Now to keep it going.

Never Too Late for a Resolution

2011 was not a great year for this blog. It's not that nothing happened worth writing about, or that so much was happening I just didn't have the time. No, I simply didn't write.

2011 was not a great year for me. It's not that I didn't go on amazing trips, or that it was terrible from start to finish. No, but it was a succession of highs and lows.

The year began with frequent trips to Michigan. I don't often feel the need to "go home" or visit much outside of holidays or the occasional friend's wedding. I know my mom misses me, but I also know how much she supports me and my living wherever my life takes me. But when she was in an awful car accident, there was nowhere I wanted to be more than Michigan.

In the days after the accident, I spent days in the hospital, and nights at a diner nearby. I heard things from doctors about how bones break, fracture, and shatter, and how permanently damaging these things can be. I learned all about Michigan's no-fault auto accident insurance laws. My mom, meanwhile, simply decided to get better.

Within days she was on her feet. Within weeks, home from the hospital. Within months, walking, driving, and living a normal life. My mom is the most amazing person I know. I don't call her often enough.

Acapulco Bay

With winter's low on it's way out, spring brought a new high. Lynn, her brother, his girlfriend, and I all took a trip to Acapulco together. How does one describe a week in paradise? Sun, yes. Beach, yes. Relaxing? Definitely. And the food, oh, the food.

Summer began with frequent trips to Michigan--and other places around the Midwest. The grand Midwestern tour began again in Michigan, celebrating my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary. It was soon off to Wisconsin for Lynn's family gathering. Then over to Minneapolis for Mu Beta Psi's Alumni Association annual meeting. Back again to Michigan for a friend's wedding. And the pendulum, as all the best pendulums do, swung back.

Summer ended, and autumn began, with frequent trips to Michigan. My grandfather's health was failing, and I found myself once again drawn to the place I once called home. Hospital trips, family gatherings, the constant fear of a fundamental change in my world.

I love Strasbourg.

Somewhere in there, Lynn and I took our second amazing trip of the year, through Strasbourg, France and Bavaria. It was perfect. As I so often hope to do, maybe I can back-date some posts on it. For now, these pictures will have to suffice.

Somewhere in there, Lynn and I spent a quiet weekend with my grandpa and grandma filled with stories and discoveries. My grandpa meant more to me than I know how to express, even now. Thanksgiving night, he passed away. He was the most amazing person I knew. I never called him often enough.

And so 2011 came and went. I traveled more. I danced more. I cried more. This year, I will write more, take more pictures, and learn more. (And travel. And dance. Maybe less crying.)

Ich habe fünfzehn Jahre für diese gewartet

Sunset over New York, sunrise over London, lunch in Frankfurt.

Fifteen years ago, when faced with the decision of foreign languages to choose from in high school, I chose German.  I don't recall exactly why I chose German over French, Russian, and Spanish, but it was probably because then, as now, I just liked the sound of the language.  Throughout taking German levels 1, 2, and 4 (but not 3 for reasons I can't seem to recall), it was of course a foregone conclusion that I would travel to Germany at first opportunity.

And travel I did, to countries whose inhabitants speak Spanish, Italian, French, Spanish, more Spanish, and also Spanish.  But all good things to those who wait...that is, wait for friends to move to Germany and convince you that now's as good a time as any to just book the tickets and make the trip.

Lynn and I landed in Frankfurt on a sunny afternoon, and the adventure began immediately.  We were to make our way by train to the small western town of Kusel, where a friend has been living for a couple years.  Nervous about speaking a language among natives that I haven't studied in over a decade, fears were abated when I experienced once again that people are people everywhere.  The gentleman behind the ticket counter at the train station helped us get our route down (Kusel is not exactly on the beaten path), and even found a way to save us some money be making certain connections.  Helpful folks on the trains pointed us to the right platforms when we had to make those connections.  And so we went gliding through the countryside, generally aware of where we were going and marginally sure of when we'd get there.

Kusel

Once in Kusel, we had only to find our friend's house and some dinner.  Our friend was working late, so off we went in search of a little French restaurant she had recommended.  There, exhausted but happy to be in a new place, we chatted with the owner (who was even gracious enough to complement my German) and readied ourselves for the excitement to come.

"Odd that they'd play the Beatles, no?" mused Lynn the American upon hearing British music in the French restaurant of the German town over her plate of Austrian wienerschnitzel.

Home Again

Milford, Michigan

Once or twice a year, I head back to Michigan.  Holidays with family, weddings of friends, there's never a shortage of reasons.  I often joke that "you can never go home again."  Things are different now. There are new buildings, different stores, fewer friends around--it's changed.  It's a different place than what you used to call home, and so you can't "go home" any more than you can go back in time.

But I've been spending a lot of time in Michigan in the last year.  More than in the last several years combined.  Sometimes in familiar places, sometimes in new places.  But it's all, on some level, familiar.  There's a unique atmosphere to it, a type of people, an aesthetic to the landscape, that is unmistakably...home?  Not my current home.  But absolutely where I come from.

I grew up in a town called Milford.  There's a Milford in almost every state, and with a few exceptions, they're all variations on the same theme.  About an hour or so from some large city, there's a little town on a river.  The town itself holds a few to several thousand people, but the outlying farms and nearby even smaller towns contribute to the feel of the population as well.  There's one major industry in or near the town.  The "downtown" area on Main Street consists of a couple blocks, and includes a bakery, the local paper, a jeweler, a toy store, and the rest of the collection of restaurants and small shops not yet put out of business by the brand new WalMart two towns over.  The folks who live there pride themselves on their town's obscure--but interesting--history, and on knowing that they live in a great place to raise kids.  They all not-so-secretly believe they are the real town Garrison Keillor talks about every week, "where the women are strong, the men are good looking, and the children are above average."

My Milford was my childhood Mayberry.  I rode my bike with a friend down to the bridge over the river where we'd spend the afternoon with half-hearted fishing lines in the water talking comic books.  We built tree forts in the woods and held our breath walking past the cemetery.  I walked down the street to neighbors near and far saying hello.  My high school's football field on Friday night was the place to be--even if the team hardly ever won.

