What’s in a Name?

To start with, the East River isn’t a river. It’s a tidal straight connecting the Long Island Sound and the upper bay; when the tide changes, the entire Atlantic tries to pour through. The current gets up to about 7 mph and changes direction at each slack tide. Fun times if you’re in a sailboat.

The straight stretch of the East River north of Corlears Hook is divided into two channels by a long narrow island. It was originally called Blackwell’s Island after the damned soul who thought that putting a farm on an island surrounded by salt water and with limited spring water was a good idea. It became the municipal dumping ground in the nineteenth century, starting with a poorhouse, an insane asylum, a jail, and a smallpox hospital, and eventually was renamed Welfare Island as a result.

When urban renewal came along, the island was renamed Roosevelt after FDR, although given what it was in his lifetime, I don’t know that he would have appreciated the gesture. It’s now a pleasant if excruciatingly boring place to live, with its own subway stop and an elevated tram to Manhattan. The reality of it was pegged nicely in the opening scene of Dark Water: as a mother and daughter take the tram to go look at an apartment on the island, the little girl says, in an accusing tone of voice, “This isn’t Manhattan.”

Mayor Mike’s latest grand project, a new engineering school, will be located on the south end of the island, where presumably the ghosts of the dead lunatics will serve as teaching assistants.

Island Hospital – the hospital for indigents – after twenty years of abandonment in 1989:

Beyond Comment

From my trip into the Jersey swamp earlier this week, a photo I took during the two-mile hike to the nearest train station:

In case you can’t quite make out that street sign, here’s a close-up:

You can’t tell from this photo, but the cross-street is “Flaming Asshole Way.”

Closer to Home

I’m teaching a few classes in a friend’s course on engineering in historic preservation. Just got home after an hour subway ride from the north Bronx, maybe a mile from B^4 land. It still beats Pittsfield.

I’ve never been in a classroom at a Catholic college before. There was a little man – maybe a foot high – nailed to the wall next to the blackboard. I decided against using him as a chalk-holder.

Bad Technology x2

In a moment of weakness three years ago, I bought a Bluray player to replace our DVD player. The movies look good, but it’s been a pain in my ass from day one. At first it would randomly lock up (maybe once a month) to the point where the only solution was to pull the plug. So I went through some now-forgotten contortions, had Sony mail me a firmware upgrade in CD, and it got mostly better. The last year or so, we’ve had a problem when playing Blurays with fancy menus: they won’t play. We sat down yesterday to finally watch season 1 of Boardwalk Empire and we couldn’t even get the menu to show. Since I didn’t want to wait on Sony again, I decided to download the new firmware upgrade, burn it to CD and try again. Sony, in its infinite corporate-is-a-people-too wisdom, only provides the firmware in a Windows format. We’re a Mac house, but Mrs__B’s new job gave her a Dell laptop, so I got on that, grabbed the file, burned the CD, ran the upgrade, and we just watched the first episode.

1. Fuck Sony and everyone connected with Bluray. A player is nothing more than a computer dedicated to a single purpose, and the fact that it can be crashed by a badly-written Java menu applet tells me that it’s a poorly designed computer. Fuck the morons who think that I pay extra for a fancy menu rather than for the better picture and sound. Fuck the morons who misprogrammed the menu.

2. I haven’t used Windows regularly since 2002, and holy shit it sucks. The Dell took – and I timed it – three minutes to boot up. Every single control from XP has been moved or changed in Win 7, so my old and pretty damned thorough knowledge of how to get Win to actually do something is now meaningless. It’s not better, it doesn’t (to my eyes) look better, it’s just different. Fuck Microsoft and their need to churn upgrades for revenue, Fuck Dell and its shitty hardware. Fuck Apple for the “coolness” that has become a selling point rather than useability.

Mmmm…Garbage

In the world of NYC waterways, Jamaica Bay is an afterthought. Most people only see it when flying into/out of JFK, it’s too shallow for ships and too smelly and full of sandbars for much pleasure boating, even though a lot of people dock on its shore and sail elsewhere.

