Photography: The Homes of Queens Attract the Night

East Elmhurst
The homes of Queens attract the night. Walking 🚶‍♀️ at night, certain nooks and crannies catch my attention. Notice the side alley - it cuts along the building, connecting streets. This part of Queens - dubbed East Elmhurst, is dotted with alleys like this one.
Elmhurst
Walking from the Elmhurst Avenue station last night, I stumbled onto Ithaca Street — a quiet thruway in the Elmhurst neighborhood (not to be confused with East Elmhurst, above) of Queens. Do you like the architecture of this detached house? 

A home in Queens on Ithaca Street
originally posted on my Instagram

A colleague saw my photograph on Instagram and she said, "My mom grew up in Elmhurst and my sister and I recently drove by her childhood home on St. James Avenue. Part of my childhood was spent visiting my grandmother. There were some amazing homes back in the day." She also said she loved "my love for her Queens." 
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#nychomes #newyorklife #iloveny #autumnnights #queens #lovenyc #nyc #queensny #queen #newyork #newyorkcity #nycphotographer #night #newyorker #newyorklike #goals #newyorkstateofmind

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Photograph: Looking Out the Window at Night

Windows. Side windows. Curtains. Basketball bounces define the streets of the city. Conversations. Night walking. Visions. Of Joanna.

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Feeling Strangely Homey in Bushwick (Travels in Brooklyn)

After moving out of my graduate dorm at the New School, I had to couch surf and spend the night on a couple of trains before I could move into my new place in Brooklyn.

Still Riding the LIRR
In case anyone is wondering if I'm still riding the LIRR, I wanted to report that I am staying with a friend in Bushwick (home of New York's proletariat) until my place in Sunset Park (home of the Latino/Asian middle class) becomes available.

My hosts have been exceptionally gracious. So to thank them for their hospitality, I say "thank you guys!"

Living Unsettled
In the realm of general blog writing, it must be noted that living unsettled is a perfect catalyst for writing. Writing is integral to homelessness, I think. To write is to be unsettled. Good writing does not come out of stability. Writing is an effort to find the tension and seize upon it. Don't you think?

Last night Tompkins Square Park was filled with people for the annual Howl festival. I really don't know what the Howl festival is so I can only infer from the experience (since I didn't ask anyone) that it was a costume party out in the open treeness of the park. But isn't the Howl festival supposed to be about poetry and art?

I particularly liked the group of four dressed up as some kind of dragon creature.

Today will be another day living as a free-floating plankton in the sea we call the city of New York.

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Journey to Montauk: Feeling Strangely Homeless on the Long Island Railroad

If you live in New York City and happen to be bereft of living quarters for a night, try this relatively cheap alternative.

RIDE the LIRR!

On My Way to Montauk!

Get Your Ticket at Penn Station
Yes, get your ass over to Penn Station. Take a Montauk bound train. You'll have to transfer at Jamaica, though. The seats are not terribly comfortable. So, try to find one of those facing seats so you can prop your legs up for the ride. If you take the midnight train the initial thirty-five minutes will not afford you much sleep time because you will be sharing the train with night-time revelers. Mostly Long Island kids with a penchant for partying in Manhattan. They're mostly white kids who may or may not stumble into your car seat half-drunk. Mostly harmless.

Since you are bereft of a home for the night, make sure your backpack has a toothbrush, toothpaste, extra pair of socks and some reading material. Also some snacks. the Long Island Railroad does not have a snack bar on board. You can load up on stuff at Penn Station but the prices are steep. I suggest buying your food somewhere else before you head to the train station.

A one-way train ticket to Montauk will cost you about 18 dollars one-way. That's off-peak prices. The return ticket will cost the same unless you return to New York City during peak hours (any time from like 8 until 10:30 in the morning and rush hour in the evening (4-8). It's not a free night on the LIRR but it is a helluva lot cheaper than a hotel room.

I have to stop here by saying that one could probably find a cheaper room to stay in New York City. The LIRR to Montauk suggestion is only for those lazy sons-of-bitches who just so happen don't have room accommodations -- or did not take the time to scour the city for a room, or just shit out of luck and rather not ride the L train all night (did that, not going to repeat it: Canarsie is scary).

There Are Toilets in Almost Every Car!
The good thing about LIRR trains is that they have toilets in every other car. Don't lose your ticket though. It's gold. The conductors are vigilant about checking. So keep it handy.