My Milford has changed a lot in the intervening years.  The population has boomed as the outskirts of Detroit have grown into suburbs of their own, and suburbs of suburbs now reach all the way out to my little town.  The cute little stores are now high-end boutiques.  They even repealed an age-old law against buildings more than two stories tall and have built a few that are (gasp!) three and four stories tall.  Friends and family have moved away.  What once was the kind of place you looked for to live the small-town life is now a trendy spot to go out for dinner.

And yet there is a pull.  Those little familiarities, that remind you why, though you'd never admit it, you did look back over your shoulder as you left.  The way you know where you're going even though it's been ages since you've gone there.  The bend in the road you anticipate out of habit.  The surprising recollection of some neighborhood landmark that was of no significance twenty years ago when you passed it every day, yet you now start at the tiniest thrill of recognition.

It pulls at you gently, almost imperceptibly.  You effortlessly slip into a routine that you didn't realize you still remembered.  The place lulls you in, reminds you of its beauty, discretely hides its faults. Tugs at the nostalgia-laden heartstrings like a conversation with an old friend.  Let's catch up.  How've you been?  You've really changed.  You're exactly the same.

Just when you think that maybe you can go home again, you begin to realize that this place has grown up, too.  Where you once rode your bike to the Dime & Cent store for comic books and plastic swords. you now drive over to shop for locally-made home furnishings.  The ice cream parlor with the high counter and arcade video games has become a restaurant to meet old friends and reminisce.  Other friends prefer the popular new restaurant down the street, though you can't help but see it as the old pizza joint where you worked your first job at sixteen.

Nostalgia and the realization of change are, by definition, at odds.  Nowhere does that seem more true than when looking at your own home--not where you live now, but where you come from.  I can't go home again, not really, but I can visit it in stories, photo albums, and all those happy childhood memories.

New Inspirations and Pursuits

Well, it has been a while.  I think this may have been the longest I've gone without updating the ol' blog. Not for lack of activity, really, just lack of time.  And that's a good thing, really, not having time to sit in front of my computer for too long.  Aside from the normal duties of work, the Condo Board, the Board of Trustees of Mu Beta Psi, and daily life with two cats and an equally busy Lynn, I've gotten back into dancing a bit and taken up a new hobby.

For my birthday, and in preparation for a little trip I'm planning, Lynn gave me a fancy DSLR camera.  (And, it should be noted, enrollment in a photography workshop.)  Under the guidance of a colleague from work, and the workshop, I've been experimenting and having a great time learning about the camera.  So far, I've taken some...

Dramatic shots of my cat:

And cute shots of my cat:

And shots of random people in the park:

And nice cars in my neighborhood:

So, clearly, I have a long way to go.  But I am very much enjoying this new way of looking at the world around me.

Cutting the Cable

Growing up, our house had cable TV for approximately three months. It was while we were living in an "in-between" apartment while the place we were moving to was not yet ready, and it happened to be cable-ready (which was a big deal in those days). So we had a little cable box on the top of our TV. And with it, I watched "Ren and Stimpy" hour after hour. That's about it.

As a kid, I barely remember anyone having cable TV. In the olden days (oh no, I'm turning into one of those) our TV had rabbit-ear antennae that just barely picked up five or six channels. The major networks were on the VHF* dial; CBS on channel 2, NBC on channel 4, and ABC on channel 7. On the UHF dial were channels 20, 50, and on a clear day, 62. I don't remember too much about those channels, except that Star Trek was on one of them. And really, what else mattered?

Once the 90's hit, it seemed cable was everywhere--or at least, everywhere in my friends' houses. The number of channels even on broadcast TV exploded, merged, bought each other, and added off-shoot channels. Somewhere in there was the short period of "Ren and Stimpy" mentioned earlier, and that was exciting. Literally tens of channels! But when it was back to broadcast TV afterward, I didn't really feel like I was missing anything.

In college, my freshman dorm room had the campus cable. My room-mate brought a TV, and we hooked it up, and watched it once. One movie, about an hour and a half. I later moved off-campus, and though I had a TV, I had neither cable or rabbit-ears, so it was in practice only for watching movies and sitting drinks upon. Besides, the internet was the only necessary source of news and entertainment by then.

Moving to NYC meant no television at all for years. Not that it was unavailable, mostly because I was busy, a poor grad student, and had better things to do. Not until I moved into 90 West, and even then only because my room-mate had already had one, and it was hooked up to cable. As silly as it sounds, I was surprised at the sheer volume of content available. Hundreds of channels! So many, in fact, that I didn't watch any of them. Instead, I signed up for Netflix.

But ever since, I've had cable. Why? Because it came with internet access, or there was some promotional deal, or something convinced me that it'd be more effort to get rid of it than to keep it. But we don't really watch anything. Sure, there are some good shows on these days, but they're also on Netflix, Hulu, or even the websites of the TV networks themselves. We end up turning on the ol' tube (which is funny, because I haven't had a TV with a cathode ray tube since college) whenever we have nothing better to do. This invariably means we end up watching HGTV (or worse, "How Clean is Your House") until we can no longer stand it.

So, we cut the cable. There are tons of people "cutting the cable" these days, in protest to the rising prices or the monopolies of most cable providers, or as a statement that the internet provides the same content for less. We certainly aren't going to miss the higher bills, and we certainly will get whatever shows we really want to watch through the internet. But mostly, we're getting rid of it just because we don't watch.  Or at least, we're ashamed of what we do watch.

And if our home is a little quieter for it, well, that's hardly anything to complain about.


* For those who may not remember, back in the day TV was an analog phenomenon, with VHF (Very High Frequency) and UHF (Ultra High Frequency) defining two ranges of radio frequency used to broadcast television signals. I remember being incredibly excited at the discovery that TV and radio were in effect the same thing. I used to try and impress my friends by tuning the analog car radio tuner all the way down to the bottom of the FM range, where you could sometimes pick up the audio from the TV stations. To my great surprise, this never seemed to impress them.

Guardian Angel

Some people say our troops are heroes. Some people say we're lucky that our heroes are our troops.

Somewhere out there, a young man is visiting his family in mid-Michigan. He's wishing them a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year, because he won't be there to share it with them. He's getting together with his friends and visiting old haunts. He's telling his mom that he loves her and that he'll see her again, hopefully soon.

