Tag: #NYC

  • The Perils of the Upcoming New Normal

    I referred yesterday to the fact that the NYC DOE released the 2021/2022 school schedule, which begins on September 13th, and also includes no snow days, but states all classes will be in person. One way or another, kids will be back in school in September.

    This is a huge step for us, as with the kid back in school, that will give me an opportunity to find a job. A job means the ability to make some progress from the situation we are in, because as it stands now, our condition hasn’t changed since May 2020. That was when I was laid off, and we went into the financial lockdown we are still existing in. Freedom from that is a dream come true.

    And yet, school starting up again will mean an end to my daily existence with the kid. It has been madding, and trying, and difficult, and I am sure that there has been some psychological damage on everyone’s part… But…

    The last time I spent this much uninterrupted time with my daughter was the first month that she was born. I had a month of paternity leave, and the three of us hunkered down together learning how to be a family. And then, I went back to work. With the exception of a day here and there, or maybe a week vacation, I have been working, or she has been in some sort of daycare or school.

    Come that early fall day of September 13th, when I walk her to school for that first day, it will conclude one year and six months of father-daughter bonding. I didn’t know how I would survive it, but now, I am a little sad to see it go.

  • Sounds of New York

    There is a guy singing in the construction site behind our building. At least, I think he’s singing. It’s more like a deep belly “Huh!” followed by several other “huh’s.” With the construction site being a hollow cement post and lintel structure, that has yet to be filled in with walls, or pipes, or anything, so it just behaves like a big echo chamber. Every sound, hammer pounding, yell, or really terrible idea of signing, is just amplified in the neighborhood.

    When we were staying up at our friend’s house for the weekend, we slept with the windows open. Now, the house was not in the country, though it was a small town, but in a small neighborhood subdivision. Yet, for an occasional car passing by, it was very quiet out there. Nothing happening, just the sound of still.

    Last night, back in New York, we slept with the windows open. I woke up around 4am, and as I lay in bed, trying to fall back to sleep, I listened to the City. It was a quiet night, no weird honking sounds, or sirens going by, but there is a hum to the City. It’s like a white noise hum. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but it was there, just a very low humming; like a machine running automatically.

  • Second Vax, Aftermath

    I was anxious the night before I went to go get my second vaccine. I can’t put my finger on why that is. I was anxious for the first one as well, but I chalked that up to anticipation of having waited sooooo long to get this process started. This time around, I knew where I was going, I hadn’t had any fever or anything from the first, and being that I never got Covid in the first place, the odds of me getting an adverse reaction were low. But there I was, up at 5am, thinking about the shot.

    The story that keeps, sadly, showing up in the news is that many people are not getting their second vaccine. The reason for this can be for a mirid of reasons; forgot about the appointment, couldn’t get off work, or got complacent. I think I saw on the news last night that 5 million people haven’t shown up for that second shot.

    My first and second shot were at North Central Bronx Hospital, and I am happy to report that the second shot waiting area was packed. Sadly, it was people my age and older, and I think out of the 40 people I saw, only two were, or at least looked, under 30. That’s not great, but I did take as a point of pride that NYC is taking getting their shots seriously.

    That was yesterday, and as of this morning, all I have is a sore arm. My wife, on the other hand, has a low-grade fever, body aches, and a headache. She did have Covid, way back at the start of this whole mess, so her reaction is what was predicted. Not that it makes her feel any better.

    But it’s done. We are vaxed.

  • Personal Review: The Real World, Season 1, 1992

    The wife and I have been looking for a TV show to watch at night. Something to wash the pallet clean at the end of the day, but not too serious, but also not totally dumbed down. After searching around all the streaming services, we landed on The Real World from MTV on Paramount+.

    When we started season 1, which took place in 1992 New York City, it was a fun reminder of what early 90’s life was like, as we were in high school when the show premiered, and it was a neat snap shot of what pre-Giuliani New York was like. Also, this was the show that birthed the “reality” genre, so to go back to the source, so to speak, was enlightening; not only for the way things were, but how they are now.

    I was 15 when I watched the show originally, and my memory of the show had holes, but it was rather intact. Now, 44-year-old me watched it with a more cynical eye, and found the show slanted to a very specific perspective.

    Of the seven cast members, six of them were currently living in New York at the start of the show, while one member, Julie, was from out of town, Alabama, but she has aspirations to be in New York as a dancer. Thus, the fish out of water storyline that followed through the whole season. The other six members were all in the arts, at the start of their careers; one writer, three musicians, one painter, and one model. A very liberal arts group.

    15-year-old me remembered that this was my first experience with seeing people of my generation pursing the arts, and struggling. Before this show, if I wanted to see young people in the arts, it was either the Lost Generation of the 20’s, the Beats of the 50’s or the Hippies in the 60’s. What the 44-year-old me saw was that some of the people were working much harder than others. My memory of the show was that it had a very voyeuristic quality, but remained true to the proposition that it was showing people being “real.” Older me, having experienced other “reality” shows, could see the manipulation of the cast and certain situations.

    As I finished the first season, it was much tamer than I remembered. Knowing what is coming down the pipe with the reality television genre, you can see the start of how things will be edited and presented to have a desired effect. It was like a quarter of the way through the season, the producers realized that this wasn’t a documentary, but a story that needed to be compelling, so the audience would tune in next week.

  • Ants

    It’s spring, and it seems like the world is slowly coming back to life. Flowers are blooming, trees are budding, and grass is greening. And bugs are back. In our tiny apartment, that means the ants are back.

    We get ants in the Spring. And I hate ants. These are stupid, little black ants, which are called Little Black Ant, annoy the shit out of me, especially their stupid, unoriginal name. They are easy to kill, and stop, but man, it’s like two weeks of those little bastards just showing up along the edge of the wall. The kid hates them, and also thinks the ants are out to get her. So, we have to have a calming down moment before she goes to bed to make sure she understands the ants aren’t after her.

    Stupid ants.

    Growing up in Texas, the fear was fire ants, as those assholes are awful. For every kid, there was always a moment when they accidently stood on, or fell on, or kicked a fire ant mound, and those evil guys swarmed, biting the hell out of you.

    I remember my dad buying fire ant killer at the local hardware store in the Spring to deal with them. The stuff he bought was a poison in the form of little yellow pellets that he would spread around the mound. The ants would think its food and bring it into the nest. Slowly, over the course of a week or two, the mound would die off, and a little pile dirt was left in the yard, like the ancient ruins of a civilization. I would dig up the dead mounds carefully, to see the tunnels that they had created. It was fascinating that little things could build such complexity.