From Penn Station to Montauk is about four hours. If you position yourself right you can get about two and a half hours of sleep. The lighting is harsh on the train (a double-decker!). So put a towel over your head. At one point I had my shoes off and I had occupied four seats all around me with my backpack and other such stuff. The key is to make yourself unapproachable. If you are traveling the LIRR for living space you don't want neighbors. All you want is a place to sleep.

I didn't calculate this SNAFU but once I got to Montauk (I had left NYC at like midnight) it was like four in the morning and the next train to NYC wasn't scheduled to leave for another hour and a half.

Photo by Bridget Shevlin on Unsplash

Montauk is Really Beautiful at Four in the Morning!
That really sucked. BUT. Montauk is beautiful at four in the morning.

1. There were no people
2. I am not used to this reality
3. I saw three deer on the road
4. The air is crisp and clean
5. Birds singing!
6. No people
7. I was dancing and singing!
8. The pretty manor in Montauk is awesome.
9. Too bad I am broke and can't stay there

Take the Return Trip and Feel New York City Again (Blechhhhh!)
The return trip was quiet until the train reached the New York City area and the car filled up with early morning commuters. Some kids who live in the Hamptons got on board and did their homework. A perky businesswoman sat next to me and filled out boring reports. I had to pay an extra six dollars because I returned to NYC during peak hours.

Here Are Some Practical Tips
The trip is about 45 dollars. The benefits are:

1. Toilets!
2. More comfortable than the subway
3. No one bothers you
4. Fewer stops

The negatives:

1. No vending machines
2. Long layovers
3. I could probably find a cheaper hostel
4. The seats do not recline

On My Trip to Montauk, Though:
Next time I go to Montauk, however, I think I am going to check out the lighthouse.

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June Streetcar Ride on Carrollton

Folks here call the Carrollton neighborhood of New Orleans, Kar•ul•ton, a tract of land that extends from a bend in the river where Saint Charles avenue and S. Carrollton avenue meet.

For me, it has been home for the past two years.
I got on the car at Willow today, near the Nix branch of the New Orleans Public Library, God I love that small municipal library with few books but tons of character. I'd work here.

There were only three riders today on the Saint Charles Streetcar, so I sat at the back. The conductor's seat is located in both the front and the back of the car.
That way, the conductor can easily switch places without turning the car around when he gets to the end of the line.

Summertime is New Orleans's downtime. Everyone's at the corner pub downing a bitter IPA or a soft Magnolia lager known to be pretty damn tasty.

Poem: The Porter Cat

soft and malleable;

I stroke the porter cat

when he lingers near the patio,

spreads his body on my lap and I tell him that he’s home;

his leonine form stretched from end to end;

he purrs with content      

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Trivial Pursuit, Sipping a Bordeaux

Trivial Pursuit is fun if you are competitive. If you want to win. One-On-One combat can be brutal. D and I played last night. We drank her bottle of Bordeaux from France (can you say that fancy style?). We shared the bottle, but for some reason, I have a bad headache this morning, slightly quelled by generous consumption of New Orleans style coffee. Question: Where did Tensing Norgay plant his national flag? Answer: On top of Mount Everest. Now you may think that was an easy question, but it is incorrect if you say "Mount Everest" because the correct, more specific answer is "on top of Mount Everest." Now, that is just pure-dee lame. Ugh. I missed an orange pie because of that, but don't worry, someone did not know who coined the phrase "between a rock and a hard place" but they did know Axel Rose was a member of Guns and Roses. M says I have way too much brain sludge. D has an incredible treasure chest of encyclopedic knowledge, but, both of us did not know the "Orphic Egg" was in Greek Mythology. Do you? It has to do with prophecy and an egg enveloped by a serpent (but nothing to do with Orpheus). Now, it is well known that you should use the spokes to move around the game board. Don't do the circle motion. You will lose. And it does pay off to PAY ATTENTION to the question. Question: What Yiddish word means mentally disabled or clumsy? Answer: Klutz. I heard the question and answered the first Yiddish word to come to my head, Shmuck. I was a shmuck in answering that question incorrectly. I did know, however, that shmuck is Alfred E. Neuman's favorite word. The trick at beating Trivial Pursuit is to get questions RIGHT. Who would have thought? I just thought it was the luck of the pie. Question: What country exports the most coffee? Answer: Brazil. By the way, I wonder how many new neuronal pathways are created in the human mind during one game of Trivial Pursuit. I have this odd hunch, that the game actually destroys pathways, but not as much as eating Ben and Jerry's and watching re-runs of Green Acres. Question: By the way, what Green Acres recurring gag features a passageway to the Douglass bedroom? Answer: "The Sliding Door" gag. Now, if you didn't know that question's answer, don't feel bad, there are loads of Trivial Pursuit questions just waiting for you to feel dumb. But, I don't think it matters. I wonder if the SAT or ACT tests are good for your brain. At least those questions are not based on instant recall of extraneous facts but rather force you to think through an issue. The game is called trivial for a reason. Wouldn't it be funny if you had to write an essay response to a Trivial Pursuit question? I always thought it would be funny if on Jeopardy! contestants had to write a 1,200-word essay on a pre-chosen prompt. Brutal!!! There is one thing to know instantly random factoids, but it is quite another thing to assemble all that brain sludge into a cohesive narrative that can sustain one's attention. Good luck America!