He won't be with them because he's in the United States Air Force, and will shortly be deployed to Iraq.

But on his way to or from his family one evening last week, he passed through the city of Flint. Perhaps he saw it happen. Perhaps he only saw what remained. But he stopped. He didn't need to; he probably had somewhere to be, and it was cold and snowing. But he stopped all the same. He could help, even if in some small way, and he wanted to help.

He pulled over in front of the wreckage of the car. He put on his military reflective vest and walked over to the driver, still trapped inside. He saw that she was conscious, but cold. He grabbed his space-blanket from his car and brought it to her and wrapped it around her. He called the police, an ambulance, and her family. He talked to her, kept her conscious, kept her alert. He called the police, an ambulance, and her family again. He told her about himself, to keep her talking. He asked her questions, engaged her answers. He made her comfortable. He kept her alive.

That young man, simply because he was there, stayed with her until the ambulance eventually took her to the hospital.

Right here, a young man is visiting his mom in southeastern Michigan. He's wishing her well, and a full recovery, and glad he can be there to share it. He's telling her he loves her and he's so grateful he gets to see her again.

To that young man, from this one, thank you. I hope to find you and tell you that you have another family who will be thinking of you while you're in Iraq, who are proud of you, and grateful to you. You are our hero.

Country Mouse, City Mouse

I find that when it comes to communities, I like the extremes. Give me a rural, wooded, empty landscape. Or New York City. Either works for me. The in-betweens, "small cities," and especially suburbs, just don't feel right to me.

On a recent weekend, I was spending time in Vermont. In many ways, it felt like Michigan's UP: small towns, rough landscape, and hardy locals. Lynn and I strolled through tiny towns, ate lunch along a crystal-clear river, and rode horses through mountain forests.

Immediately upon returning to the bustling metropolis of NYC, we had to quickly transition back to city folk. We had massages at a spa (we were celebrating our second anniversary, after all). That evening we attended the film premier of "Stone" at the Museum of Modern Art. Edward Norton was there (didn't meet him), and apparently a host of other people I probably ought to have recognized (didn't meet them). The after-party was at a swank hotel near the main public library building (think Ghostbusters) where the food was amazing, drinks unending, and coolness factor far out-matching myself.

But it was fun, all of it. I enjoyed horseback riding miles from nowhere as much as attending the premier in the metropolis. And somehow, putting them within 24 hours of each other reminded me why the two places I've explicitly chosen to live are on the opposite ends of every spectrum.

If nothing else, the extremes are interesting.

Battle of the Kittehs: Louis vs. Ella

Ladies and Gentlemen!  Fleming International brings you the all-out, hard-hitting, brawl of the century!  Two competitors will battle for superiority of sleeping spots, prime petting position, and complete dominance of the domestic domain!

Let's introduce our fighters:

In the red corner, weighing in at 12 lbs, and reigning Heavyweight Champion of the Apartment, Louis "I Was Here First" Cat.

In the blue corner, weighing just 5 lbs and barely qualifying for this class, Ella "Smaller and Faster" Kitten.

These two combatants were brought together originally to live peacefully in their shared apartment.  But that peace was soured when Louis balked at Ella's brash behavior in making herself comfortably at home in his space.  The two squared off and quickly agreed to a multi-bout tournament to determine, once and for all, which cat would reign supreme.

Louis Cat, born February 2009, is the Brute of Brooklyn.  His style is direct and forceful, right in line with a typical feline fighter.  His favorite tactic is to use his front paws to tap his opponent on the head, as if to toy with them, then pin them down with his body.  He'll give chase if he has to, but prefers the pounce-and-kick method to running around needlessly.

Ella Kitten, born May 2010, is the newcomer and is challenging Louis for the title for the first time. She's fast and light, and makes full use of the tight spaces around her to gain a tactical position.  Though inexperienced, she has a natural talent for flanking her opponents.  Her strategy of running and hiding may paint her as the weak one, but when the claws come out, she's a whole lot of sharp.

Who will take home the Champion belt?  Will experience and brute force overcome speed and agility?  Will the undercat uproot the reigning Champion?  The two competitors will take the ring each day until they determine how to coexist in the same space.  Daily bouts will go on until the referees call an end and split them up to rest for the next match.  Eventually, though no one knows how long, Louis and Ella will declare a victor or a truce.  This commentator is hoping for the latter, though I'm sure we're in for a heck of a show.

Images: Naddya Chavez

The Last Lock

I've been putting off this post.  Perhaps because I never really like it when things end.  Perhaps because I've been awfully busy keeping the two kitties from killing each other.

The last Saturday evening in August, Lynn and I headed up to the George Washington Bridge to find the last lock in the Key to the City project.  We had almost stopped by this particular lock after running around the Bronx, but in the end were too tired to continue and really wanted to head up to the GWB around sunset.  So it was left as the last thing on our list.

The bridge itself is quite remarkable in its own right, built between 1927 and 1931 and becoming the longest suspension bridge in the world for some time.  With 14 lanes of traffic (two levels), it's still the bridge with the highest vehicular capacity in the world.  The chief engineer, Othmar Ammann, built six major bridges in and around NYC, including the Verrazano, Whitestone, and Triborough bridges, which I cross often going to and from Brooklyn.  The architect of the GWB was Cass Gilbert, who I always seem to run into.  Gilbert had originally planned to encase the towers of the GWB in granite with his favorite Beaux Arts flourishes, and even put a restaurant at the top of the east tower.  However, the Great Depression delayed these plans, and eventually everyone came to love the now-iconic "bare bones" steel lattice.  They do make the bridge immediately distinguishable from any other suspension bridge.

When we arrived in the neighborhood of Washington Heights on the Manhattan side of the bridge the sun had already sunk below the horizon, but the twilight colors still stretched across the sky.  We walked up the ramp onto the pedestrian walkway and came to a gate left wide open.  This gate held the lock we were looking for at one time, but I'd heard long ago that the lock was missing and the gate was left open until midnight anyway.  But we weren't really there to open anything this time.  We were there to enjoy a beautiful view of New York from high up on the span of the bridge and the wonderful summer evening air.

