GPOYMFTEW - My Friend The Eagle edition.
There are only a few hours each year that people can safely and legally walk on the Part Avenue Viaduct since it is normally a way for cars and such to drive around Grand Central Terminal and the MetLife Building and through the Helmsley Building. We did it on Saturday, the last of this year’s Summer Streets series in New York. For a few hours on three Saturdays, seven miles of streets, mostly along Park Avenue are closed to all but pedestrian and bike traffic. Nice way to spend a summer day. And hey, I got to get up close to a very special eagle, one of the original 12 from the Grand Central Depot, the predecessor to Grand Central Terminal. Read more about the eagles here.
I wonder what his story is. We all have one complete only within ourselves. The external story is always incomplete. Over-simplified for public consumption. Dressed up pretty or torn down ugly depending upon the type of novel the reader expects to find between the covers.
Perhaps this is where so much of the victim blaming that has been rampant this week — a common thread that binds the Ferguson and Robin WIlliams stories together. Actions didn’t match our expectations. Faulty expectations. Imperfect ones because we are all imperfect and incomplete. Or sometimes they do and that is even worse in some ways.
The man driving the pedicab is a regular in my neighborhood, although this was the first time I actually saw him pedaling and on Park Avenue. The butterfly on the back of the passenger compartment is pretty but he kind of scares me. I wonder if anyone ever hires him. He is usually parked on Lexington doing his conspiracy town crier ranting thing. Today it was a mobile rant, although I couldn’t quite make out what today’s topic was, his voice just another note in the din of urban commuter noise. The last one I heard was about making sure schools weren’t putting information in your kids’ files that you don’t know about.
He scares me because of my expectations, which could be completely wrong. He seems unstable. I think he reminds me of a schizophrenic man who also used to frequent my neighborhood, first as a constant fixture in the entryway to a now closed McDonald’s (rare to see a McDonald’s close) and then as a corner crier. Rants that were reasonably coherent in between muttering that was perhaps his other voices trying to get his attention. In my mind I think I have merged these men into a vague menace.
Today it occurred to me that perhaps I needed to write a new story about him in my mind. It would be equally true and false based again on my minimal number of actual facts about him. He could be a rich eccentric who chooses to be outdoors instead of held up with a bourbon and leather bound book in a stuffy old library. He might hold many truths amid his outbursts — a beautiful mind on a bike.
I’m also reading the book A More Beautiful Question by Warren Berger. Questions are journeys between the destinations of answers. Keep traveling. But maybe not in that guy’s pedicab.
Why isn’t there some magical technology
that would strip out 1000 words from the paper I’m working on so I don’t have to decide? One of you Tumblrinos already nixed my notion of just chopping off the last 1000 and calling it a day. Blergh, I need an editor.
In today’s hypersensitive social media environment…
if you don’t offend at least one person a week, you’re not really trying.
Only once a week. Setting bar pretty low there son. ;)
I went on my first trip to St Louis a few months ago and never had a chance to write much about it or post any pictures. I just found myself thinking about how I traveled near Ferguson on my way to and from the airport. I was likely on the train with a number of the people who have been living the horrors that have befallen that community. I have that same weird tug of sadness and longing to be there at the back of my brain that I had the first time I left NYC after 9/11 or left NOLA after Katrina.
Truthfully mixed feelings on a Tuesday
Once again some of the managers here are spearheading an Operation Backpack collection of school supplies for kids in need. It’s a wonderful program and I’m glad we do it each year.
There are some aspects that tweak me a bit, but in end it’s for the kids so I don’t get too worked up about it, although I have made a few comments here and there.
I truly believe that several of the people do it each year more because they like to shop than because they like the charity aspect. Some people have been told not to go buy supplies, just give us money.
They keep referring to needing more “boy” backpacks or more “girl” backpacks. They live in a world were girls only want to be princesses and not sharks and where boys want super heroes and not ponies. We don’t give them to the kids so they will never know if somewhere a little boy ends up proudly toting Hello Kitty to class.
I also feel a little bad for our summer intern who has spent an inordinate amount of her time here filling the backpacks and taking runs to the office supply store to purchase things like loose leaf paper that apparently don’t fulfill the managers’ fun to buy fix. She is a very smart and talented young lady who I think had hoped to have a better mix of work experiences during her time here but she appreciates working on this for the kids since she has two younger brothers.
Friday Five - Last five songs to play.
Attention runners. Strap on your heels and grab your red dress. It’s that time of year again.
The New Orleans Hash House Harriers (aka NOH3), a drinking club with a running problem, and thousands of others will be taking to the streets in their red dresses, to drink and run and raise tons of money for local charities.
If you’re not in NOLA check out if there is a run near you.
GPOYW - Pterosaur edition.
Last weekend we went to see the Pterosaur exhibit at the American Museum of Natural History. It was, of course, a-w-e-s-o-m-e. If I have to explain to you why huge flying reptiles are awesome, we can’t be friends.
We noticed that pterosaurs tended to have huge heads compared to their bodies, and since I’ve got quite a large noggin’ myself, I thought the ratio was about right in the first photo.
As for the second photo… Wut? A guy can’t cuddle his teddy-saur? Don’t judge me!
OK, does anyone know which states will allow me to marry a pterosaur?