A portion of Jamaica Bay – incidentally, not far from Sheepshead Bay – is Dead Horse Bay. Not surprisingly, Wikipedia whitewashes the name a bit…as if it were possible to hide the reality:

The Picture Doesn’t Match

First, Monday’s fog, click to engorge:

Now that you’re in a good mood, let’s discuss assholes. Amazingly, the Supreme Court got this one right (by doing nothing) and NYC’s decision to not allow religious use of public schools has been upheld. Context: there are something like 1100 public school buildings in the city, almost all with auditoriums and (obviously) all with classrooms that can be used as meeting rooms. To the lawyer for the church who got all butthurt that the schools are rented on the weekends for other, secular uses: those uses don’t exclude any kids. When your church uses a school and advertises that fact around the neighborhood, every kid who does not belong to your sect is told that he or she is an outsider in their own school. They are not excluded by Law & Order filming there, or AA having a meeting there.

To put it another way, churches are already given huge (and, IMO, unfair) tax advantages. If you can’t manage to rent a space without public help, maybe your god is a fucking loser.

My Hometown

I somehow missed the Tour De Crap in Flushing. Until I was 4, we lived on Sanford Avenue; from then until I was 17, we lived on Beech Avenue. Not in the area shown – that’s the eastern, more suburban part of Flushing. We lived Near Main Street and Kissena Boulevard, roughly 140th to 142nd Street, in western, downtown Flushing. Not much prettier, but at least there were no McMansion-wannabes.

Several Generations…

…of ugliness. You’ve got the 1880s “let’s build a tenement but pretend it’s pretty with a corner tower,” you’ve got the 1920s “let’s build a street that’s really a highway over the new subway tunnel,” and you’ve got the the 2000s “I’ve got yer architecture right here” yuppie-box condos.

Fortunately, easy for me to avoid.

Rat-o-Rama

While I am not a particular fan of rats, I’ve always felt sorry for the ones who live in the subway. They seem scrawny and nervous, probably because they have excellent hearing and a 90 db train come by every few minutes.

This video is not safe for anyone, but it doesn’t surprise me. Read the description before playing.

A Pertinent Question

The 4-hour scaffold class I took last spring was for standing (pipe) scaffold. I also need certification (twenty-two years too late) for hanging scaffold (swing stages). So today and tomorrow I take a 16-hour class to get that. There really isn’t 16 hours worth of information to be taught, so I expect that this class, like the previous one, will include a lot of filler.

I’m guessing I will see, again, the film of men having their testicles severed by improperly-worn harnesses. I mentioned this to Mrs. __B, who thought for a moment and said “So at any given time as I walk down the street testicles could rain down from above?”

Rightfully Underknown

Sometimes a structure deserves anonymity, even when it’s in a highly visible location. “Pershing Square” is the intersection of 42nd Street and the elevated Park Avenue viaduct (as it crosses 42nd and then wraps around Grand Central Terminal). It’s as much of a “square” as Pershing was a statesman.

The Park Avenue bridge is a three-hinged steel arch, with the center hinge disguised by the “Pershing Square” plaques. While it’s obvious that it’s a bridge – it is one street crossing over another – people don’t think of it as such.

 

Obsession

I was in a depressing apartment today, full of junk to the point that the bathtub was a newspaper storage area. I was just passing through to get to a terrace, so I was there for maybe 90 seconds, but it was enough to bring to mind one of the truly horrifying stories of life in the big city.

The Collyer brothers were obsessive-collector recluses who died in their trash-filled house in Harlem. Central Harlem was built up in 1890-1910 as an upper-middle class neighborhood full of nice brownstones. Theirs was particularly nice, as it was corner and therefore had side windows:

The part that gets me is not that two well-off men lived and died in squalor and insanity, but the way they died. Homer Collyer was physically incapacitated; when his brother Langley was killed by a cave-in of trash (believed to be a booby-trap he himself had set for intruders), Homer starved.

Obsessive hoarding is not uncommon and my understanding is that fire-fighters and other first responders in much of the country refer to the homes so filled with trash that only narrow paths remain as “habitrail houses.” In New York, they’re called “Collyer houses.”