It seemed natural that the end of our month-long trek to every corner of NYC should end here, with a beautiful skyline vista and a sunset to see it off.  It seemed natural that this grand tour of my home should end on the bridge that brought me in when I moved here permanently.  In many ways, this whole project has re-acquainted me with the city.  It's broken down my routine destinations and habits in favor of places I'd never been, or sometimes had even heard of.  We need that every once in a while: the chance to see our home from a different perspective and find new appreciation and astonishment in what's been there all along.

I'm grateful for the journey this project provided, and even more so for the people who shared it along the way.  Thanks Julie, for bestowing the key upon me in Times Square.  Thanks Lynn, Andy, Sandy, Sarah, and Julie (different Julie) for coming along for the ride.  And thanks Julie (yet a third), Tom, and Rachel for being game to run around the city with strangers and having a great time.


View Key to the City - GWB - 8/28/10 in a larger map

I'll Take Manhattan (Part II)

Our Friday adventure continues!  After spending some time in the Bronx, my friend from work and I headed back into Manhattan to the famous Museum Mile, a stretch of the Upper East Side where one can find many of the city's best hot dog stands--in front of museums.  One of the Key destinations was the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but sadly, they only participated through the end of June.  I've heard from other Key holders that it "unlocked" free admission, which is kind of funny since the admission fee is a suggested donation anyway.  There was also a music box that a staff member would show to Key holders.  Since I only received my key the day before the museum stopped participating, I didn't really get a chance to see it, but I still wanted to stop by since it was one of the destinations.

We then walked down along Central Park to the Whitney Museum of American Art.  I'd been there once before, seven years ago, but couldn't remember much from that trip.  The lock we were looking for was on the coat check counter right by the entrance, so we went there first.  It was a simple wooden box, with a strap around it locked by a padlock.  I opened it, not really sure what to expect, and the walls of the box unfolded down flat.  Insider was a model of the new building the Whitney is going to build down by the High Line park.  The insides of each wall, now lying flat on the table, had detailed schematics of each wall of the building.  It was really cool to see, it felt like we were peering into the planning stages of the Whitney's future.

We then had the rest of the afternoon to wander the museum.  I often approach art museums with some trepidation.  I like art works, in general, but I find I rarely understand or find meaning in most modern art.  I feel like the concept of "making art" has become more about the artist's act than the art itself.  For example, one wall in the Whitney had a large canvas with markings on it made by various materials.  The markings seemed to be random, and I just couldn't find any meaning in any of it.  Nothing.  Near it was a television showing the artist "creating" it.  He had set up some metal ramps along the wall, and was climbing on these ramps while making the random markings on the canvas.  The kicker: he was climbing on these metal ramps wearing ice skates.  Yes, ice skates.  So naturally he was not having an easy time on the metal ramps, and I can only imagine the sound must have been horrendous.  And this is art.  This is inspired creation.  What?  Surely, surely, there's an easier way to make random marks on a canvas.  Perhaps I'm artistically-challenged, but I fail to see how the artist's act of creation--done in private--can be more "art" than the results of that creation, hung in a museum.  I feel like art should be judged by the people viewing it, and not have meaning imposed upon it by the artist.  This tends to put me at odds with any art that I can't make sense out of in my own head.

Same goes for one installation that was an entire floor set up for a performance.  There was a large projection screen showing what looked like old black and white video of cowboys riding horses, with random bright green dots slowly filling the screen.  In front of this was a group of musicians, consisting of a cellist and several guys with keyboards.  The cellist made the occasional scraping sounds, while the keyboardists looked incredibly busy and active producing only static and what sounded like speaker feedback.  Another floor showed videos of a woman slamming a door, with a loud door-slamming soundtrack that was out of synch with the video itself.  I was supposed to feel the artist's frustration at not being taken seriously as a young female artist.  Yet, seeing this, I really couldn't take her seriously as any kind of artist at all.

It wasn't all incomprehensible (to me) sculptures and installations.  There was one entire floor devoted to Charles Burchfield, who I came to really enjoy throughout the exhibit.  He started with a sort of realist watercolor style painting landscapes from his childhood.  Though the exhibit we could see his style change, becoming brighter, darker, then more fantastical.  His were interesting and engaging, and I found myself seeing more and more in his paintings.  There was even a room showing his throw-away doodles and drawings that he never turned into paintings, and it was fun to see what he hadn't intended to be displayed.  Thoroughly enjoyable.

Having covered the Whitney top to bottom, the plan was to jump into the subway and head down to meet Lynn near Bryant Park for the fifth and final lock of the day.  We started walking toward the subway, walked past it, and ended up walking the two miles down into Midtown to meet Lynn at a little Italian restaurant we've been to before, Via Italia.  Lynn and I ate there when she decided to move to NYC, and later when I proposed, so it's a place we tend to gravitate towards when looking for a good dinner in Midtown.

After dinner, we walked down to Bryant Park for the last destination of the evening.  By this point, night had fallen, setting the perfect scene for this particular lock.  In Bryant Park, near the 'Wichcraft kiosk we found a specific park lamp.  It looked like all the others that light up the park except for a small green box near the base with a lock on it.  On this evening, some event was going on, and we had to get just inside the barrier they'd set up to access the lock.  I opened it with my key and found a simple light switch.  I turned off the light.  Lynn then reached over and turned it back on, though it took several long minutes for it to warm up and light again.  I'd have to say this is one of the coolest locks.  These lamps are everywhere throughout the city, and it felt strangely special to be able to turn one off and on.  If any of these locks are left in place after the project ends next week, I hope this one is among them.

As promised, a map of the whole day:


View Key to the City - BX/Man - 8/27/10 in a larger map

Return to the Bronx (Part I)

So much for last Saturday being the last marathon Key to the City day.  I'd intended to run up quickly to the Bronx today to stop by the two last destinations up there.  (The first three were on a weekend trip earlier in the month.)  Instead, a friend from work joined me and we had a whole afternoon adventure, eventually hitting five of the remaining destinations--more than any other single day.

Leaving work, we ran by Union Square where Lynn and two of her work friends were having lunch.  Then we were off on the subway up to the Bronx.  I had heard that the first stop, Public School 73 was at the top of the steepest hill in the Bronx.  Thinking we might skip the uphill climb, we  took the subway one stop further than necessary in hopes of coming out on top of the hill.  No luck there.  We hard to climb a stairwell reminiscent of Montmartre in Paris to get up to the street and find PS 73.  I thought we might have struck out right away when we got to the front doors and they were locked.  Fortunately, there was an open door around the side of the building.