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Thanksgiving: Turkey, Gratitude, and Capitalism’s Harvest

Thanksgiving is an iconic American holiday.

     I know the origins of the holiday are rooted in Puritan Christianity.
     I know it is based on the slow seductive manipulation of Native Americans but Thanksgiving, as we know it today, is neither Puritan nor is it Anti-native American.
     Thanksgiving is a 1941 contrivance to boost the economy under the FDR administration. Today it continues to be a worship of capitalism and a wish for plenty.
     Grateful 

     Thanks
     Gracious
     Whew. I better baste that turkey before it dries out. Don't want my guest consumers to order a refund.
I wish I could offer more profundity here, but sadly I am rather consumed by vodka and an unusually sanguine heart.

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H is for Home

Parts of the drop ceiling in my apartment fell in the kitchen.

Is it trite to speak of home? Cliché, maybe. But, home resonates. At the moment my home is in disarray.

Case in point: last night, plaster from the ceiling crumbled and fell in hard portions on the kitchen linoleum. I did not wake up from the din, but I was startled in the morning (in between brushing my teeth and finding a perfect maroon tie) to find the kitchen bespectacled with jagged chunks of plaster. "Is there a rodent in my attic?" I asked myself, half startled and half bemused.

Going from the ramshackle that is my apartment, to the structure of school, I enter another home: a weird conglomeration of bells and roving students, lecturing professors, and due dates, exams, lunches and recess. School is a strange form of home that merely serves as another version -- but for me, a strange anodyne -- and I cringe to confess this fact, because one's vocation is not supposed to be one's home.

Do I find myself grading papers, only to look at the clock notice it is already six o'clock?

This is the tragedy of home as school. Alas, my life is fail. Or, as one of my students would say, "Epic Fail! I hate my life!"

So, today, to rectify this unhappy occasion, I set out to spruce up my "home" and make sure next week I will not end up sleeping at my professor's desk.

My task before me is to make my home the same as it was in August. I notice the pile of dishes hidden beneath the shorn plaster. I notice books unread. And OMG! I have to complete those homework assignments and finish reading those essays.

I stop for a second, in the middle of writing this first installment of an alphabiography, which I have decided to impose on myself as an assignment -- I figure if I am making my students complete this project, I might as well do the same — I have until October 15th — eeekkk and I probably have loads of grammar and spelling mistakes. Is there anything here that is home? True home? Not artificial or cliché home? The sound of the streetcar whizzing by frequently and hurriedly? Is it the fresh pot of coffee I worship every morning — to quote Anne Sexton -- "All this is God, right here in my pea green house."

Home is an unhurried thing. Is it metaphysical? Probably not. Is it the edifice of a house? Or is it the collection of a family? The association of friends?

I know one thing is true: home is unequivocally the evocative longing to diminish the alone. It is the wish of the solitude to unite with the One. It is the prayer of the worshipful to unite with their God. It is the hope of the teacher to successfully complete one more successful assignment; it is the proper buttering of the toast; the perfect rendering of prose into poetry, the sublime nature of one's hope (albeit striving) for ? ... and that is where I stumble ... lost again in the mystery of home.

I do have one final concrete image for those out there who detest abstract thought. The apple pie Americans who need a palpable definition. Home is where the heart is? Home is on the range. Home is for breakfast. Home fries. Homie. Dog. G. Out.

Life Lesson: Home is what you make it. Ahh, isn't that trite enough? But, I think I will go and wash those dishes (yeah, right he says).

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Poem: "On the steps of my porch"

    Never imagined to what extent love could take me,

    to which crevice it would find a home
    in my body
    and dwell there ...

    a place love could harbor and
    somehow blossom,
    take root in a wound −
    this mixed up home of sinew and blood,
    love has discovered a smile −

    an embrace that I did not expect,
    actually,
    in the form of you,
    at the steps,
    smiling.

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Image Source: © 2004 Greig Roselli