Boy did that bring back memories.  We walked in and immediately saw those fold-up long picnic tables, drinking fountains, and walls full of childrens' art projects.  A couple security guards (it is the Bronx after all, but there were no metal detectors or security bars to perpetuate that stereotype) showed us to the front lobby.  There, we found a display case that typically holds announcements for the students.  It was full of Key holders' notes as well, so we unlocked the case and added our own.  Mine: "School days.  Do I miss you?  NO."  My friend's: "Playing hooky from work to go back to school!"

A short walk, fortunately downhill this time, took us over to the Grand Concourse.  Our destination was deep inside the Bronx County Courthouse.  The guide book suggested that we "Be patient: security and freedom of access have to coexist."  It was referring to the very strict security measures we had to go through to get into the courthouse.  I took everything I had out of my pockets and the metal detectors still beeped; it was more sensitive than any airport I've gone through in years.

The directions were surprisingly complex, sending us down a couple hallways, to a stairway into a lower level, and down more hallways.  We walked past the Marriage Bureau where there were several couples waiting to be married, and down another hall.  At the end of it was a small plastic "quality service survey box."  Anyone could drop their suggestions in, but only with a Key could we open the box and read what's inside.  Interestingly, there were no quality service surveys, only notes from other Key holders.  We once again added our own, one reading "Nice to come in through the visitors' entrance this time!"

All five stops in the Bronx complete!  Next stop, Manhattan....

(I'll put the map on the second part of the day's adventure, in the next post.)

The Old Churchyard

A doctor's appointment across the street from a Key to the City lock? Sounds like a recipe for a quick detour!

Trinity Church (not where my doctor practices) is a historic church in the Financial District. The building there today was built in 1846, though the Trinity Church parish goes back to 1698 when the first of three churches was built on the same spot as today's. According to church records, the infamous pirate/privateer Captain William Kidd lent the runner and tackle from his ship to hoist the stones in building the first church. Today's church is no less distinguished. It was the tallest building in NYC until 1890, and served as the welcome beacon to sailors coming up the bay from the Atlantic, along with being one of the most prominent churches in the city's history.

Today the church still sits in its original land chartered property, most of which consists of the Trinity Church Cemetery. The Key to the City opens the gate to the cemetery, although on this particular day Lynn and I found it wide open as tourists and Wall Streeters alike meandered through or ate lunch in the shade.

Walking through this cemetery is like reading a laundry list of NYC street names, signers of the Declaration of Independence, members of the Continental Congresses, and prominent statesmen of the eighteenth century.  Two of the largest cenotaphs are for Robert Fulton and Alexander Hamilton, the former an accomplished inventor and engineer, and the latter, well, Alexander Hamilton.  I especially loved the epitaph on Hamilton's tomb:

ALEXANDER HAMILTON
The CORPORATION of TRINITY CHURCH Has erected this
MONUMENT
In Testimony of their Respect
FOR
The PATRIOT of incorruptible INTEGRITY.

The SOLDIER of approved VALOUR.
The STATESMAN of consummate WISDOM:
Whose TALENTS and VIRTUES will be admired

BY
Grateful Posterity.
Long after this MARBLE shall have mouldered into
DUST
He Died July 12th 1804. Aged 47.

Hamilton's tomb, though I'm unsure whether this was intentional or not, is on the site where a small building stood during his lifetime.  This building was the original home to King's College, which began in the churchyard, though the College had moved to its own independent building in 1760.  Hamilton began studying at King's College in 1774, and so never studied in the building that stood where he now lies.  King's College today is better known as Columbia University, where I also spent my grad school years.  Columbia claims Hamilton as its "most famous alumnus."  Though truth be told, Hamilton began leading a group of students in military drill, and in 1776 they all joined the Revolutionary Army, making him really Columbia's "most famous drop-out."

Nothing like a little walk through history on a mid-summer day.


View Key to the City - Manhattan - 8/26/10 in a larger map

Staaten Eylandt

In what was probably our last marathon Key to the City day, Lynn and I spent Saturday on Staten Island searching out the four locks there.  They were spread from the northernmost neighborhood to the very southern tip of NYC. And I'll freely admit, we blended right in with the locals by taking a car.  The island is so big there's now way we could have traversed all of the stops in one day using only the busses and single light rail line.

I'm sure I don't need to explain the stigma that is Staten Island.  It's not so much called the "forgotten borough" because it slips under the radar as it is because most New Yorkers wish they could forget it.  I'd been to Staten Island once before, and while the experience was too painful to record in the blog, that trip was referenced in this old post.  Ok, truth is, that trip happened before this blog existed--but I liked the "too painful to record" line too much not to use it.  Still, there are some truly beautiful places on the island.  Some lovely beaches, fascinating former military bases, and as I learned on Saturday, some very  historically significant sites.

Setting off in the morning, we first headed to the neighborhood of Elm Park.  This stop was another community garden, named after local Joe Holzka.  It used to be the site of an illegal casino, but was eventually turned into a source of neighborhood pride.  Our key opened the gate to a gazebo in the garden to relax in--that is, if the gates to the garden itself were not locked.  We discovered, unfortunately, that the garden is only open on alternating Saturdays.  Oops.  Undaunted, we smelled the roses through the chain-link fence and moved on.

Near the approach of the Bayonne Bridge, a few miles west of the first stop, is the Staten Island Buddhist Vihara.  Vihara, I later learned, is the Sanskrit term for monastery, though this was a house like all the other houses in this residential neighborhood.  Our key was to open the lock to the "garden maintained by the monks" behind the house.  The gate was wide open, but a typed note on the gate welcomed us to wander the garden, meditate, and come inside for tea.  We did wander the garden, and were especially interested in the Bodhi tree they had, directly descended from the original Bodhi tree under which the Buddha attained enlightenment.

A little nervous, we rang the bell and were welcomed inside by a monk in orange robes.  He eagerly showed us into the shrine room with a large statue of Buddha surrounded by flowers and incense.  The floor was empty, but for stacks of pillows along the walls, and the ceiling was everywhere covered in soft paper lanterns.  We suddenly felt like we were intruding on their lives.  We tried to ask questions and engage the monk showing us around, but he seemed--not unwilling, not unfriendly--just not engaged in talking too much with us.  I'm not sure if this was a language barrier, or if we were upsetting a typical Saturday morning at the Vihara.  We tried to politely and quickly thank him, put our shoes back on, and excuse ourselves.

By this point it was time for lunch, so we opted to drive down to the very middle of the island near where our next stop, a bus tour, would begin.  This took us by the Staten Island Mall, the destination of my first fateful trip into Staten Island.  Being the most suburban-like part of NYC, and since we were near a real suburban-like shopping mall, Lynn was hoping for an Olive Garden for lunch.  Would you believe that although there are two Olive Gardens in Manhattan, there is not a single one in Staten Island?  I'm amazed, too.  Still, we found another typical suburban chain we hadn't been to in ages, Outback Steakhouse.  Closed.  Next door was another, closed.  Who knew Staten Island didn't wake up before 1pm on a Saturday?  We finally ended up at TGI Fridays.  Oh yes, yes we did.

It was then time to meet the bus for our third destination, Freshkills Park.  Why a bus?  Well, the park isn't technically open yet, though they're giving tours of parts of it to let the public know what's going on.  Freshkills Park is more commonly known by its previous name, Freshkills Landfill.  It received most of NYC's daily trash from 1947 to 2001, and is the largest landfill in the world.  As our guide said, if you lived in or visited NYC during the fifty-four years it was open, your trash is in there somewhere.  Today the landfill is closed, and almost completely capped off.  The city is turning it into a 2,600 acre park, the largest in NYC.  The tour was pretty interesting, we drove up onto two of the capped "mounds" and saw the views out over most of Staten Island.  Meanwhile, our guide told us the history of the landfill, trash collecting in NYC, and how the Parks Department is slowly turning it into what will be great parkland with lots of amenities.  Our key unlocked a case in the front of the bus, inside of which were the largest pair of binoculars I'd ever seen.  Through them we could just barely make out the Lower Manhattan skyscrapers in the haze off in the distance.

Sitting in the row behind us on the bus, was a couple from London on--if you can belive this--their honeymoon.  Yes, they crossed the Atlantic to honeymoon in the least interesting borough of NYC on a pile of garbage.  Well, mostly.  She's working on a sewage reclamation project in London that will create a park around a terribly-polluted stream in the East End, so they worked this little side trip into their otherwise quite romantic NYC holiday.  We got to chatting with them, and enjoyed our time on the tour bus even more for it.  They loved the idea of the Key to the City project, so we invited them to come along with us to the final stop of the day.  Quite surprisingly, they accepted.

So, off we were with our British captives--friends!--to the very southern-most tip of Staten Island, the Conference House Park.  We parked the car, and walked down a gravel path past an old stone house to a beautiful wooden pavilion right on the beach.  It overlooked Raritan Bay, and out to the Atlantic Ocean.  I've been to NYC beaches before in the Rockaways and Coney Island, but this was completely different.  It felt more like a campground in some woodsy park far from anything that could be called city.  On the beach was a woman walking her horse into the water to bathe, and shells washed ashore from the bay.  Our key unlocked a door under the pavilion to let us into the space below it.  There we found tickets for free admission to tour the Conference House, the stone house we'd walked past on the way.

We went up to the Conference House, and I'm so glad we did as it was the best part of the whole day.  Walking around the house with our British friends, I learned that the guy was an architect.  It was incredible to circle this old house with him as he thought out loud about the way the stones were set, pointed out where windows had been removed, and clearly discerned what was original to the house and what was added on or upgraded later.  We managed to get in on the very last tour of the day (it was late afternoon by this point), with a couple other people who were clearly also enthusiastic about history.

I've always taken an interest in the history of places I've lived, and New York has been a veritable treasure chest.  I love finding little pieces of history everywhere here and learning their stories.  I've read extensively on the city's origins, the early settlements, and its role in American history.  A big part of that role was during the Revolutionary War, where in the Battle of Long Island George Washington famously lost NYC to the British and retreated north.  That battle occurred where I currently live, and during his retreat Washington made fortifications in northern Manhattan where I went to grad school and where Gracie Mansion would eventually be built.  It's a fascinating story of how the American patriots nearly lost the Revolutionary War, or as our new British friends insisted on calling it, the Civil War.  Ah, perspective.

Somehow, though, I missed the Conference House.  I'd never read about it, and indeed had never even heard of it.  Built as a country manor sometime before 1680, by the time of the Revolutionary War it had been commandeered by Lord Howe, commander of the British naval fleet in America.  Howe had been somewhat sympathetic to the colonists in the past, and so he was chosen to engage in the one and only session of peace talks between the two sides.  A peace conference was brokered between Howe and the Continental Conference to occur at Howe's residence.  On September 11, 1776, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, and Edward Rutledge rowed across the bay from New Jersey, and were led up to the Conference House.  They met with Howe in the parlor to the left when you walk in the front door.  There's no official record of the discussion, but after three hours, the three politely refused Howe's offer of peace, and so the war raged on for another seven years before the British conceded their colonies to the new United States of America.

The house itself was just as fascinating as its story.  Our tour guide was the caretaker of the house, and lived in a part of it that had been added on in the nineteenth century.  She was new, the usual guide hadn't shown up that day, and it was the last tour of the day, which meant we were all very relaxed and she was hilarious.  She led us through the main and upper floors of the house, where period furniture and everyday items were placed as if someone lived there still.  Down in the basement kitchen, quite unlike every other historic house I've ever toured, we were encouraged to look around and touch things.  Three hundred year old pots and pans?  Check 'em out!  Eighteenth century contraption in the corner?  We have no idea what this is, come play with it and see if you can figure it out!  It was awesome.  If for any reason you go to Staten Island, take this tour.

Our planned destinations all visited, it was time to return to more familiar territory.  Our new friends had become good friends, and so we went out to dinner with them in our neighborhood.  And naturally, ice cream followed.  The cool thing about this Key to the City project has been going to all of these places I'd never visit otherwise.  But the best part is meeting all of these amazing people along the way.


View Key to the City - Staten Island 8/21/10 in a larger map

From the Mayor's Mansion to the End of the Line

Another day, another Key to the City adventure.  Lynn and I managed to take a tour over our lunch break, then I took off to the far reaches of southern Brooklyn in the evening.

Our lunch destination was Gracie Mansion, the official residence of the Mayor of the City of New York.  This is another of the many places on this project that I've meant to see before but never got around to it.  The house was beautiful--I do love the Federalist style!--and the tour was really enjoyable.  Our two guides were great, and they told many anecdotes of the families who lived in the house before it became city property as well as the Mayors and their families.  My favorite part was seeing a British Revolutionary War cannon ball on a mantelpiece in the main parlor.  It was discovered in the ground while the mansion was being renovated, having done its part in destroying the house that stood there before Gracie Mansion was built.

Our key opened a closet upstairs in the master bedroom.  The whole upstairs is traditionally the residence of the Mayor, but since our current Mayor Bloomberg opted to reside in his own house, the second floor has been opened to the public.  Inside the closet was a portrait of Archibald Gracie, who built the house and lived there until his sons lost it in a business venture.  Also there was the original check Gracie wrote to purchase the property--in 1798.  Our tour guide explained these things, and showed us a real NYC Key to the City.  I'll have to find a way to earn one of those some day.

Later in the evening, I jumped on the subway and followed it to the end of the line.  Four subway lines end at Stillwell Avenue in Coney Island.  The huge subway station there pours riders out into the thick of the Coney Island beach atmosphere.  There are food stands, beach stores, and of course, the original Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs.  A block away and you're on the iconic boardwalk with all the arcades, stands, music, and rides.  There's also sand, and some water too.  This lock was not amidst all that, but one avenue north in the more practical part of Coney Island.  Here are the real stores for the people who live there, and the places they go--like the local branch of the Brooklyn Public Library.

This was the first time I've struck out on my own to find a lock, and coincidentally it turned out to be a good one for it.  I found a metal safe box on a reference shelf that matched my key.  Inside was a whole history of Coney Island.  Newspaper articles stretching back a hundred years, a printed history of the early settlements on what was once literally an island (today it's only an island in name, landfill attached it to the mainland of Brooklyn long ago).  There were artifacts as well, including an old tin can of Coney Island brand sea food, that was once quite popular, and an early electrical conductor found preserved on the ocean floor off-shore.  It was a good place to sit, read, and learn.  Who would've thought?  I went to the library and ended up reading.

I visited the beach, which was empty as it was both late in the evening and starting to rain.  I was so close, I just had to go see the ocean.  And of course, stopped for dinner at Nathan's.

Today marks two milestones in the Key to the City adventure.  First, Gracie Mansion marks the 12th lock opened, meaning the Coney Island library took me beyond the half-way point to opening every single lock.  Second, Coney Island finishes off all the locks in Brooklyn, the second borough completed.  Time is short to reach all of the locks by the end of the project, September 6th.  But with some good planning, I may just make it.


View Key to the City - Man/BK - 8/18/10 in a larger map

Pieces of Brooklyn

The great Key to the City adventure continues.  Rather than have another marathon adventure, we opted to break the Brooklyn locations up among several days.

The very next day after our Bronx adventure, Lynn and I jumped on the subway for the quick trip over to the Brooklyn Museum.  Neither of us had been here before, so we didn't know what to expect, but it was a really good experience.  Our favorite exhibits were the full-scale replicas of actual colonial houses, built within the museum halls.  It was really cool to walk around these houses as if you were actually inside.  We eventually found our way to the top floor, where our key opened a secret door in the wall between two portraits.  Inside was a secret exhibit, just for us: a small collection of tiny Fabergé sculptures.  I didn't know that the House of Fabergé made things other than the famous eggs, but there were some great little sculptures here.  Tiny animals make of precious stones with diamond eyes, a miniature jewel-encrusted clock, and a life-size dandelion gone to seed, made of asbestos filaments.  It was a cool surprise, behind a secret door.

The following day, we ventured out again.  After work, we headed down to the Gowanus Canal, a highly-polluted body of water a short walk from our neighborhood.  This formerly industrial area is now dotted with artist studios, galleries, workshops, and performance spaces.  Right along the canal are the offices of Cabinet Magazine, a quarterly art and culture publication.  Our key unlocked a small box in the dark alleyway beside Cabinet.  Upon opening, the empty box played an old recording of "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles," a Tin Pan Alley hit song from 1919.  A note in the box said, "For the full experience call 718-XXX-XXXX between the hours of 10am and 6pm."  We'd arrived well after 6pm, but I later looked up what other keyholders had said about the location.  There used to be a bubble machine above the box that would start blowing bubbles when the box was opened.  It broke some time ago, so the folks at Cabinet decided to put their phone number in the box.  If we had arrived in time, and called the number, someone would have come running out into the alleyway to blow bubbles for us.

A week went by, with us traveling and some thunderstorms passing through, and the following Tuesday we once again set off after work.  This time, our destination was right along the way home, up in DUMBO.  We climbed a stairway off the street up to the entrance of Gleason's Boxing Gym.  The place was alive with the sound of solid impacts, and the distinct smell of hard work and sweat.  Gleason's is the oldest continually operating boxing gym in the country, and champions of all classes have trained there.  Cassius Clay, Mike Tyson, and a host of other boxing legends have trained here, and their pictures cover an entire wall in the back of the main room.  Individual lockers are scattered throughout along the walls, and one of them could be opened with our key.  Inside were boxing gloves, jump ropes, tape, and everything we'd need to get started ourselves.  We tried the gloves, but long days of work convinced both of us not to stay long.  On our way out, we were completely surprised to be approached by one of our new neighbors, himself training hard after a long day at work.  What a pleasant surprise.

There's one more location in Brooklyn, way down in Coney Island.  It has more difficult hours to work with, so we're not sure when we'll make it down there.  Tomorrow, the adventure continues in Manhattan, where we still have many more secrets to unlock.


View Key to the City - Brooklyn in a larger map

Upstate NYC

Continuing with the Key to the City project, Lynn and I ventured out again this weekend to find some more locks to open.  This time we headed way up north, to the Bronx.  There are five locks in the Bronx, but two of them are only available during business hours on weekdays.  We haven't quite figured out how we might visit those yet.  Three others we could get to, however, and there were a couple in northern Manhattan if we had extra time.

The beginning of our adventure took us to the Grand Concourse near Yankee Stadium.  The Grand Concourse was supposed to be the Champs-Élysées of the Bronx, a wide boulevard with tree-lined dividers, running up through Bronx four miles all the way to Van Cortlandt Park.  For a time, it was the height of middle-class living in NYC.  But like much of the city, and especially much of the Bronx, rapidly declined in the 1960s.  Today, however, it's doing very well again, and we walked passed a couple very tempting restaurants serving brunch on our Saturday excursion.

Three friends meet at their mailbox.

The first stop was PostNet, which is a pretty standard printing/copying/shipping place.  To the left after entering is a wall of post office boxes, and our key opened box 136.  Inside were messages people had left, and interestingly, messages people had mailed to the PO box directly.  As we stood reading some of these, we noticed a woman sitting in the only chair next to the PO boxes, looking at a subway map and writing in her notebook.  She smiled at us and said she was a fellow keyholder, and we quickly struck up conversation.  A fast friendship was formed, and we invited her to join us on our Bronx adventure.

....unless you have a key.

The newly formed trio trekked east to the neighborhood of Melrose.  Melrose is one the largest Puerto Rican communities in NYC, and sadly, also one of the poorest neighborhoods.  Throughout the 1970s, the neighborhood was synonymous with arson, and most of the residential buildings were damaged or destroyed.  Much of what exists now has been rebuilt by the NYC Housing Authority as low-income and subsidized housing.  Our destination was the Centro Cultural Rincon Criollo, a community garden on a quiet street right in the middle of the neighborhood.  It was lovely, lush and green plots surrounded a small green club house in the middle.  There were many people spending a relaxing Saturday afternoon in the garden, and they all waved to us as we searched for the garden plot that our key unlocked.  We found it behind a large "No Trespassing - Prohibido El Paso" sign, but the garden was as welcoming as could be.  Fresh cabbage, peppers, tomatoes, and grapes grew all around, and were watched over by a whimsical scarecrow.  It was easy to see how such a place could bring the people here together, and we felt grateful to be welcomed into their lush treasure.

Moving further east to the shores of the Bronx River, our last destination in the Bronx was The Point Community Development Corporation.  This was in Hunts Point, another of the most difficult neighborhoods in the Bronx.  Here, more than 60% of the population is unemployed, and the average income is less than half the national average, making Hunts Point part of the poorest congressional district in the entire country.  There are essentially two main businesses here, it is home to one of the largest food distribution centers in the world, and three detention centers.  Still, like everywhere, the people make due and enjoy life as well they can.  Several small parks have popped up, and a few small businesses have opened, and are trying to engage the community.

Building boats

One of these is called Rocking the Boat.  It was started by a man named Adam Green, who Lynn and I first heard about when he was the subject of a "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" episode.  (Don't judge.)  The program allows high school kids in the neighborhood to learn practical, leadership, and life skills by building wooden boats from scratch over the course of a school semester.  They plan the work, they do the work (all of it, from chopping wood to painting the name on the stern), and then they run a program where locals can take the boats out on the Bronx River on weekends.  The main entrance to the lock we were looking for was closed the day we arrived, and a note directed us to the dock where the Rocking the Boat staff were renting out their boats.  A nice woman there offered to take us through their building into the courtyard where we'd find a door we could unlock.  Along the way, she gave us an impromptu tour of their boat workshop, which was very cool to see.

Art inside

Behind the building lay a courtyard with a garden, some portable classrooms to teach the city-born kids how to operate their boats, and a small brick shed.  A rusted door held the lock matching our key, though we mistakenly went in through a second, unlocked back door.  We opened it, turned on the lights and found color.  Bright colors shouted at us form all directions.  This building was a piece of art itself.  A table stood in the middle with paints, brushes, markers, crayons, papers, glues--everything you could want to make something fun.  And those who had come before us certainly had.  There were paintings on the walls, ceilings, and floor.  A web of yarn made it an enjoyable challenge to get from one end of the room to another.  Papers were everywhere with drawings and messages.  We rolled up our sleeves and dug in, leaving a message (me), a drawing (Lynn), and a painting on the wall (our new friend).  I'm running out of synonyms for "fun," but it was truly, and simply, kid-creative fun.

Under Construction, 118 years and counting

Realizing there was much more light left in the day, we decided to head over to Manhattan to open one more lock.  We went down to Lynn's and my old neighborhood of Morningside Heights.  We even stopped right in front of the apartment I lived in while attending Columbia University.  A quick walk around the corner took us to the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine, the fourth-largest church in the world.  Although the inside is breathtaking, the outside is still under construction--having been started in 1892.  (There's a neighborhood joke about Saint John the Unfinished.)  Two world wars and a devastating fire have plagued the construction of the church, but it continues to this day nonetheless.  Much of the nave was off-limits and under construction when I lived in the neighborhood, so this was the first time I could see it all open.  And open is a pretty accurate description; the ceiling was 124 feet above us.  It's a beautiful, quiet place, and we wandered the whole church before even starting to look for the lock.  At last we came to a gate, padlocked with a velvet rope.  Unlocking the gate let us into the Baptistry, which was a gift to the church from the descendants of Peter Stuyvesant.  Peter was the last governor of the New Amsterdam colony, right up until it became New York.  The Baptistry was quiet, and empty, and we enjoyed the peacefulness.

Tired, and in desperate need of milkshakes, we ended our journey at one of Lynn's and my old haunts, Tom's Restaurant.  Most notable for being the external shot of the diner in "Seinfeld," it's also a neighborhood favorite for the milkshakes, late hours, and friendly staff.  Being almost exactly between our two apartments when we were in grad school, Lynn and I frequently met there at all hours.  The owner, who will chat your ear off if you let him, recognized us when we walked in and sternly asked me where I'd been for the last three years.  We had our shakes, and chatted more, ranging from our lives in New York to cultural differences (our new friend is French, and lived in Paris and Guadeloupe).  It was a pleasant end to another grand adventure.

PS: Map!

View Key to City - Bronx/No. Manhattan - 8/7 in a larger map